Deadly Explosion at Army Ammunition Plant in Missouri

murder in the gunroom by h. beam piper intro the lane fleming collection of early pistolsand revolvers was one of the best in the country. when fleming was found dead on the floor ofhis locked gunroom, a confederate-made colt-type percussion .36 revolver in his hand, the coroner'sverdict was "death by accident." but gladys fleming had her doubts. enough at any rateto engage colonel jefferson davis rand—better known just as jeff—private detective anda pistol-collector himself, to catalogue, appraise, and negotiate the sale of her latehusband's collection. there were a number of people who had wantedthe collection. the question was: had anyone

wanted it badly enough to kill fleming? andif so, how had he done it? here is a mystery, told against the fascinating background ofold guns and gun-collecting, which is rapid-fire without being hysterical, exciting withoutlosing its contact with reason, and which introduces a personable and intelligent newprivate detective. it is a story that will keep your nerves on a hair trigger even ifyou don't know the difference between a cased pair of paterson .34's and a texas .40 witha ramming-lever. chapter 1 it was hard to judge jeff rand's age fromhis appearance; he was certainly over thirty and considerably under fifty. he looked hardand fit, like a man who could be a serviceable

friend or a particularly unpleasant enemy.women instinctively suspected that he would make a most satisfying lover. one might havetaken him for a successful lawyer (he had studied law, years ago), or a military officerin mufti (he still had a reserve colonelcy, and used the title occasionally, to impresspeople who he thought needed impressing), or a prosperous businessman, as he usuallythought of himself. most of all, he looked like king charles ii of england anachronisticallyclad in a brooks brothers suit. at the moment, he was looking rather likeking charles ii being bothered by one of his mistresses who wanted a peerage for her husband. "but, mrs. fleming," he was expostulating."there surely must be somebody else.... after

all, you'll have to admit that this isn'tthe sort of work this agency handles." the would-be client released a series of smoke-ringsand watched them float up toward the air-outlet at the office ceiling. it spoke well for rand'sability to subordinate esthetic to business considerations that he was trying to giveher a courteous and humane brush-off. she made even the petty and varga girls seem credible.her color-scheme was blue and gold; blue eyes, and a blue tailored outfit that would havelooked severe on a less curvate figure, and a charmingly absurd little blue hat perchedon a mass of golden hair. if rand had been charles ii, she could have walked out of therewith a duchess's coronet, and nell gwyn would have been back selling oranges.

"why isn't it?" she countered. "your door'smarked tri-state detective agency, jefferson davis rand, investigation and protection.well, i want to know how much the collection's worth, and who'll pay the closest to it. that'sinvestigation, isn't it? and i want protection from being swindled. and don't tell me youcan't do it. you're a pistol-collector, yourself; you have one of the best small collectionsin the state. and you're a recognized authority on early pistols; i've read some of your articlesin the rifleman. if you can't handle this, i don't know who can." rand's frown deepened. he wondered how muchgladys fleming knew about the principles of general semantics. even if she didn't knowanything, she was still edging him into an

untenable position. he hastily shifted fromthe attempt to identify his business with the label, "private detective agency." "well, here, mrs. fleming," he explained."my business, including armed-guard and protected-delivery service, and general investigation and protectionwork, requires some personal supervision, but none of it demands my exclusive attention.now, if you wanted some routine investigation made, i could turn it over to my staff, maybeput two or three men to work on it. but there's nothing about this business of yours thati could delegate to anybody; i'd have to do it all myself, at the expense of neglectingthe rest of my business. now, i could do what you want done, but it would cost you threeor four times what you'd gain by retaining

me." "well, let me decide that, colonel," she replied."how much would you have to have?" "well, this collection of your late husband'sconsists of some twenty-five hundred pistols and revolvers, all types and periods," randsaid. "you want me to catalogue it, appraise each item, issue lists, and negotiate withprospective buyers. the cataloguing and appraisal alone would take from a week to ten days,and it would be a couple more weeks until a satisfactory sale could be arranged. why,say five thousand dollars; a thousand as a retainer and the rest on completion." that, he thought, would settle that. he wasexpecting an indignant outcry, and hardened

his heart, like pharaoh. instead, gladys flemingnodded equably. "that seems reasonable enough, colonel rand,considering that you'd have to be staying with us at rosemont, away from your office,"she agreed. "i'll give you a check for the thousand now, with a letter of authorization." rand nodded in return. being thoroughly consciousof the fact that he could only know a thin film of the events on the surface of any situation,he was not easily surprised. "very well," he said. "you've hired an arms-expert.i'll be in rosemont some time tomorrow afternoon. now, who are these prospective purchasersyou mentioned, and just how prospective, in terms of united states currency, are they?"

