“You can take that one, if you like.”
Ronald Wyde looked once more at the sodden features of the corpse, and smiled lugubriously.
“A mighty shabby old customer,” he said, “and I doubt if I could feel at home in his skin; but I’m willing to risk it for the sake of the novelty of the thing.”
The old philosopher’s thin face lit up with pleasure.
“You consent, then?” he chuckled in his womanish treble.
“Of course I do. Begin at once, and have done with it.”
“Not now, mein Herr; some modifications must be made in the connections—mere matters of detail. Come again to-night.”
“At what hour?”
“At ten. Mein Vögelein, show the Herr the way out.”