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smaller man screamed when she tightened the ropes at his ankle, but she didn't turn a hair.
"She said, 'Why the hell did you mess up the response in the bar when I asked you about
baseball? And why the hell didn't you bring people with you? I admit you're a pint - sized
windmill, but couldn't you have brought one backup?'
"Well, I don't really expect gratitude, but - I said, 'Lady, I don't know what you're talking
about. I don't know about the baseball bit, and I don't go about in squadrons." "She looked at
me sharply. "Don't move. I'm making a phone call.'
"'The police?'
"'After a fashion.'
"She went into the other room to call. For privacy, I suppose. She trusted me to stay where I
was and do nothing. Or thought me stupid enough to do so. I didn't mind. I wasn't through
resting.
"When she came back, she said, "You're not one of us. What was that remark about
baseball?'
"I said, 'I don't know who us is, but I'm not one of anybody. My remark about baseball was a
remark. What else?'
"She said, 'Then how - Well, you had better leave. There's no need for you to be mixed up in
this. I'll take care of everything. Get out and walk some distance before you hail a taxi. If a
car pulls up at this building while you're within earshot, don't turn around and for God's sake,
don't come back.'
"She was pushing and I was out in the yard when she said, "But at least you knew what I
was telling you in the bar. I am glad you were here and waiting.'
"At last! Gratitude! I said, "Lady, I don't know what - ' but the door was closed behind me.
"I made it over very quickly to my friend's apartment. He said nothing about my being an
hour late or being a little the worse for wear and I said nothing about what had happened.
"And what did happen was nothing. I never heard a thing. No repercussions. And that's why
it's an unsatisfactory story. I don't know who the people were, what they were doing, what it
was all about - 1 don't know whether I was helping the good guys or the bad guys, or whether
there were any good guys involved. I may have bumped into two competing bands of
terrorists playing with each other.
"But that's the story about my faking a knowledge of baseball."
When Just was done, a flat and rather unpleasant silence hung over the room, a silence that
seemed to emphasize that for the first time in living memory a guest had told a rather long
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story without ever having been interrupted.
Finally, Trumbull heaved a weary sigh and said, "I trust you won't be offended, Mr. Just, if I
tell you that I think you are pulling our leg. You've invented a very dramatic story for our
benefit, and you've entertained us - me, at least - but I can't accept it."
Just shrugged, and didn't seem offended. "I've embroidered it a little, polished it up a bit -
I'm a writer, after all - but it's true enough."
Avalon cleared his throat. "Mr. Just, Tom Trumbull is sometimes hasty in coming to
conclusions but in this case I am forced to agree with him. As you say, you're a writer. I'm
sorry to say I have read none of your works but I imagine you write what are called tough -
guy detective stories."
"As a matter of fact, I don't," said Just, with composure. "I have written four novels that are, I
hope, realistic, but are not unduly violent."
"It's a fact, Jeff," said Rubin, grinning.
Gonzalo said, "Do you believe him, Manny?"
Rubin shrugged. "I've never found Darius to be a liar, and I know something happened, but
it's hard for a writer to resist the temptation to fictionalize for effect. Forgive me, Darius, but I
wouldn't swear to how much of it was true."
Just sighed. "Well, just for the record, is there anyone here who believes I told you what
actually happened?"
The Black Widowers sat in an embarrassed silence, and then there was a soft cough from
the direction of the sideboard.
"I hesitate to intrude, gentlemen," said Henry, "but despite the over - romantic nature of the
story, it seems to me there is a chance that it is true."
"A chance?" said Just, smiling. "Thank you, waiter."
"Don't underestimate the waiter," said Trumbull, stiffly. "If he thinks there is a chance the
story is true, I'm prepared to revise my opinion. - What's your reasoning, Henry?"
"If the story were fiction, Mr. Trumbull, it would be neatly tied. This one has an interesting
loose end which, if it makes sense, cannot be accidental. - Mr. Just, just at the end of the
story, you told us that the woman remarked at her relief that you knew what she was telling
you in the bar. What had she told you?"
Just said, "This is a loose end, because she didn't tell me a damn thing. I could easily make
something up, if I weren't telling the truth."
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