"Not in the slightest."
Rath frowned deeply, started to say something, and stopped. He turned
to Follansby and Haskins. "Get that machine out of here. I'll have a
few things to say to you at the store."
The manager and the clerk lifted the Regenerator and left.
Rath took a deep breath. "Mr. Caswell, I would strongly advise that you
accept a new Regenerator from the Company, gratis. Unless a cure is
effected in a proper mechanotherapeutic manner, there is always the
danger of a setback."
"No danger with me," Caswell said, airily but with deep conviction.
"Thank you for your consideration, sir. And good night."
Rath shrugged and walked to the door.
"Wait!" Caswell called.
Rath turned. Caswell had taken his hand out of his pocket. In it was a
revolver. Rath felt sweat trickle down his arms. He calculated the
distance between himself and Caswell. Too far.
"Here," Caswell said, extending the revolver butt-first. "I won't need
this any longer."
Rath managed to keep his face expressionless as he accepted the
revolver and stuck it into a shapeless pocket.
"Good night," Caswell said. He closed the door behind Rath and bolted
it.
At last he was alone.
Caswell walked into the kitchen. He opened a bottle of beer, took a
deep swallow and sat down at the kitchen table. He stared fixedly at a
point just above and to the left of the clock.
He had to form his plans now. There was no time to lose.
Magnessen! That inhuman monster who cut down the Caswell goricae!
Magnessen! The man who, even now, was secretly planning to infect New
York with the abhorrent feem desire! Oh, Magnessen, I wish you a long,
long life, filled with the torture I can inflict on you. And to start
with....
Caswell smiled to himself as he planned exactly how he would dwark
Magnessen in a vlendish manner.