Fer-De-Lance

Corbett had come up, around on the other side of the roadster, and now he stuck his face in at the window and said to Anderson, "If he’s got anything you want I’d be glad to get it for you."

I had my mouth open to invite him formally when I heard my name called. I turned. Skinner had left the hangar and was approaching me; in one hand he had a golf driver and in the other an envelope. I stared at him. He was saying, "I forgot. You’re Mr. Goodwin? Mr. Kimball left these for you."

I got to him and grabbed. The driver! I looked at it, but there was nothing to see; in outward appearance it was just a golf club. But of course it was it. Lovin’ babe! I tucked it under my arm and looked at the envelope; on the outside was written, Mr. Nero Wolfe. It was unsealed, and I pulled out the contents, and had in my hand the set of photostats I had missed from the safe. They were fastened with a paper clip, and slipped under the clip was a piece of paper on which I read: Thank you, Nero Wolf. In appreciation of your courtesy I am leaving a small gift for you.

Manuel Kimball.

I looked up at the sky. The red and blue airplane of the leading character in Wolfe’s charade was still there, higher I thought, circling, with the other plane above. I put the photostats back into the envelope.

Corbett was in front of me. "Here, I’ll take that."

"Oh no. Thanks, I can manage."

He sprang like a cat and I wasn’t expecting it. It was neat. He got the envelope with one hand and the driver with the other. He started for the roadster. Two jumps put me in front of him, and he stopped. I wasn’t monkeying. I said, "Look out, here it comes," and plugged him on the jaw with plenty behind it. He wobbled and dropped his loot, and I let him get his hands up, and then feinted with my left and plugged him again. That time he went down. His boy friend came running up, and Skinner from his side. I turned to meet the boy friend, but Anderson’s voice, with more snap in it than I knew he had, came from the roadster: "Curry! Lay off! Cut it!"

Curry stopped. I stepped back. Corbett got up, glaring wild. Anderson again: "Corbett, you too! Lay off!"

I said, "Not on my account, Mr. Anderson. If they want to play snatch-and-run I’ll take them both on. They need to be taught a little respect for private property."

I stooped to pick up the driver and the envelope. It was while I was bent over, reaching down, that I heard Skinner’s yell.

"Good God! He’s lost it!"