So far Nicholas had discovered the new skin he was compelled to don to be the only serious disadvantage attached to his office.  It was tight-fitting, coated with monkey-like hair, and covered him entirely, the face being disguised under an attached mask with a flat nose and patches of hair.  The skin laced down the spine, but the laces were artfully hidden under the fur.

At least Nickie was leading man of the small company.  Ammonia (whose cage adjoined the more sumptuous one in which Nickie was exhibited, and whose open jealousy of Mahdi was a source of no little inconvenience to Nickie the Kid) was an item of considerable interest, but the Link was the culminating point of the monkey’s progress the climax, so to speak, and he enjoyed great popularity and many nuts.  Possibly the nuts were the true source of Ammonia’s dislike.

Nickie the Kid had been three days figuring as the star of Professor Thunder’s Museum of Marvels, and was growing accustomed to his suit, and to the situation.  The Professor himself was a born vagabond, and his wife, Madame Marve, the somewhat plump prophetess, who read fortunes, and was mistress of the educated pig, had the Gipsy instinct and took life easily.  Nickie had a good deal in common with both, and they promised to be a happy family.

In his proudest moments Professor Thunder was not likely to overestimate the intrinsic value of the Missing Link as he stood, for tucked away under the singlet that lay between him and his hairy simian cuticle was a store of treasure with the product of which Nicholas Crips dreamed of living a life of ease and luxury when certain matters had blown over and it was wise for him to resume his proper place in the animal creation.

The murder in Briggs’s Building had stirred up a tremendous sensation, but as yet no one had thought of associating either the Rev. Andrew Rowbottom or the tall, fashionably-dressed lady with the crime.

The show was not yet open for the evening, and Mahdi, the Missing Link, was permitted the privilege of free speech, denial of which was one of the most painful disadvantages of his public career.

“Well, how’re yeh likin’ th’ grip, Nickie?” asked Matty Cann, otherwise Bonypart the living skeleton.

“It is not exacting.” said the Missing Link, dreamily, “but it has its drawbacks to a man accustomed to finding favour with the ladies.”

“Drawbacks,” exclaimed Bonypart.  “What price living skelingtons?  You wouldn’t believe it, but I’m considered rather a fine man in flesh.  It almost breaks my poor wife’s ‘eart t’ see me in such redooced circumstances.  I tell yeh I never thought I’d come clown t’ this.”

Nickie peered at the living skeleton from his cage.  “I believe being a missing link has its advantages.” he said.  “After all, a missing link does have time off, but a living skeleton has no relaxations.”

“Dry up, Mahdi, an’ get on your perch,” cried Madame Thunder, “The Professor’s openin’ up.”