“Oh, I see,” jabbered the other. “You’ve hidden the corpse on top of the hill, eh? Better look back and see if we’re followed, Nep. The last time I got mixed up in a crime of this sort I was electrocuted.”
“Dobesiechum,” expostulated Nelson impatiently. “Hapiesef.” He drew the bag of butterscotch from his pocket and held it forth. Martin viewed it suspiciously.
“Yes, I’m quite happy, thanks, but I don’t think I want to eat any of that stuff. What is it?”
“Buherhoct.”
“Indeed? Has it any other name? Let’s look at it. Oh, I get you, Nep. It’s butterscotch. Why didn’t you say so?”
“Idi!”
“Not at all, old scout. You said something that sounded like a giraffe blowing bubbles. No, thanks, Nep. You may be stuck on that stuff, but I’m not, and don’t intend to be. Is there any hope for you? Or do you remain stuck-up and inarticulate all day?”
“Iamin,” responded Nelson hopefully.
“Iamin, eh? Think of that? Why, I used to know him. Nice chap, too. Say, where are you taking me? I don’t want to go and see that castle or monastery or whatever it is up there. Let’s look for a movie show.”
Nelson freed his jaws by a final, despairing effort and after an agonized period of suspense deposited a lump of butterscotch on someone’s doorframe.