“I should have thought,” said Welsh, with a laugh, “that they would only matter to himself.”
“But he is homicidal too—or at least it’s doubtful. I want to know a little more about that, thank you!”
“What is the man’s name?”
“Mandell-Essington.”
“Sounds aristocratic. He might come in useful afterwards, when he’s cured.”
Welsh spoke with an air of reflection, which might have been entirely disinterested.
“He’d probably commit suicide first,” said Twiddel, “and of course I’d get all the blame.”
“Or homicide,” replied Welsh, “When he would.”
“No, he wouldn’t—that’s the worst of it; I’d be blamed for having my own throat cut.”
“Twiddel,” said his friend, deliberately, “it seems to me you’re a fool.”