'Good.' Wolfe gulped beer and wiped, his lips. 'You are offended. So, probably, awake. My opening remark was in the nature of a comment on a recent fact.
You will remember that last month you were away for ten days on a mission that proved to be highly unremunerative, and that during your absence two young men were here to perform your duties.'
I nodded. I grinned. One of the men had been from the Metropolitan Agency as Wolfe's bodyguard, and the other had been a stenographer from Miller's.
'Sure.Two could handle it on a sprint.'
'Just so. On one of those days a man came here and asked me to intercept his destiny. He didn't put it that way, but that was the substance of it. It proved not feasible to accept his commission…'
I had opened a drawer of my desk and taken out a loose-leaf binder, and I flipped through the sheets in it to the page I wanted. 'Yes, sir. I've got it. I've read it twice. It's a bit spotty, the stenographer from Miller's wasn't so hot. He couldn't spell-'
'The name was Hibbard.'
I nodded, glancing over the typewritten pages, 'Andrew Hibbard. Instructor in psychology at Columbia. It was on October twentieth, a Saturday, that's two weeks ago today.'
'Suppose you read it.'
'Viva voce?'
'Archie.' Wolfe looked at me. 'Where did you pick that up, where did you learn to pronounce it, and what do you think it means?' kj 'Do you want me to read this stuff out loud, sir?'
'It doesn't mean out loud. Confound you.' Wolfe emptied his glass, leaned back in his chair, got his fingers to meet in front of his belly and laced them.
'Proceed.'
'Okay. First there's a description of
Mr. Hibbard. Small gentleman, around fifty f pointed nose, dark eyes -ff 'Enough. For that I can plunder my memory.'
'Yes, sir. Mr. Hibbard seems to have started out by saying, How do you do, sir, my name is -'
'Pass the amenities.'
I glanced down the page. 'How will this do? Mr. Hibbard said, I was advised to come to you by a friend whose name need not be mentioned, but the motivating force was plain funk. I was driven here by fear.
Wolfe nodded. I read from the typewritten sheets:
Mr. Wolfe: Yes. Tell me about it.
Mr. Hibbard: My card has told you, I am in the psychology department at Columbia. Since you are an expert, you probably observe on my face and in my bearing the stigmata of fright bordering on panic, o Mr. Wolfe: I observe that you are upset. I have no means of knowing whether it is chronic or acute.
Mr. Hibbard: It is chronic. At least it is becoming so. That is why I have resorted to… to you. I am under an intolerable strain. My life is in danger… no, not that, worse than that, my life has been forfeited. I admit it.
Mr. Wolfe: Of course. Mine too, sir.
All of us.
Mr. Hibbard: Rubbish. Excuse me. I am not discussing original sin. Mr. Wolfe, I am going to be killed. A man is going to kill me.
Mr. Wolfe: Indeed. When? How? ^
Wolfe put in, 'Archie. You may delete the Misters.'
'Okay. This Miller boy was brought up right, he didn't miss one. Somebody told him, always regard your employer with respect forty-four hours a week, more or less, as the case may be. Well. Next we have: i§1 • • Hibbard: That I can't tell you, since I don't know. There are things about this / do know, also, which I must keep to myself. I can tell you… well… many years ago I inflicted an injury, a lasting injury, on a man. I was not alone, there were others in it, but chance made me chiefly responsible. At least I have so regarded it. It was a boyish prank… with a tragic outcome. I have never forgiven myself. Neither have the others who were concerned in it, at least most of them haven't. Not that I have ever been morbid about it – it was twenty-five years ago – I am a psychologist and therefore too involved in the morbidities of others to have room for any of my own. Well, we injured that boy. We ruined him. In effect. Certainly we felt the responsibility, and all through these twenty-five years some of us have had the idea of making up for it. We have acted on the idea – sometimes. You know how it is; we are busy men, most of us. But we have never denied the burden, and now and then some of us have tried to carry it. That was difficult, for pawn – that is, as the boy ^advanced into manhood he became increasingly peculiar. I learned that in the lower schools he had given evidence of talent, and certainly in college – that is to say, of my own knowledge, after the injury, he possessed brilliance. Later the brilliance perhaps remained, but became distorted. At a certain point – Wolfe interrupted me. 'A moment. Go back a few sentences. Beginning that was difficult, for pawn – did you say pawn?'
I found it. 'That's it. Pawn. I don't get it.'
'Neither did the stenographer.
Proceed.'
At a certain point, some five years ago, I decided definitely he was psychopathic. v Wolfe: You continued to know him then?
