“Exactly. Hatton figured I might spring you, and had this paper ready. You bit. You led the police right to the evidence, and a swell spot you’ve put me in.”
“B-but—”
Vanning grimaced. “Why do you suppose you saw that cop at Finance Unity? They could have nabbed you any time. But they wanted to scare you into heading for my office, so they could catch both of us on the same hook. Prison for you, disbarment for me. Oh, hell!”
Macllson licked his lips. “Can’t I get out a back door?”
“Through the cordon that’s undoubtedly waiting? Orbs! Don’t be more of a sap than you can help.”
“Can’t you — hide the stuff?”
“Where? They’ll ransack this office with X-rays. No, I’ll just—” Vanning stopped. “Oh. Hide it, you said. Hide it—”
He whirled to the dictographs. “Miss Horton? I’m in conference. Don’t disturb me for anything. If anybody hands you a search warrant, insist on verifying it through headquarters. Got me? O.K.”
Hope had returned to Macllson’s face. “Is that all right?”
“Oh, shut up!” Vanning snapped. “Wait here for me. Be back directly.” He headed for the side door and vanished. In a surprisingly short time he returned, awkwardly lugging a metal cabinet.
“Help me…uh!..here. In this corner. Now get out.”
“But—”
“Flash,” Vanning ordered. “Everything’s under control. Don’t talk. You’ll be arrested, but they can’t hold you without evidence. Come back as soon as you’re sprung.” He urged Macllson to the door, unlocked it, and thrust the man through. After that, he returned to the cabinet, swung open the door, and peered in. Empty. Sure.
The suedette suitcase—
Vanning worked it into the locker, breathing hard. It took a little time, since the valise was larger than the metal cabinet. But at last he relaxed, watching the brown case shrink and alter its outline till it was tiny and distorted, the shape of an elongated egg, the color of a copper cent piece.
“Whew!” Vanning said.
Then he leaned closer, staring. Inside the locker something was moving. A grotesque little creature less than four inches tall was visible. It was a shocking object, all cubes and angles, a bright green in tint, and it was obviously alive.
Someone knocked on the door.
The tiny — thing — was busy with the copper colored egg. Like an ant, it was lifting the egg and trying to pull it away. Vanning gasped and reached into the locker. The fourth-dimension creature dodged. It wasn’t quick enough. Vanning’s hand descended, and he felt wriggling movement against his palms.
He squeezed.
The movement stopped. He let go of the dead thing and pulled his hand back swiftly.
The door shook under the impact of fists.
Vanning closed the locker and called, “Just a minute.”
“Break it down,” somebody answered.
But that wasn’t necessary. Vanning put a painful smile on his face and turned the key. Counsel Hatton came in, accompanied by bulky policemen. “We’ve got MacIlson,” he said.
“Oh! Why?”
For answer Hatton jerked his hand. The officers began to search the room. Vanning shrugged.
“You’ve jumped the gun,” he said. “Breaking and entering—”
“We’ve got a warrant.”
“Charge?”
“The bonds, of course.” Hatton’s voice was weary. “I don’t know where you’ve hid that suitcase, but we’ll find it.”
“What suitcase?” Vanning wanted to know.
“The one MacIlson had when he came in. The one he didn’t have when he came out.”
“The game,” Vanning said sadly, “is up. You win.”
“Eh?”
“If I tell you what I did with the suitcase, will you put in a good word for me?”
“Why…yeah. Where—”
“I ate it,” Vanning said, and retired to the couch, where he settled himself for a nap. Hatton gave him a long, hating look. The officers tore in—
They passed by the locker, after a casual glance inside. The X-rays revealed nothing, in walls, floor, ceiling, or articles of furniture. The other offices were searched, too. Vanning applauded the painstaking job.
In the end, Hatton gave up. There was nothing else he could do.
“I’ll slap suit on you tomorrow,” Vanning promised. “Same time I get a habeas corpus on Macllson.”
“Step to hell.” Hatton growled.
“’By now.”
Vanning waited till his unwanted guests had departed. Then, chuckling quietly he went to the locker and opened it.
The copper-colored egg that represented the suedette suitcase had vanished. Vanning groped inside the locker, finding nothing.
The significance of this didn’t strike Vanning at first. He swung the cabinet around so that it faced the window. He looked again, with identical results.
The locker was empty.
Twenty-five thousand credits in negotiable ore bonds had disappeared.
Vanning started to sweat. He picked up the metal box and shook it. That didn’t help. He carried it across the room and set it up in another corner, returning to search the floor with painstaking accuracy. Holy—
Hatton?
No. Vanning hadn’t let the locker out of his sight from the time the police had entered till they left. An officer had swung open the cabinet’s door, looked inside, and closed it again. After that the door had remained shut till just now.
The bonds were gone.
So was the abnormal little creature Vanning had crushed. All of which meant — what?
Vanning approached the locker and closed it, clicking the latch into position. Then he reopened it, not really expecting that the copper-colored egg would reappear.
He was right, it didn’t.
Vanning staggered to the visor and called Gallegher.
“Whatzit? Hugh? Oh. What do you want?” The scientist’s gaunt face appeared on the screen, rather the worse for wear. “I got a hangover. Can’t use thiamin, either. I’m allergic to it. How’d your case come out?”
“Listen,” Gallegher said urgently, “I put something in that damn locker of yours and now it’s gone.”
“The locker? That’s funny.”
“No! The thing I put in it. A…a suitcase.”
Gallegher shook his head thoughtfully, “You never know do you? I remember once I made a—”
“The hell with that. I want that suitcase back!”
“An heirloom?” Gallegher suggested. “No, there’s money in it.”
“Wasn’t that a little foolish of you? There hasn’t been a bank failure since 1999. Never suspected you were a miser, Vanning. Like to have the stuff around, so you can run it through your birdlike fingers, eh?”
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m trying, “ Gallegher corrected. “But I’ve built up an awful resistance over a period of years. It takes time. Your call’s already set me back two and half drinks. I must put an extension on the siphon, so I can teletalk and guzzle at the same time.” Vanning almost chattered incoherently into the mike. “My suitcase! What happened to it? I want it back.”
“Well, I haven’t got it.”
“Can’t you find out where it is?”
“Dunno. Tell me the details. I’ll see what I can figure out.”
Vanning complied, revising his story as caution prompted.
“O.K.” Gallegher said at last, rather unwillingly. “I hate working out theories, but just as a favor…My diagnosis will cost you fifty credits.”
“What? Now listen—”
“Fifty credits.” Gallegher repeated unflinchingly. “Or no prognosis.”
“How do I know you can get it back for me?”
“Chances are I can’t. Still maybe…I’ll have to go over to Mechanistra and use some of their machines. They charge a good bit, too. But I’ll need forty-brain-power calculators—”