"I have it with me," continued the odd pedlar; "and as for price--"
The stranger made a gesture indicating dismissal of all sordid
details. "I look for my reward in watching the result of the
experiment. I am something of a philosopher. I take an interest in
these matters. See." The stranger dived between his legs and
produced from his pack a silver flask of cunning workmanship and laid
it on the table.

"Its flavour is not unpleasant," explained the stranger. "A little
bitter; but one does not drink it by the goblet: a wineglassful, such
as one would of old Tokay, while the mind of both is fixed on the same
thought: 'May my soul pass into him, may his pass into me!' The
operation is quite simple: the secret lies within the drug." The
stranger patted the quaint flask as though it had been some little
dog.

"You will say: 'Who will exchange souls with Nicholas Snyders?'" The
stranger appeared to have come prepared with an answer to all
questions. "My friend, you are rich; you need not fear. It is the
possession men value the least of all they have. Choose your soul and
drive your bargain. I leave that to you with one word of counsel
only: you will find the young readier than the old--the young, to
whom the world promises all things for gold. Choose you a fine, fair,
fresh, young soul, Nicholas Snyders; and choose it quickly. Your hair
is somewhat grey, my friend. Taste, before you die, the joy of
living."

The strange pedlar laughed and, rising, closed his pack. Nicholas
Snyders neither moved nor spoke, until with the soft clanging of the
massive door his senses returned to him. Then, seizing the flask the