Gerald Clayton entered, massive in gray, his narrow face wearing only a routine smile. It became more nearly genuine when he saw Kintyre. "Why, hello, there," he said. "What's going on?" Owens threw his opponent a look. _If you don't say anything about this, I won't._ Kintyre held himself expressionless, waiting. "Sit down, Mr. Clayton, do sit down." Owens gestured him to a chair. "I appreciate your coming. I know your time is valuable." The importer seated himself and took out a cigar. Owens hovered around with his pocket flask; the drink was declined. Kintyre leaned against the wall, arms folded, and strove for calm. "I wasn't very busy," said Clayton. "Glad of a chance to get away, in fact." He nodded at Kintyre and explained: "Something came up which forces me to stay in Berkeley at least till tomorrow. But it involves mostly waiting till I can see the person in question. So what did you want, Jabez?" Owens shot another glance at Kintyre, gathered himself, and said: "I wondered if you'd be interested in selling the _Liber Veneficarum_?" Clayton's mouth bent upward, creasing his lean cheeks. "Whatever for?" he asked, almost merrily. "I'm a collector." "Well." Owens sat down on the bed, more at ease now. "You're aware of my argument with Bruce Lombardi. I admit it's possible I was cheated on those letters--" _or commissioned the forgeries yourself_, reflected Kintyre--"and if not, at least the case against me deserves careful refutation. So I would like to have the manuscript, to study at my own leisure." "And never get around to publishing your findings?" asked Clayton. But he said it in a twitting, inoffensive tone. "It might take me a few years," said Owens doggedly. "I've other work to do. However, I'm prepared to make a fair offer for the book. Or, if you don't want to sell, I would like to borrow it for a year or two, under suitable guarantees against loss." Clayton rubbed his chin. "Seems to me that Bob has some rights in this matter," he declared. Kintyre stepped a pace forward. His voice snapped out: "The reason I came here is that the manuscript was stolen from me." "What?" Clayton shouted it, half rose, sat down again and puffed hard at his cigar. "What happened?" he said roughly. Kintyre related the morning. "It fits pretty well," he concluded. "First he plans an attempt to bribe me, as he tried to bribe Bruce. Did you know he offered Bruce five thousand dollars to withhold his findings? I mention on the phone I'll be going out to lunch. Since he doesn't really expect I'll bribe either, Owens hangs around. When he sees me leave, he ducks up into my office. If the book isn't there, he can always try the original scheme. But it's right on my desk, and I apologize for my own carelessness. Owens takes it back here. Then, to cover himself, he phones you with this offer to buy--as if he didn't know it was gone!"