He smiled. "You are helpless, bound by your bravery, you fool!"
And Comstock, considering the matter wondered if The Grandfather was right. One Achilles heel alone remained to attack. Could a coward foresee rashness, foolhardy bravery? Or would a coward be unable to intuitively foresee such an action, to grapple with it; not that he, Comstock, was brave.
Only one other way occurred to Comstock in which the matter could be tested.
Leaning his upper trunk as far forward as his bonds would allow, he said slowly, throwing his words into the teeth of the bearded man who faced him, "You are a liar."
It is an understatement to say that The Grandfather was surprised. His face was absolutely blank as he repeated the word, "Liar?" questioningly.
Comstock was aware in the lengthening silence of the immobility of the single-eyed muzzles of the stun-guns which surrounded him. Not since he had opened his eyes in that singular room had one of the guns so much as twitched.
"Surely," Comstock said. "For instance, there is no one behind any of the guns that seem to menace me."
Lean fingers were busy caressing the silken hairs of the beard that cascaded down The Grandfather's chest. The gaunt face surrounded by the aureole of hair was intent. "How?" he asked, "could you tell that?"
"Because I am really a coward." Comstock said almost boldly. "And I know that no coward could really take the chance that an involuntary tightening of a trigger finger, caused, perhaps by a sneeze, could and would mean death. And I know too that it takes courage of a sort to talk about one's own cowardice. For instance, I find this that I am saying very difficult. That little prepared speech you delivered convinced me of only one thing. You are not afraid of anything."