“Ted, listen—oh listen, damn you! What's the use of acting the chivalrous fool, now? Don't you see? Don't you understand? Don't you get it that if you leave she can explain it some way or other—that all you're doing by staying is ruining yourself and Elinor for a point of honor that hasn't any honor to it?”
“Oh sure. Sure. But listen to him—why great God, Ollie, if he has a gun he might kill her—probably will—Don't you see it's just because I hate the whole business now—and her—and myself—th'at I've got to stick it out? You go, Ollie, it's none of your business—”
“You go. You blessed idiot, there's no use of both of us smashing. If anybody's got to stay—I can bluff it out a good deal better than you can—trust me—”
“Oh rats. Not that it isn't very decent of you, Ollie, it is—and you'd do it—but I wouldn't even be a person to let you—”
They were both on their feet, talking in jerks, ears strained for every sound from that other room.
“It's perfectly simple—nobody's going to pull any gunplay—good Lord, imagine poor old Mr. Piper—” said Oliver uncertainly, and then as noises came to them that meant more than just talking, “Get down that fire-escape!”
“I can't. Let go of me, Ollie. I mustn't Listen—something's up—something bad! Get out of the way there, Ollie, I've got to go in! It isn't your funeral!”
“Well, it isn't going to be yours!” said Oliver through shut teeth—Ted's last remark had, somehow been a little too irritating. He thought savagely that there was only one way of dealing with completely honorable fools—Ted shouldn't, by the Lord!—-Oliver had gone to just a little too much trouble in the last dozen hours to build Ted a happy home to let any of Ted's personal wishes in the matter interrupt him now. He stepped back with a gesture of defeat but his feet gripped at the floor like a boxer's and his eyes fixed burningly on the point of Ted's jaw. Wait a split-second—he wasn't near enough—now—there!
His fist landed exactly where he had meant it to and for an instant he felt as if he had broken all the bones in his hand. Ted was back against the wall, his mouth dropping open, his whole face frozen like a face caught in a snapshot unawares to a sudden glare of immense and ludicrous astonishment. Then he began to give at the knees like a man who has been smitten with pie in a custard-comedy and Oliver recovered from his surprise at both of them sufficiently to step in and catch him as he slumped, face forward.
He laid him carefully down on the floor, trying feverishly to remember how long a knockout lasted. Not nearly long enough, anyway. Ropes. A gag. His eyes roved frantically about the kitchen. Towels!