'A kind of sort of game of cut it fine. And what do you suppose I'd be thinking of, while I was waiting inside that handsome piece of funeral furniture for you to come?'
'Of the thousand pounds which would so soon be yours.'
He seemed to reflect once more; the smile returning to the attenuated, cruel, shifty lips which had always been one of Twickenham's most unpleasant features.
'That dying will come off. As you observed, a thousand pounds is not a trifle. I've given a show for less. I suppose the money's safe?'
'It is. When will you--die?'
'That's it. I'm engaged almost right along. It'll have to be soon. What do you say to to-morrow?'
'To-morrow?'
The imminence of the thing startled me. I had not expected to be taken up so readily. Nor had I been prepared for the appointment of so early a date. And yet, why not? It was just one of those things of which one might truly say that ''twere well done if 'twere done quickly.'
He put my thoughts into words.
'What's wrong with to-morrow? Haven't you about done wasting time enough? Why not then as soon as next week?'