He started to pick it up and realized he must still be a bit confused; his hands were full. His right held the heavy automatic, and between the thumb and forefinger of his left were the four tiny sheets of microfilm.
Karnes holstered the pistol, took an envelope from his pocket, put the films in it, replaced the envelope, and picked up the cigarette case. It was, he thought, a rather odd-looking affair. It—
"Awright, you. Stand up slow, with your hands where I can see 'em."
Great God, thought Karnes, I didn't know they were holding a tea party in this building. He did as he was told.
There were two of them at the door, both wearing the uniform of Carlson Spacecraft. Plant protection squad.
"Who are you, bud?" asked the heavy-jawed one who had spoken before. "And whataya doin' here?"
Karnes, keeping his hands high, said: "Take my billfold out of my hip pocket."
"Okay. But first get over against that wall and lean forward." Evidently the man was either an ex-cop or a reader of detective stories.
When Karnes had braced himself against the wall, the guard went through his pockets, all of them, but he didn't take anything out except the pistol and the billfold.