"Would she know all about Bruce's papers?" Clayton fired the query like a policeman. "Don't stall, you damned Edwardian. I know she was his mistress." "I don't happen to like that word in that particular connection," said Kintyre gently. "However--she hadn't seen all of Bruce's letters and notes. He kept them in a couple of cardboard filing boxes. They didn't seem even to have been opened, though." "Did you look in to make sure?" "No. Should we have?" "I guess not." Clayton rubbed his chin. "No, I wouldn't bother. Because the burglar was evidently looking for something he thought might be in the apartment, but which wasn't. Something that might be in a desk or a bureau drawer, but was too large to fit into a filing box or a--any such thing." "As what?" challenged Kintyre. He had already guessed the answer: "The Book of Witches is a fairly big volume." Kintyre nodded. He was on the point of repeating what Margery had said to him, when they stood in the ruins after the police had gone. * * * * * She poured herself a drink with shaking hands. A sunbeam splashed pale copper in her still tousled hair. She said: "That bastard. That crawling bastard. Why didn't I tell the cops?" "Who?" "Owens, of course! Who d'you think would come sneaking in here? What might we have of any use to anybody, except that old book Bruce was studying--the one that could torpedo Owens and his big movie sale and his precious reputation. Owens came in here to try and find that book and take it and burn it!" She tossed off her drink neat, poured another and glared at Kintyre. "Well?" she snarled. "Well, it's a serious accusation to make," he replied. "Serious my left buttock! You know what that snake already tried to do? He tried to bribe Bruce! Bruce told me about it. Friday after that stag party, Owens came to his office and talked all around the subject and--oh, he was pious-sounding enough about it, he knows his euphemisms. But he offered Bruce five thousand dollars to suppress his findings about witches in Italy. Five thousand bucks--Christ, the movies can pay him a quarter of a million!" "I take it, then, you're insulted by the size of the bribe." The attempt to jolly her didn't come off. She said viciously: "Bruce boiled over. He was still boiling when he came home. He told Owens to his face, he'd write an article about his research the minute he returned from your pack trip--he'd inform the newspapers, so the whole public could know the truth--Bob!" It was a scream in her throat. "What is it?" he cried, turning toward her in alarm. "Bob--do you think.... Oh, no, Bob!" * * * * * "What's the matter?" asked Clayton. Kintyre shook himself. "Nothing. The manuscript is still with us, naturally," he said in a flat voice. "Bruce kept it in his office. I stopped by today and locked it in a safe." "Owens--"