Death Makes a Mistake

"I don't know how it happened," Mr. Demise said miserably. "All I can say is I'm sorry." "Fine thing," Reggie said stuffily. "Mess up your job like this and then say you're sorry. I'd advise, Demise, that you lay off the liquor when you're supposed to be working." "I will in the future," Mr. Demise said humbly. "See that you do," Reggie said sternly. "Now I'd say you'd better get to work on that first assignment." "Yes, I will," Mr. Demise said. With drooping shoulders he moved slowly to the door. With his hand on the knob he turned again to Reggie. "I hate to be a pest," he said, "but I'm afraid I don't know how to go about this job. Maybe you could help me. Where can I find this fellow?" Reggie chuckled and began to mix himself a drink. "I'd advise you to try Berchtesgaden," he said. "Just ask anyone you meet. They'll tell you where you can find Adolf Hitler." "Thank you," Mr. Demise said gratefully. "I won't slip up on this one." "See that you don't," Reggie said.