Leaves of three

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It had puzzled him for the longest time until he of three finally figured it out. They were exploring another possible lead on the assassin teams. If the teams were, in fact, using special weapons, someone was supplying them.
Farmers? You know. Country people. Always up before dawn, asleep with the chickens. Nicholas grunted a vague acknowledgment of the remark as he pulled on his boots.
Then there shouldn't be any problems between us. Phule smiled. Really, Chief. I didn't come in here to pick a fight with you or to try to bribe you or anyone on your force for special considerations.
He was on the verge of despair when the wheel creaked and turned. A panel moved aside, revealing a sequence of brightly leaves of lit buttons behind. He fingered them in the sequence he'd memorized.
He heard a persistent sound that seemed to nag at the edge of his consciousness. He frowned, his eyes still closed, trying to identify the sound. And then he remembered.
Just flex your hand inside that thing . . . you could do someone, including yourself, an injury. It's what's known in the trade as a Wamphyri battle gauntlet.
It took a long three time before the door opened, but when it did, he saw a tall, thin man with ruddy cheeks, dark eyebrows, and piercing blue eyes which evaluated him with a mixture of curiosity and studied calm.