“Yeah,” said Higgins dryly. “The hobby of danger!”
McIntosh sniffed. “Nosing! He gets nosy. He gets the girl nosing, even. And he gets bopped on the bean by a branch — and lucky his brains weren’t knocked out.” McIntosh unlocked his hands and flattened them on his desk. “Not a sign that anything happened but a branch fell! Ellings, the logical one to hit Bogan if all this wonder dust is real, was in bed.
Mrs. Yates saw him come downstairs. So who hit him? Presumably, somebody coming for or standing guard over the alleged box in the lily pool. So now what? Four-five days, Bogan’s out of the hospital. Ready to nose some more!”
“We could tell him to quit. Tell him the bureau was taking over from here on in.”
The Scotsman scowled. “Which is exactly what we don’t want anybody to know!”
There was quiet elation and relief in Higgins’ voice. “Meaning, we are taking over?”
McIntosh frowned harder and then smiled. “If it weren’t Sunday, I believe I’d swear.
Of course, we’re taking over! However, we won’t accomplish anything unless all and sundry really believe we’ve missed our cues by deciding the injury was an accident, the box a myth.
You can see that?”
“Sure. The Yates place is hot. It will be as long as we’re interested. Or the cops.