I snatched up the weapon and dropped by my brother's side, crushing Clubfoot's right arm to the ground. I thrust the pistol in his face.
"Stop that noise!" I commanded.
The German obeyed.
"Better search him, Francis," I said to my brother. "He probably has a Browning on him somewhere."
Francis went through the man's pockets, reaching up and putting each article as it came to light on the desk above him. From an inner breast pocket he extracted the Browning. He glanced at it: the magazine was full with a cartridge in the breech.
"Hadn't we better truss him up?" Francis said to me.
"No," I said. I was still kneeling on the German's arm. He seemed exhausted. His head had fallen back upon the ground.
"Let me up, curse you!" he choked.
"No!" I said again and Francis turned and looked at me.
Each of us knew what was in the other's mind, my brother and I. We were thinking of a hand-clasp we had exchanged on the banks of the Rhine.