Wickes glanced dubiously at Doris Bender.
“Don’t be a sap,” she said bitterly. “He’s trying to get you to...”
The door of the room burst open. Barney Morden and Carl Thorne barged into the room. Just behind them, came a powerful, broad-shouldered man who literally pushed the other two into the room and kicked the door shut.
“So!” Morden said, taking in the situation.
Moraine sighed, and said, “Barney, you certainly do get around. Why the hell don’t you stay in your own bailiwick?”
Thorne, moving forward, said, “We’ve got you now.”
“You haven’t got anyone,” Moraine said. “You haven’t any authority here. You touch me and I’ll...”
“Don’t be a damn fool, Sam,” Barney Morden said. “This here is George Stevens, the chief of police of this burg. We’ve got enough papers to cover the wall of the room, and we can get more. And you’re coming through.”
Doris Bender jumped to her feet, flung her arms around Carl Thorne.
“Carl!” she said. “Carl, protect me!”
He shook her off.
“You’re a two-timing little...”
“No, no!” she screamed. “You don’t understand! This man stole all of my papers.”
“What papers?” Thorne asked.
“All of Ann’s notebooks and all of the papers we had. He peddled them to Dixon and then he killed Dixon and took the papers. They’re in that suitcase.”
Thorne lunged toward the suitcase.
Moraine jumped for him.
“Don’t you dare,” he said, “to touch that suitcase without a search warrant. That suitcase is going to be surrendered to the proper authorities, and...”
Barney Morden, stepping forward, timed himself perfectly, and smashed his right fist full into Moraine’s face.
Moraine went over backwards, dropping the gun. Thorne, struggling with the suitcase, said, “It’s locked. How about getting some skeleton keys?”
“Cut it open,” Morden said.
“I’d rather pick the locks,” Thorne said. “We don’t know just what’s going to happen to this suitcase.”
“I’ll hold it in my office,” Stevens said.
Thorne gave a meaning glance to Barney Morden. Morden said hastily, “That’s right, we hadn’t better open it here. We’d better take it back to my office, because it’s evidence in a murder case. It hasn’t anything to do with this arrest, Stevens.”
Moraine ran a handkerchief over his cut lip and said, “Damn you, Barney! I’m going to get you for that.”
Morden paid no attention to him.
Wickes struggled to his feet and said, “Sock him one for me.”
Morden ignored Wickes, turned to Thorne.
“You might explain to Stevens, Thorne, that we’ll want to hold the prisoners here temporarily, but the evidence will go with us.”
“I’m not so sure,” Stevens said.
Thorne took a wallet from his pocket, held it in his left hand significantly for a moment, then put it back in his inside pocket.
“Let’s not discuss matters here,” he said. “We can do better if we talk privately.”
Stevens frowned thoughtfully, then slowly nodded his head.
Moraine, holding his handkerchief to his cut lip, said, “You birds don’t need to think you can bury me here. By God, I’ll bust this town wide open. You can’t pull your high-handed stuff here. I’m in a hotel and not in jail, and before you get me to jail the whole damn town will know that I want a lawyer.”
“Shut up,” Morden said impersonally, “before I paste you again, Sam. You’re elected.”
“Elected for what?” Moraine asked.
“Elected as the murderer of Pete Dixon,” Morden told him. “You were a damn fool. You took a lot of chances and you lost out. That suitcase full of papers pins the crime on you.”
“Going to introduce the papers in evidence?” Moraine asked.
“We’ll introduce the empty suitcase,” Morden told him grimly, “and that’ll be enough to hang you.”
“We’d better see what’s inside of the suitcase,” Stevens said. “Regardless of who has custody of it, we’d better open the suitcase before it can be tampered with, so that his lawyer can’t claim we framed him with...”
“We’ll take care of that,” Thorne said. “There probably isn’t anything in the suitcase except clothes, but the suitcase itself is one that was stolen from Dixon’s place. At the time it was stolen, it had a lot of papers in it. He’s ditched the papers some place and is using the suitcase now for his clothes.”
“But hadn’t we better open it and find out?”
“No,” Thorne said, his voice rising, “we hadn’t better open it and find out.”
“Don’t let them slip anything over on you, Stevens,” Moraine said. “Can’t you see they’re trying their damnedest to get this suitcase...”
Barney Morden gauged distance, swung his fist. Moraine, with baffling agility, dodged the blow, lashed out with his left and caught Morden on the nose. Stevens, muttering an oath, pulled a blackjack from his pocket and looped the thong over his wrist.
“Just for that,” he said, “you go out of here feet first. Get away, Morden, so I can sock him.”
He stepped forward purposefully.
Carl Thorne picked up the suitcase and started toward the door.
“Well meet you at the station house,” he said. “Come on, Barney.”
Moraine jumped back, away from Stevens. The door of the room opened.
Phil Duncan, standing in the doorway, said, “All right, boys, I’m going to take charge of this.”
Thorne, with an oath, dropped the suitcase. Barney Morden stared with sagging jaw. Stevens, the blackjack dangling from his wrist, stared in uncordial appraisal at the district attorney.
Thorne said, “You’re taking charge of this my way, Phil.”
The district attorney shook his head. “I’m sorry, Carl, I’m taking charge of this in the interests of justice. I’m going to do my duty as I see it.”
Thorne said raspingly, “By God, you’re getting on my nerves, ranting about your duty! I put you in office and you’re going to do what I tell you to, do you get me?”
“I don’t get you at all,” Duncan said evenly. “I’ve listened to you too much in the past. Carl, I’m going to do my duty in this case. I don’t care whom it hurts.”
Morden said, “Now, look here, Chief...”
“I’m not Chief any more,” Duncan said, “not to you, Barney. You’re fired.”
“Who’s firing him?” Thorne asked.
“I am.”
“What right have you got to fire him?”
“I hired him. He’s working under me and he holds office at my pleasure. It’s my pleasure that he quit his office here and now. I don’t like his methods.”
“And I don’t like your pleasure,” Thorne said. “And, just to show you where you get off, you’re not a police officer. You’re only a prosecutor. Stevens, here, is chief of police, and Stevens is the one who has the say-so in this thing, and Stevens is playing ball with me.”
“What’s in the suitcase?” Duncan asked in a steady, calm voice.
“You fool!” Thorne exclaimed. “Haven’t you got sense enough to know that I’m protecting you? That suitcase is filled with stuff that affects every one of us, yourself included.”
“Let’s open it,” Duncan said tonelessly, “and inventory the stuff right here, so there won’t be any question of a substitution.”
“That’s what I wanted to do,” Stevens remarked.