"Don't let your mouth hang open that way. It makes you resemble a half-starved carp. Where's the Pest Control progress report? They're bellyaching already."
She flew to a cabinet, jerked open a drawer, rifled its cards, extracted one and gave it to him. Her mind was whirling with the belief that she was alone with public enemy number one, and somebody ought to do something about it.
"Mr. Riley has been around several times," she informed, hoping he'd take the hint. "He said he'd call again today."
"He would, the big ugly bum." Harper studied the card, his expression sour. "Umph! When I say six weeks, I mean six weeks and not six days. Dear sirs, in reply to your query of yesterday's date—"
Grabbing her pencil, Moira scribbled with frantic haste. He spouted another forty words, and knew she was making a hopeless mess of her script.
"See here, Lanky, I am not a convicted criminal. During my absence, I have disembowelled none save the few hundred who deserved it. I am not wanted by cops, judges, wardens, army recruiters, or whatever. Now pull yourself together, and apply your mind to the job. Dear sirs, in reply to your query—"
This time she managed to take it down without error. She slipped paper into her machine, adjusted it, paused expectantly as heavy footsteps approached the office door.
"Here he is," announced Harper, with mock tenseness. "Dive under the desk when the shooting starts."
Moira sat frozen, one finger poised over a key.
Next moment, Riley bashed open the door in his usual elephantine manner, took the usual two steps to reach the desk. If his scowl had forced his eyebrows an inch lower, they'd have served as a mustache. He splayed both hands on the desk, while he leaned across it to stare into the other's eyes. Behind him, Moira, feeling faint with relief, gave the key a tentative tap.
"Now," said Riley hoarsely, "you're going to tell me what the flaming hell is happening right and left. Why are you wanted for murder one moment and not wanted the next? Why do they list you at top one day and remove you from the bottom another day? Why can't they make up their minds whether you're a hirsute hoodlum or not?"
"Life is just a bowl of cherries. I—"
"Shut up! I haven't finished yet. Why has the F.B.I, emigrated wholesale into this area and calmly confiscated my four best squads? Why have they staked out this crummy joint from the roof, the cellars, across the street, up the street, down the street, at both ends of the street, and in half a dozen adjoining streets? Why—"
"Why do you turn Moira into a nervous wreck the minute my back is turned?" Harper demanded.
"Me?" Riley fumed a bit. "I never touched her. I'm not that kind. I'm married, and happy at it. If she told you I touched her, she's a liar. I don't believe she did tell you. You're inventing things in an effort to change the subject. But it won't work, see? Why—"
"You looked at her and thought things," asserted Harper.
Riley flushed. "All right; I get it. You refuse to talk. I know I can't make you talk, and you're enjoying the situation. It gratifies your simian ego." He let his voice drop a couple of decibels, went on, "Would your lordship grant me the favor of one question? Just one little question, eh?"
"You may voice it," said Harper, trying to be lordly.
"To Whom must I go to get the answers?"
"General Conway."
"Jumping Jehoshaphat!" ejaculated Riley. He hitched his pants lest they fall down. "Is it that important?"
"Unfortunately, yes. And if they haven't seen fit to give you the details, then I mustn't do so, either. If I told you all, I'd usurp authority. It's the unforgivable sin. It breeds anarchy, with all its attending features of godlessness, promiscuousness and every form of untaxable naughtiness. Compile your own list — you know more about the wicked." He reached for another letter from the waiting pile. "Close the door gently as you go out. The glass won't hold under more than another two of your assaults."
"I could assault somebody right now," Riley informed him, showing big teeth. "Two burglaries, one hold-up and one case of arson last night. I'm supposed to dismiss them with a light laugh. I'm supposed to concentrate exclusively on looking for three guys named McDonald, Langley and Gould, and do it while robbed of four prowl cars. Nothing else matters but finding a trio of toughies against whom no criminal charge has been entered."
"Nothing else matters," Harper agreed.
Riley leaned closer and whispered, "Be a pal and tell me — what have they done?"
"Ask Conway."
"Thanks for nothing." Riley rattled the glass as he departed.
"Director of Research, Swain Laboratories, Trenton, N. J.," Harper recited while Moira snatched at her pencil. "In response to your inquiry for slowmotion pneumatic micromanipulators, suitable for use with type-Z electron microscopes, we have pleasure in quoting for our—" He glanced at the door which had opened. "Well?"
Agent Norris said, "We heard the conversation through the mike. What's that police officer to you?"
"A friend. He thinks he's entitled to my confidence." He sniffed, rubbed his nose, and added, "I think so, too."
"Why do you say that?"
"I know him of old. He's to be trusted."
"Make note of Harper's friends and intimates" droned Norris's mind, repeating orders in mistaken secrecy. "They are to be thoroughly checked." Vocally, he informed, "We let him through to you, being who he is. But we were wondering why he should come out with such peremptory demands for an explanation. What is good enough for the Commissioner ought to be plenty good enough for him, shouldn't it?"
"He's in a privileged position, so far as I'm concerned."
"Are you sure he did not have an ulterior motive in cross-examining you?"
"I did not look to see; I don't peer into everybody's mind. Besides, I'm busy trying to rescue myself from imminent bankruptcy. What motive could he have?"
"You can guess as well as anyone else — except that you don't have to guess," said Norris. "In a situation such as this, it's wise to suspect everyone, including your own mother."
He went out, joined Rausch in the machine shop. Harper continued with his mail. When lunchtime arrived, and Moira had £one out to eat, Harper summoned Norris to the office.
"Moira is a nice girl. She tops me by three inches, because I've pulled both her legs so often that they've stretched. But we get along all right."
"What's that to me?" Norris asked.
"I wouldn't like her to get hurt if she was around when a hatchet-man broke in. She's another worm on the same hook, and I'm not paying her for taking those risks."
"You're the one who's supposed to warn us of an attack," Norris pointed out. "Without you, we're working blind."
"I know. But I'm not holding her hand twenty-four hours per day. Do you suppose it might be best to get rid of her for a while? How about me sending her on paid leave until this affair is over?"
"No. You can play your part only by sticking to normal routine. Make enough changes, and a trap starts looking like a trap."
"They might jump her outside, hoping to use her to get at me. It wouldn't work, thank God; I'd know what was coming before it got here. Yet I'd hate to turn the guns on her because she'd ceased to be Moira any more. What's done can't be undone; I'd like to prevent the doing in the first place."
"She must take her chances, the same as everybody else," said Norris impassively. "It's no worse for one than for another."
"It is worse," Harper contradicted, "because one's more likely to be picked on than another. I'd be happier if she had had a guard, day and night."
"She has. We tied a couple of men onto her at the start. Same applies to your other employees. We've covered all your regular contacts as well. If anyone tries the tactic of approaching you in familiar form, they're going to have a hard time finding one suitable and fancy free."