“Bob does,” declared Al, still angry, but becoming a little uneasy. He might have jumped to his decision about the books he had seen. He was always making snap decisions!
“Examine that set, young man—er, Bob!”
“It’s complete!” Bob admitted.
“Exactly!”
“Then why were you in such a sweat to get the others when we tried to—” Al’s voice tailed down to nothing; he began to see how really guilty they could be made to seem. There was entry into the offices at night, an open private desk, a tell-tale safe combination memorandum on the floor, a package of bills beside the safe, for one chain of evidence; there was an intrusion on a private conference, at The Windsock, and the subsequent escape with the books for a second, not to think of Bob’s use of the airplane with no permission from a higher authority than a watchman, and the infraction of State law by landing on a highway and deserting the ship in a traffic lane. Al’s bravado began to evaporate.
Bob, who had remained cool, thinking, was able to see a brighter side to the situation.
“Please, Mr. Parsons,” he began, “don’t call in the police. That would force us to defend ourselves. We could explain what we were doing and why. But we have a—a code of honor, and we would rather have you let things work out without the police—and reporters.”
“You would really suffer more than we would,” Curt declared.
“Is that so? We shall see.”
The telephone bell blared. Mr. Parsons turned.