"Ah!" said Mr. Malthus, "you do not know the man: the drollest

fellow! What stories! What cynicism! He knows life to admiration

and, between ourselves, is probably the most corrupt rogue in

Christendom."

"And he also," asked the Colonel, "is a permanency - like yourself,

if I may say so without offence?"

"Indeed, he is a permanency in a very different sense from me,"

replied Mr. Malthus. "I have hem graciously spared, but I must go

at last. Now he never plays. He shuffles and deals for the club,

and makes the necessary arrangements. That man, my dear Mr.

Hammersmith, is the very soul of ingenuity. For three years he has

pursued in London his useful and, I think I may add, his artistic

calling; and not so much as a whisper of suspicion has been once

aroused. I believe him myself to be inspired. You doubtless

remember the celebrated case, six months ago, of the gentleman who

was accidentally poisoned in a chemists shop? That was one of the

least rich, one of the least racy, of his notions; but then, how

simple! and how safe!"

"You astound me," said the Colonel. "Was that unfortunate

gentleman one of the - " He was about to say "victims"; but

bethinking himself in time, he substituted - "members of the club?"

In the same flash of thought, it occurred to him that Mr. Malthus

himself had not at all spoken in the tone of one who is in love

with death; and he added hurriedly:

"But I perceive I am still in the dark. You speak of shuffling and

dealing; pray for what end? And since you seem rather unwilling to

die than otherwise, I must own that I cannot conceive what brings

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