Kintyre finished in a growl: "That suitcase on the floor, already packed, would hold a quarto volume very easily." Clayton remained impassive. The writer said with strained calm: "I ask you to witness this, sir. I'm thinking of a suit for slander." "That book is worth enough to make it theft grand larceny," said Clayton. "And what alibi does the good Professor Kintyre have?" flung Owens. "Who but you has a motive for the book to disappear?" said Kintyre. "By God--" Owens got off the bed and retreated again. Kintyre strode up to him and laid a hand about his wrist. He did not squeeze unduly hard, but Owens opened his mouth to scream, face going paper colored. Kintyre dropped the wrist as if it had turned incandescent. The reaction was unnatural enough, to his mind, to jar him physically. "That'll do!" rumbled Clayton. He stood up. His grizzled ruddy hair made Kintyre think of a lion's mane, a fighting cock's comb; this man had slugged his own way up from nothingness. "That'll do," he repeated. "If we can't settle it between ourselves like gentlemen, we'd better call the police." Owens fumbled his way to the pocket flask, raised it and gulped. A little blood returned to his skin. "I thought you were going to hit me," he said in a tiny voice. "I never could--" "Owens," said Clayton, "did you steal the book?" His tone fell like iron. "No." The writer put his flask down on the bureau. He remained standing above it, leaning on his hands, looking back over a hunched shoulder. "No, of course not." "Mind if we look around to make sure?" "I don't wish my baggage opened," said Owens. "You haven't the right." Kintyre, with a measure of control restored to him, said: "We could prefer charges and have the police look." "Go ahead," said Owens more firmly. "I'll sue you for every nickel you've got. I'd enjoy that." "I don't like trouble," said Clayton. "If you have the book, return it. We'll say you--borrowed it--nobody else ever has to hear a word." Owens whirled around. "That's a reflection on my integrity!" he shouted. "If you really are innocent," said Clayton in a patient way, "I should think you'd want your integrity confirmed." Owens studied them for a moment. "All right," he said. "I don't blame you, Mr. Clayton. Your reaction is very understandable. But this character--Mr. Clayton, in case I decide to sue him, and I probably will, remember exactly what happened today. Now go ahead and search." The importer squatted by the suitcase. It didn't take him long to go through the neatly packed clothing. There was no book. 10 "Somewhere else," mumbled Kintyre. "Under the bed." "Stand aside," said Clayton. He went to work, peering, poking, moving about the room and its bath like a professional. He found places to check which Kintyre would not have thought of in a week's hunt; and yet the broad ropy-veined hands, which had once wielded a shovel, made little disarrangement.