“Here, Colonel,” I said, “I might as well do this while we’re waiting. Where shall I put it?”
Ryder scowled at me. “I said you could keep it.”
“I know, but I have no place to keep it except my room at Mr. Wolfe’s house, and that won’t do. I caught him tinkering with it last night. I’m afraid he’ll hurt himself.”
Everybody looked at Wolfe. He said testily, “You know Major Goodwin, don’t you? I wouldn’t touch the thing. Nor will I have it on my premises.”
I nodded regretfully. “So the cat came back.”
Ryder picked it up and glanced at the safety, saw it was secure, and then suddenly he was out of his chair and on his feet, straight as a Rockette, as the door opened and Sergeant Dorothy Bruce’s voice came to us, clipped and military: “General Fife!”
When the general had entered she backed out again, taking the door along. Of course by that time the rest of us were Rocketteing too. He returned our salute, crossed to shake hands and exchange greetings with John Bell Shattuck, and, after another sharp glance around, stretched an arm and pointed a finger at Ryder’s left hand.
“What the devil are you doing with that thing?” he demanded. “Playing catch?”
Ryder’s hand came up holding the grenade. “Major Goodwin just returned it, sir.”
“Isn’t it one of those H14’s?”
“Yes, sir. As you know, he found them. I gave him permission to keep one.”
“You did? I didn’t. Did I?”
“No, sir.”