Owens sat down, poured himself another drink, and sipped as if it were victory he tasted. Kintyre stood by the window sill, wrestling himself toward calm. He had not yet fully achieved it when Clayton said: "Not in here." "Well," murmured Owens. Clayton puffed blue smoke, sat down on the bed, and gave them both a quizzical glance. "I suppose an apology is in order," he said. Owens waved his cigarette. "Look," he replied, giving it the complete treatment, "I've cooled off a bit myself. I can see how you were overwrought, Professor, from the death of your friend--and, to be sure, the loss of a valuable relic entrusted to you." Kintyre held his mouth stiff. "If you'll take this as a lesson, I for my part am willing to forget it." "You might thank the man, Bob," added Clayton lightly. Kintyre grunted. What could you say? "It's worth while reviewing the facts, though," went on Clayton. "Maybe between us we can figure who did swipe it." "No students around," said Owens. "True. But anybody could have lounged outside till Bob left and then walked up into his office, without much risk of being seen. Right?" Kintyre nodded. His neck ached with tension. "Okay." Clayton blew a smoke ring. "I guess we can rule out an ordinary thief. He wouldn't pick a college building. How about other people with offices there?" Kintyre stirred. "Now, wait," he began. Clayton waved him back. "Take it easy, Bob. Just for the record, is anybody but you working in that place between sessions?" "Well, some," he forced himself to say. "It's a sizable department. And then the clerical staff, and janitors. But for God's sake!" "Their own office doors wouldn't be locked, though?" "Hm? No, I suppose not. At least, a number wouldn't be. Even if they weren't in today, there'd be nothing to steal." "Except manuscripts." Owens had been seated, listening with a tolerant smile. Now he said in a cool voice, "Not to follow the recent bad example of accusations, but what _is_ your alibi, Kintyre?" "No motive!" "Oh? I daresay there are other wealthy collectors besides Mr. Clayton. With your contacts, you could have learned who they are. Mind you, I don't charge you with anything, but--" "Cut it out," interrupted Clayton. It was so cold a phrase that they both turned startled faces to him. He got up. "This farce has gone on long enough," he said. "Jabez, give me my book." "What?" Owens leaned away. Clayton walked toward him. Owens lifted a fending arm. "I don't feel like hunting through a lot of rooms for it," said Clayton. "Which did you leave it in?" "But--but--but--"