Rocks shoved the last page of Morton's notes out of sight, got to his feet. "Hello," he said. "Have you heard the radio?"
"I'll say I have," the business manager answered. "That's why I've got this bag along. I'm getting away from here while I have a chance. It's terrible—what happened to all those people at the theater. For all I know, it might happen to me next. Have you," he paused, "have you found anything that might—might lead to the capture of that horrible beast? That's why I stopped here, before I left town."
"No," Rocks answered. He walked across the basement toward the business manager. He was ten feet away, he was five feet away. He stopped. "One thing we have discovered. Morton's notes. He said in his notes that when he opened the box he found it empty. What do you suppose he meant by that?"
Sharp looked perplexed. "Why, I have no idea. Perhaps he decided that what we saw was an illusion after all."
"I think not," Rocks contradicted. "He would certainly have mentioned any creature such as you described if he had found such a thing in the box. No, I think he meant exactly what he said. When he opened the box, it was empty. That surprised him greatly. It also made him suspicious. So he weighed it, to determine if somebody had already opened it and removed its contents. What did you find in that box, Sharp!"
His words were hard and flat. There was no mistaking their challenge.
Behind him he heard Penny whisper. "Oh, Rocks—"
He knew he had made a mistake. He should have waited, let the law handle the situation, let men trained for the task do the job. But Morton had been his friend. And so had McCumber. And Morton and McCumber were dead. And Rocks Malone was not a man to wait for someone else to do what he considered his job.
Sharp stood without moving, his close-set eyes drilling into the young archeologist facing him. A second ticked into nothingness, and another, and another. He was estimating the situation, considering the odds and the chances.
"I'm waiting," Rocks said grimly.