The three men crowded around Number Seven, and watched the emergence of paper from the typewriter as the keys tapped the words into lines, and the carriage shifted. Ludwig, at first, showed only the pleasure which any writer feels on re-reading a good piece of work. Gradually, his face changed. He looked puzzled, uncertain, and then his skin reddened with anger.
"He looked puzzled, uncertain, and then his skin reddened with anger."
The automatic knife chopped down and severed the completed page. Ludwig scooped it up from the basket and read the page a second time. He raised his eyes to meet the tense gaze of Carre.
"Is this what you were trying to tell me, Herbert?"
"That sort of thing. Yes."
"Is something wrong, Commissioner?" said Hartridge. "I thought you'd be pleased."
"Pleased? But this is something I never wrote!"