broad effects, I like the miniature and the well-drawn etching."
"Which makes us a very happy combination," said Peterson, rising and walking over to the bath. "The pearls, don't forget, are your job. The big thing"—he turned to the other, and a trace of excitement came into his voice—"the big thing is mine." Then with his hands in his pockets he stood staring at the brown liquid. "Our friend is nearly cooked, I think."
"Another two or three minutes," said Lakington, joining him. "I must confess I pride myself on the discovery of that mixture. Its only drawback is that it makes murder too easy…."
The sound of the door opening made both men swing round instantly; then Peterson stepped forward with a smile.
"Back, my dear? I hardly expected you so soon."
Irma came a little way into the room, and stopped with a sniff of disgust.
"What a horrible smell!" she remarked. "What on earth have you been doing?"
"Disposing of a corpse," said Lakington. "It's nearly finished."
The girl threw off her opera cloak, and coming forward, peered over the edge of the bath.
"It's not my ugly soldier?" she cried.
"Unfortunately not," returned Lakington grimly; and Peterson laughed.
"Henry is most annoyed, Irma. The irrepressible Drummond has scored again."
In a few words he told the girl what had happened, and she clapped her hands together delightedly.
