"I didn't!" screamed Owens.
"I don't want to press charges," said Clayton. "Tell me, and we'll call it quits. Otherwise we can all wait right here for the police."
Owens began to shake. Kintyre looked away, feeling a little sick himself. "All right," said Clayton and picked up the phone.
"No," whimpered Owens. "Don't."
"Well?" Clayton paused, one finger in a dial hole.
Owens got out a room number. "Under the desk," he added, and lowered his face into his hands.
"Can we check that from here?" asked Clayton.
Kintyre nodded, took the phone and called the department. He asked one of the girls to look, feeding her a story about having lent the volume out. Then he held the line and waited.
"Well," said Clayton. He drew on his cigar, relaxed visibly, and laughed. "Maybe I ought to set up as a private eye. Know any hard-boiled blondes?"
"Nice work," said Kintyre inadequately. "Good Lord, if that book really had been lost!"