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Four
anditwasherethatMr.CroupandMr.Vandemarhad,forthepresent,madetheirhome.Thewallsweredamp,andwaterdrippedfromtheceiling.Oddthingsmolderedincorners:someofthemhadoncebeenalive.
Mr.CroupandMr.Vandemarwerekillingtime.Mr.Vandemarhadobtainedfromsomewhereacentipede—areddishorangecreature,almosteightincheslong,withvicious,poisonousfangs—andwaslettingitrunoverhishands,watchingitasittwinedbetweenhisfingers,vanisheduponesleeve,appearedaminutelateroutoftheother.Mr.Croupwasplayingwithrazorblades.Hehadfound,inacorner,awholeboxoffifty-year-oldrazorblades,wrappedinwaxpaper,andhehadbeentryingtothinkofthingstodowiththem.
"IfImighthaveyourattention,MisterVandemar,"hesaid,atlength."Pipeyourbeadyeyesonthis."
Mr.Vandemarheldthecentipede’sheaddelicatelybetweenahugethumbandamassiveforefingertostopitwriggling.HelookedatMr.Croup.
Mr.Croupputhislefthandagainstawall,fingersspread.Hetookfiverazorbladesinhisrighthand,tookcarefulaim,andthrewthematthewall.Eachbladestuckintothewall,betweenMr.Croup’sfingers;itwaslikeatopknife-thrower’sactinminiature.Mr.Crouptookhishandaway,leavingthebladesinthewall,outliningtheplacehisfingershadbeen,andheturnedtohispartnerforapproval.
Mr.Vandemarwasunimpressed."What’ssocleveraboutthat,then?"heasked."Youdidn’tevenhitonefinger."
Mr.Croupsighed."Ididn’t?"hesaid."Well,slitmygullet,you’reright.
