Boyd Duncan's answer was couched in terms of bunched knuckles, two bunches of them, that landed right and left on Captain Dettmar's face. Captain Dettmar staggered backward, recovered, and rushed with swinging arms at his employer, only to be met with a blow squarely between the eyes. This time the Captain went down, bearing the typewriter under him as he crashed to the floor. “This is not permissible,” Consul Lingford spluttered. “I beg of you, I beg of you, to desist.” “I'll pay the damages to office furniture,” Duncan answered, and at the same time landing more bunched knuckles on the eyes and nose of Dettmar. Consul Lingford bobbed around in the turmoil like a wet hen, while his office furniture went to ruin. Once, he caught Duncan by the arm, but was flung back, gasping, half-across the room. Another time he appealed to Minnie. “Mrs. Duncan, won't you, please, please, restrain your husband?” But she, white-faced and trembling, resolutely shook her head and watched the fray with all her eyes. “It is outrageous,” Consul Lingford cried, dodging the hurtling bodies of the two men. “It is an affront to the Government, to the United States Government. Nor will it be overlooked, I warn you. Oh, do pray desist, Mr. Duncan. You will kill the man. I beg of you. I beg, I beg...” But the crash of a tall vase filled with crimson hibiscus blossoms left him speechless. The time came when Captain Dettmar could no longer get up. He got as far as hands and knees, struggled vainly to rise further, then collapsed. Duncan stirred the groaning wreck with his foot. “He's all right,” he announced. “I've only given him what he has given many a sailor and worse.” “Great heavens, sir!” Consul Lingford exploded, staring horror-stricken at the man whom he had invited to lunch. Duncan giggled involuntarily, then controlled himself. “I apologize, Mr. Lingford, I most heartily apologize. I fear I was slightly carried away by my feelings.” Consul Lingford gulped and sawed the air speechlessly with his arms. “Slightly, sir? Slightly?” he managed to articulate. “Boyd,” Minnie called softly from the doorway. He turned and looked. “You ARE a joy,” she said. “And now, Mr. Lingford, I am done with him,” Duncan said. “I turn over what is left to you and the law.” “That?” Consul Lingford queried, in accent of horror. “That,” Boyd Duncan replied, looking ruefully at his battered knuckles. WAR