“Yes,” Cappy continued dreamily, “I think I shall give him the thirty-third degree.  You’ll agree with me, Skinner, that if he delivers the blue vase he’ll be worth ten thousand dollars a year as our Oriental manager?”

“I’ll say he will,” Mr. Skinner replied slangily.

“Very well, then.  Arrange matters, Skinner, so that he will be available for me at one o’clock, a week from Sunday.  I’ll attend to the other details.”

Mr. Skinner nodded.  He was still chuckling when he departed for his own office.

* * * * *

V

A week from the succeeding Saturday, Mr. Skinner did not come down to the office, but a telephone message from his home informed the chief clerk that Mr. Skinner was at home and somewhat indisposed.  The chief clerk was to advise Mr. Peck that he, Mr. Skinner, had contemplated having a conference with the latter that day, but that his indisposition would prevent this.  Mr. Skinner hoped to be feeling much better tomorrow, and since he was very desirous of a conference with Mr. Peck before the latter should depart on his next selling pilgrimage, on Monday, would Mr. Peck be good enough to call at Mr. Skinner’s house at one o’clock Sunday afternoon?  Mr. Peck sent back word that he would be there at the appointed time and was rewarded with Mr. Skinner’s thanks, via the chief clerk.

Promptly at one o’clock the following day, Bill Peck reported at the general manager’s house.  He found Mr. Skinner in bed, reading the paper and looking surprisingly well.  He trusted Mr. Skinner felt better than he looked.  Mr. Skinner did, and at once entered into a discussion of the new customers, other prospects he particularly desired Mr. Peck to approach, new business to be investigated, and further details without end.  And in the midst of this conference Cappy Riggs telephoned.

A portable telephone stood on a commode beside Mr. Skinner’s bed, so the latter answered immediately.  Comrade Peck watched Skinner listen attentively for fully two minutes, then heard him say: 

“Mr. Ricks, I’m terribly sorry.  I’d love to do this errand for you, but really I’m under the weather.  In fact, I’m in bed as I speak to you now.  But Mr. Peck is here with me and I’m sure he’ll be very happy to attend to the matter for you.”

“By all means,” Bill Peck hastened to assure the general manager.  “Who does Mr. Ricks want killed and where will he have the body delivered?”

“Hah-hah!  Hah-Hah!” Mr. Skinner had a singularly annoying, mirthless laugh, as if he begrudged himself such an unheard-of indulgence.  “Mr. Peck says,” he informed Cappy, “that he’ll be delighted to attend to the matter for you.  He wants to know whom you want killed and where you wish the body delivered.  Hah-hah!  Hah!  Peck, Mr. Ricks will speak to you.”

Bill Peck took the telephone.  “Good afternoon, Mr. Ricks.”