"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!"
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."