Paul Chapin had us going all right. As his right hand came around behind him and his fingers started under the edge of his dinner coat, there were two or three cries of warning from the group, and I took it on the jump. With my momentum and him balanced against his walkingstick, I damn near toppled him over, but I had my grip on his right wrist and saved him from a tumble. With my left hand I jerked the gat from his hip pocket.
'Archie!' Wolfe snapped at me.
'Release Mr. Chapin.'; i r
I let go his wrist. Wolfe was still snapping: 'Give him back his – article.'
I looked at the gat. It was a thirty-two, an old veteran, and a glance showed me it wasn't loaded. Paul Chapin, his lightcolored eyes having no look in them at all, held out his hand. I put the gun in it and he let it sit there on his palm as if it was a dish of applesauce.
Wolfe said, 'Confound you, Archie.
You have deprived Mr. Chapin of the opportunity for a dramatic and effective gesture. I know, Mr. Chapin. I am sorry.
May I see the gun?'
Chapin handed it to him and he looked it over. He threw the cylinder out and back, cocked it, snapped the trigger, and looked it over again. He said, 'An ugly weapon. It terrifies me. Guns always do.
May I show it to Mr. Goodwin?'
Chapin shrugged his shoulders, and
Wolfe handed the gat to me. I took it under my light and gave it a few warm glances; cocked it, saw what Wolfe had seen, and grinned. Then I looked up and saw Paul Chapin's eyes on me and stopped grinning. You could still have said there was no look in them, but behind them was something I wouldn't have cared to bring into plain sight. I handed him the gun, and he stuck it back into his hip pocket. He said, half to me and half to Wolfe, in an easy tone:› ‹'That's it, you see. The effect is psychological. I learned a good deal about psychology from my friend Andy Hibbard.'
There were ejaculations. George Pratt stepped to Chapin and glared at him.
Pratt's hands were working at his sides as he stammered, 'You – you snake! If you weren't a goddam cripple I'd knock you so far I'll say you'd be harmless -'
Chapin showed no alarm. 'Yes,
George. And what made me a goddam cripple?'
Pratt didn't retreat. 'I helped to, once.
Sure I did. That was an accident, we all have 'em, maybe not as bad as yours.
Christ, can't you ever forget it? Is there no man in you at all? Has your brain got twisted -' j 'No. Man? No.' Chapin cut him off, and smiled at him with his mouth. He looked around at the others. 'You fellows are all men though. Aren't you? Every one. God bless you. That's an idea, depend on God's blessing. Try it. I tried it once. Now I must ask you to excuse me.'
He turned to Wolfe. 'Good evening, sir.
I'll go. Thank you for your courtesy. I trust I haven't put too great a strain on your intelligence.' ^ He inclined his head to Wolfe and to me, turned and made off. His stick had thumped three times on the rug when he was halted by Wolfe's voice:
'Mr. Chapin. I almost forgot. May I ask you for a very few minutes more?
Just a small -'
Nicholas Cabot's voice broke in, 'For
God's sake, Wolfe, let him go -'
'Please, Mr. Cabot. May I, gentlemen?
Just a small favor, Mr. Chapin. Since you are innocent of any ill intent, and as anxious as we are to see your friends' difficulties removed, I trust you will help me in a little test. I know it will seem nonsensical to you, quite meaningless, but I should like to try it. Would you help me out?'
Chapin had turned. I thought he looked careful. He said, 'Perhaps. What is it?'
'Quite simple. You use a typewriter, I suppose?'
'Of course. I type all my manuscripts myself.'
'We have a typewriter here. Would you be good enough to sit at Mr. Goodwin's desk and type something at my dictation?' ^Why should I?' He hesitated, and was certainly being careful now. He looked around and saw twelve pairs of eyes at him; then he smiled and said easily, 'But | for that matter, why shouldn't I?' He limped back towards me.
I pulled the machine up into position, inserted a sheet of paper, got up, and held my chair for him. He shook his head and I moved away, and he leaned his stick up against the desk and got himself into the chair, shoving his bum leg under with his hand. Nobody was saying a word. He looked around at Wolfe and said, 'I'm not very fast. Shall I double-space it?'
'I would say, single-space. In that way it will most nearly resemble the original.
Are you ready?' Wolfe suddenly and unexpectedly put volume and depth into his voice: 'Ye should have killed me – comma – watched the last mean sigh -ff There was complete silence. It lasted ten seconds. Then Chapin's fingers moved and the typewriter clicked, firm and fast. I followed the words on it. It got through the first three, but at the fourth it faltered. It stopped at the second / in killed, stopped completely. There was silence again. You could have heard a feather falling. The sounds that broke it came from Paul Chapin. He moved with no haste but with a good deal of finality.
