The League of Frightened Men

Chapin's lips twisted. "I am as grateful as you would expect me to be. So we needn't waste time on that. May I have the gloves?"

"You may. – Archie, if you please. To me."

I got the gloves from a drawer of my desk and handed them across to Wolfe.

He came forward in his chair to place them in front of him on his own desk, one neatly on top of the other, and to smooth them out. Chapin's gaze was fastened on the gloves. Wolfe leaned back and sighed again. ^ "You know, Mr. Chapin, I never got to use them. I retained them, from your box, to demonstrate a point Monday evening by showing how nearly they fitted Mr.

Bowen, thus explaining how Dora Chapin – your wife – could mistake Mr.

Bowen's gloves for a pair of Mrs.

Burton's; but since he wilted like a

Dendrobium with root-rot there was no occasion for it. Now" – Wolfe wiggled a finger – ‹I don't expect you to believe this, but it is nevertheless true that I halfway suspected that your knowledge of the contents of your box was intimate enough to make you aware of the absence of any fraction of the inventory; so I did not return these. I kept them. I wanted to see you."

Paul Chapin, saying nothing, took a hand from his walking-stick and reached out for the gloves. Wolfe shook his head and pulled them back a little. The cripple tossed his head up.

"Just a morsel of patience, Mr. Chapin.

I wanted to see you because I had an apology to make. I am hoping that you will accept it."

"I came for my gloves. You may keep the apology."

"But, my dear sir!" Wolfe wiggled a finger again. "Permit me at least to describe my offense. I wish to apologize for forging your name."

Chapin lifted his brows. Wolfe turned to me:

"A copy of the confession, Archie."

I went to the safe and got it and gave it to him. He unfolded it and handed it across to the cripple. I sat down and grinned at Wolfe, but he pretended not to notice; he leaned back with his eyes half closed, laced his fingers at his belly, and sighed.

Chapin read the confession twice. He first glanced at it indifferently and ran through it rapidly, then took a squint at Wolfe, twisted his lips a little, and read the confession all over again, not nearly so fast.

He tossed it over to the desk.

"Fantastic," he declared. "Set down that way, prosaically, baldly, it sounds fantastic. Doesn't it?"

Wolfe nodded. "It struck me, Mr.