Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 02
came here this evening to protect society, I would not dampen the diversion. The question is, how much is it worth to you?”
    Mike Ayers startled all of us with a sudden shout, “Slick old Nick!” and followed it immediately with a falsetto whine, “Nicky darling …” Farrell poked him in the ribs. Someone grumbled, “Gag him.” Butthe glances of two or three others in the direction of Cabot showed that Wolfe was right; the only way to handle that bird was to rub it in.
    A new voice broke in, smooth and easy. “What’s the difference whether we’re scared or not?” It was Edwin Robert Byron, the magazine editor. “I’d just as soon say I’m scared, what’s the difference? It seems to me the point is, what does Mr. Wolfe propose to do about it? Grant him his premise—”
    “Grant hell.” Mike Ayers got up, flinging his arm free of Farrell’s grasp, and started for the table in the alcove. Halfway there he turned and blurted at them, “You’re damned tootin’ we’re scared. We jump at noises and we look behind us and we drop things, you know damn well we do. All of you that didn’t lay awake last night wondering how he got Andy and what he did with him, raise your hands. You’ve heard of our little organization, Wolfe you old faker? The League of Atonement? We’re changing it to the Craven Club, or maybe the League of the White Feather.” He filled his glass and lifted it; I didn’t bother to call to him that he had got hold of the sherry decanter by mistake. “Fellow members! To the League of the White Feather!” He negotiated the drink with one heroic swallow. “You can make mine an ostrich plume.” He scowled, and made a terrific grimace of disgust and indignation. “Who the hell put horse manure in that whiskey?”
    Farrell let out a big handsome guffaw, and Pratt seconded him. Drummond the florist was giggling. Bowen the stockbroker, either bored or looking successfully like it, took out a cigar and cut off the end and lit it. I was over finding the right bottle for Mike Ayers, for I knew he’d have to wash the taste out of his mouth. Lee Mitchell of Boston got to his feet:
    “If I may remark, gentlemen.” He coughed. “Ofcourse I am not one of you, but I am authorized to say that both Mr. Collard and Mr. Gaines are in fact apprehensive, they have satisfied themselves of the standing of Mr. Wolfe, and they are ready to entertain his suggestions.”
    “Good.” Wolfe’s tone cut short the buzz of comment. He turned his eyes to me. “Archie. If you will just pass out those slips.”
    I had them in the top drawer of my desk, twenty copies just in case, and I took them and handed them around. Wolfe had rung for beer and was filling his glass. After he had half emptied it he said:
    “That, as you see, is merely a list of your names with a sum of money noted after each. I can explain it most easily by reading to you a memorandum which I have here … or have I? Archie?”
    “Here it is, sir.”
    “Thank you.—I have dictated it thus; it may be put into formal legal phrasing or not, as you prefer. I would be content to have it an initialed memorandum. For the sake of brevity I have referred to you, those whose names are on the list you have—those absent as well as those present—as
the league.
The memorandum provides:
I undertake to remove from the league all apprehension and expectation of injury from
(a) Paul Chapin
.
(b) The person or persons who sent the metrical typewritten warnings
.
(c) The person or persons responsible for the deaths of Wm. R. Harrison and Eugene Dreyer, and for the disappearance of Andrew Hibbard
.
Decision as to the satisfactory performance ofthe undertaking shall be made by a majority vote of the members of the league
.
The expenses of the undertaking shall be borne by me, and in the event of my failure to perform it satisfactorily the league shall be under no obligation to pay them, nor any other obligation
.
Upon decision that the undertaking has been

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