He was careful to "leave no black plume as a token." And now there was not a vestige left of his past nefarious traffic.
"Timmins can do no harm now," sneeringly laughed Fritz Braun.

"For I carry these things in my head, and he must trust to some member of the craft.

What blockheads these fat-witted English practitioners are." Braun's hollow laugh echoed from behind the flowing false beard, as he read over the faded prescriptions he had idly picked up.

It was a powerful agent of evil--a tool of the deadly thug.
"By God! I may need this old friend.

How did I come to forget it?
It may purchase my safety, or else give some poor devil peace and rest." "My last appearance on any stage," he muttered, as his hands were soon busied with the familiar phials around him.