Church screwed up his face, then quit in disgust. "Isn’t worth the trouble," he mumbled and shuffled off into the shadows. There was a distant slamming of metal drawers. Church returned with a compact nodule of tarnished steel and placed it on the counter alongside the money. He pressed a stud and the lump of metal sprang open into steel knucklerings, revolver, and stiletto. It was a XXth Century knife-pistol ... the quintessence of murder.