"well, for one, there's arnold rivers; he'soffering ten thousand for the collection. i suppose you know of him; he has an antique-armsbusiness at rosemont." "i've done some business with him," rand admitted."who else?" "there's a commission-dealer named carl gwinnett,who wants to handle the collection for us, for twenty per cent. i'm told that that isn'tan unusually exorbitant commission, but i'm not exactly crazy about the idea." "you shouldn't be, if you want your moneyin a hurry," rand told her. "he'd take at least five years to get everything sold. hewouldn't dump the whole collection on the market at once, upset prices, and spoil hisfuture business. you know, two thousand five

hundred pistols of the sort mr. fleming had,coming on the market in a lot, could do just that. the old-arms market isn't so large thatit couldn't be easily saturated." "that's what i'd been thinking.... and then,there are some private collectors, mostly friends of lane's—mr. fleming's—who aretalking about forming a pool to buy the collection for distribution among themselves," she continued. "that's more like it," rand approved. "ifthey can raise enough money among them, that is. they won't want the stuff for resale,and they may pay something resembling a decent price. who are they?" "well, stephen gresham appears to be the leadingspirit," she said. "the corporation lawyer,

you know. then, there is a mr. trehearne,and a mr. macbride, and philip cabot, and one or two others." "i know gresham and cabot," rand said. "they'reboth friends of mine, and i have an account with cabot, joyner & teale, cabot's brokeragefirm. i've corresponded with macbride; he specializes in colts.... you're the sole owner,i take it?" "well, no." she paused, picking her wordscarefully. "we may just run into a little trouble, there. you see, the collection ispart of the residue of the estate, left equally to myself and my two stepdaughters, neldadunmore and geraldine varcek. you understand, mr. fleming and i were married in 1941; hisfirst wife died fifteen years before."

"well, your stepdaughters, now; would theyalso be my clients?" "good lord, no!" that amused her considerablymore than it did rand. "of course," she continued, "they're just as interested in selling thecollection for the best possible price, but beyond that, there may be a slight divergenceof opinion. for instance, nelda's husband, fred dunmore, has been insisting that we lethim handle the sale of the pistols, on the grounds that he is something he calls a businessman.nelda supports him in this. it was fred who got this ten-thousand-dollar offer from rivers.personally, i think rivers is playing him for a sucker. outside his own line, fred isan awful innocent, and i've never trusted this man rivers. lane had some trouble withhim, just before ..."

"arnold rivers," rand said, when it was evidentthat she was not going to continue, "has the reputation, among collectors, of being thebiggest crook in the old-gun racket, a reputation he seems determined to live up—or down—to.but here; if your stepdaughters are co-owners, what's my status? what authority, if any,have i to do any negotiating?" gladys fleming laughed musically. "that, mydear colonel, is where you earn your fee," she told him. "actually, it won't be as hardas it looks. if nelda gives you any argument, you can count on geraldine to take your sideas a matter of principle; if geraldine objects first, nelda will help you steam-roll herinto line. fred dunmore is accustomed to dealing with a lot of yes-men at the plant; you shouldn'thave any trouble shouting him down. anton

varcek won't be interested, one way or another;he has what amounts to a pathological phobia about firearms of any sort. and humphrey goode,our attorney, who's executor of the estate, will welcome you with open arms, once he findsout what you want to do. that collection has him talking to himself, already. look; ifyou come out to our happy home in the early afternoon, before fred and anton get backfrom the plant, we ought to ram through some sort of agreement with geraldine and nelda." "you and whoever else sides with me will bea majority," rand considered. "of course, the other one may pull a gromyko on us, but... i think i'll talk to goode, first." "yes. that would be smart," gladys flemingagreed. "after all, he's responsible for selling

the collection." she crossed to the desk andsat down in rand's chair while she wrote out the check and a short letter of authorization,then she returned to her own seat. "there's another thing," she continued, lightinga fresh cigarette. "because of the manner of mr. fleming's death, the girls have a horrorof the collection almost—but not quite—as strong as their desire to get the best possibleprice for it." "yes. i'd heard that mr. fleming had beenkilled in a firearms accident, last november," rand mentioned. "it was with one of his collection-pieces,"the widow replied. "one he'd bought just that day; a confederate-made colt-type percussion.36 revolver. he'd brought it home with him,

simply delighted with it, and started cleaningit at once. he could hardly wait until dinner was over to get back to work on it. "we'd finished dinner about seven, or a littleafter. at about half-past, nelda went out somewhere in the coupã©. anton had gone upto his laboratory, in the attic—he's one of these fortunates whose work is also hishobby; he's a biochemist and dietitian—and lane was in the gunroom, on the second floor,working on his new revolver. fred dunmore was having a bath, and geraldine and i hadtaken our coffee into the east parlor. geraldine put on the radio, and we were listening toit. "it must have been about 7:47 or 7:48, becausethe program had changed and the first commercial

