"I rather think so, Mr. Condemeign," the Doctor remarked. "As you know—as Miss Froon told you—all of the reports have not been fully checked, but they are, most likely on my desk now. Of course, I can't show them to you. We take special pains to...."
"I quite realize that," said Condemeign, satisfied. "Of course, I hope that your staff has devised a suitable end."
Dr. Munro slithered close to Condemeign. He expanded. Whole ideologies, entire universes of bulked emotion framed in his eyes.
"The best staff in the System, sir! You may be sure of it!" His voice sank as it indicated scorn. "Nepenthe is worlds ahead of any of its competitors. In fact, I might even say that Bios disdains to notice any service agency of our sort except Nepenthe. Here we have the greatest body of experts on their specialty ever gathered together under one roof. Nepenthe has spared no expense to insure that taste, variety and ingenuity surround every client on his way to the final goal. You will not be surprised, Mr. Condemeign, when I tell you that literally hundreds upon hundreds of man-hours are consumed in the devising of an individual death, with as much care lavished on those of more moderate income as upon those who could afford it several times over. A staff of forty-three experts! Imagine!"
Dr. Munro's fingers rang, snapping in the air. A sort of glow haloed his chattering face. "And every one of them an artist, a dreamer, a virtuoso in his special subdivision of the field! Every man and woman of the team selected from prepared lists. And then, Mr. Condemeign, to accommodate this great body of talent thousands upon thousands of acres of halls, corridors, playrooms, an infinitude of stages on which their immense dramas or comedies—it is important to remember that death can be a comedy—are contrived, controlled and brought to a denouement!"
Condemeign chuckled grimly.
"Just where is the body delivered, Dr. Munro?" It would not be an Irish wake, he thought, with keening over the body, and a hearty toast to the departed, rosy-cheeked and a-squat in the bier.
Dr. Munro, checked, gathered in the remnants of his dignity with a wave of his fingers.
"There is no 'body' left, Mr. Condemeign," he said. "What is left is discreetly disposed of in our private crematorium, and a death certificate is secretly deposited in its proper place in the local Hall of Records ... eh?" The Doctor started methodically and nervously as a uniformed attendant stepped from behind a hanging. "Eh, what is it?"
"Case 27, Doctor." The man looking significantly at Condemeign.