The League of Frightened Men

The Harrison demise is out, you'll never tie that up. And I'm telling you that the same goes for Dreyer, unless you get Leopold Elkus down here and perform an operation on him. You've got to find a hole in his story and open it up, or we're licked. What the hell are we waiting for?

It's all right for you, you can keep occupied, you've got a book to read – what the devil is it, anyhow?"

I got up to take a squint at it, a dark gray cover stamped in gold: The Chasm of the Mind, by Andrew Hibbard. I grunted.

"Huh, maybe that's where he is, maybe • he fell in." I "Long ago." Wolfe sighed. "Poor Hibbard, he couldn't exclude his poetic tendencies even from his title. Any more than Chapin can exclude his savagery I from his plots."

I dropped back into my chair. "Listen, | boss." There was nothing he hated more I than being called boss. "I'm beginning to ^L catch on. I suppose Dr. Burton has written books too, and Byron, and maybe Dreyer, and of course Mike Ayers. I'll take the roadster and drive out to Pike County for a little duck hunting, and when you get caught up with your reading just wire me care of Cleve Sturgis and I'll mosey back and we'll tackle this murder case. And take it easy, take your time; if you eat the apple after it is too ripe you'll get ptomaine poisoning or erysipelas or something, at least I hope to God you will." I was glaring at him, with no result except to make me feel like a sap, because he merely shut his eyes so as not to see me. I got up from my chair and glared anyhow. "Damn it, all I'm asking for is just a little halfway co-operation! One little lousy cablegram to that Roman wop!

I ask you, should I have to work myself into turmoil – now what the hell do you want?"

The last was for Fritz. He had appeared 1" the door. He was frowning, because he "ever liked to hear me yell at Wolfe, and I I frowned back at him. Then I saw someone standing behind him and I let the frown go and said:

"Come on in, Orrie. What's the loot?"

I turned to Wolfe and smoothed my voice out and opened up the respect: "He phoned a while ago and said he had got hold of something he wanted to show us. I told you, but you were engrossed in your book."

Orrie Gather had a bundle about the size of a small suitcase, wrapped in brown paper and tied with heavy string.

I said, "I hope it's books."

He shook his head.."It's not heavy enough for books." He set it down on the desk and looked around, and I shoved up a chair for him.

"What is it?"