" 'See a pin and pick it up, and all the day you'll have good luck,' " he quoted, not without jocularity. "My old mother taught me that years ago, and I've never been able to resist—"
"Stow the gab," said H.M., "and gimme."
Masters handed it over.
Holding the pin in his mouth, H.M. reached into his pocket and took out a box of matches. Squinting, he held the pin by the head in his left hand, and carefully moved the match-flame over it from end to end.
"I hope our friend Rich," he grunted, "sterilized that pin before he used it on Mrs. Fane?"
"He didn't, that I remember," said Ann.
"So? Careless. And blinkin' dangerous too. Now watch closely, and the old man'll give you a demonstration."
Holding his left forearm against his leg so that the skin was taut, H.M. searched for a place in the upper side of the forearm. He set the point of the pin there, and with a quick push drove it to the head in his arm.
Everyone had instinctively stiffened in protest. It formed a grotesque contrast: the late afternoon sunshine, the quiet green lawn with the white clock-golf numerals, and the push that drove steel into flesh.
"Brr!" said Ann, moving her shoulders. "But you didn't jump?"