"I expect he's upstairs, with the others. Searching my house."
"He must like the place. How long have we been here?" "Not very long. Not long at all."
"What's he searching for?"
"The book," she said. "Vaschetti's little book."
"Why here?"
"Because I did find it. Because it has half the code names and meeting places in this country listed in it. But Maris will find it. I couldn't hide it very well."
Simon was able to shrug his left shoulder tentatively. No weight dragged on it. They would have found and taken the gun in his spring holster, of course. It wouldn't have been much use to him if they hadn't. However…
"So it was you who tore Vaschetti's room at the Ascot apart," he said. "But your mob thought it was me. That's why my room was gone over this evening while we were out together, and a colored friend of mine nearly had colored kittens. You aren't overlooking any bets, are you? And since Vaschetti's indiscreet memoirs are still missing — not to mention Brother Matson's notes and papers—"
"They have those," she said listlessly. "They were in the glad-stone bag."
He was shaken as if he had been jolted in the ribs; but he went on.