was just over, when we heard a loud noisefrom somewhere upstairs. neither of us thought of a shot; my own first idea was of a doorslamming. then, about five minutes later, we heard anton, in the upstairs hall, poundingon a door, and shouting: 'lane! lane! are you all right?' we ran up the front stairway,and found anton, in his rubber lab-apron, and fred, in a bathrobe, and barefooted, standingoutside the gunroom door. the door was locked, and that in itself was unusual; there's ayale lock on it, but nobody ever used it. "for a minute or so, we just stood there.anton was explaining that he had heard a shot and that nobody in the gunroom answered. geraldinetold him, rather impatiently, to go down to the library and up the spiral. you see," sheexplained, "the library is directly under

the gunroom, and there's a spiral stairwayconnecting the two rooms. so anton went downstairs and we stood waiting in the hall. fred wasshivering in his bathrobe; he said he'd just jumped out of the bathtub, and he had nothingon under it. after a while, anton opened the gunroom door from the inside, and stood inthe doorway, blocking it. he said: 'you'd better not come in. there's been an accident,but it's too late to do anything. lane's shot himself with one of those damned pistols;i always knew something like this would happen.' "well, i simply elbowed him out of the wayand went in, and the others followed me. by this time, the uproar had penetrated to therear of the house, and the servants—walters, the butler, and mrs. horder, the cook—hadjoined us. we found lane inside, lying on

the floor, shot through the forehead. of course,he was dead. he'd been sitting on one of these old cobblers' benches of the sort that usedto be all the thing for cocktail-tables; he had his tools and polish and oil and ragson it. he'd fallen off it to one side and was lying beside it. he had a revolver inhis right hand, and an oily rag in his left." "was it the revolver he'd brought home withhim?" rand asked. "i don't know," she replied. "he showed methis confederate revolver when he came home, but it was dirty and dusty, and i didn't touchit. and i didn't look closely at the one he had in his hand when he was ... on the floor.it was about the same size and design; that's all i could swear to." she continued: "wehad something of an argument about what to

do. walters, the butler, offered to call thepolice. he's english, and his mind seems to run naturally to due process of law. fredand anton both howled that proposal down; they wanted no part of the police. at thesame time, geraldine was going into hysterics, and i was trying to get her quieted down.i took her to her room and gave her a couple of sleeping-pills, and then went back to thegunroom. while i was gone, it seems that anton had called our family doctor, dr. yardman,and then fred called humphrey goode, our lawyer. goode lives next door to us, about two hundredyards away, so he arrived almost at once. when the doctor came, he called the coroner,and when he arrived, about an hour later, they all went into a huddle and decided thatit was an obvious accident and that no inquest

would be necessary. then somebody, i'm notsure who, called an undertaker. it was past eleven when he arrived, and for once, neldagot home early. she was just coming in while they were carrying lane out in a basket. youcan imagine how horrible that was for her; it was days before she was over the shock.so she'll be just as glad as anybody to see the last of the pistol-collection." through the recital, rand had sat silently,toying with the ivory-handled italian fascist dagger-of-honor that was doing duty as a letter-openeron his desk. gladys fleming wasn't, he was sure, indulging in any masochistic self-harrowing;neither, he thought, was she talking to relieve her mind. once or twice there had been a smallcatch in her voice, but otherwise the narration

had been a piece of straight reporting, neithercallous nor emotional. good reporting, too; carefully detailed. there had been one ortwo inclusions of inferential matter in the guise of description, but that was to be lookedfor and discounted. and she had remembered, at the end, to include her ostensible reasonfor telling the story. "yes, it must have been dreadful," he sympathized."odd, though, that an old hand with guns like mr. fleming would have an accident like that.i met him, once or twice, and was at your home to see his collection, a couple of yearsago. he impressed me as knowing firearms pretty thoroughly.... well, you can look for me tomorrow,say around two. in the meantime, i'll see goode, and also gresham and arnold rivers."chapter 2

after ushering his client out the hall doorand closing it behind her, rand turned and said: "all right, kathie, or dave; whoever's outthere. come on in." then he went to his desk and reached underit, snapping off a switch. as he straightened, the door from the reception-office openedand his secretary, kathie o'grady, entered, loading a cigarette into an eight-inch amberholder. she was a handsome woman, built on the generous lines of a renaissance goddess;none of the renaissance masters, however, had ever employed a model so strikingly hibernian.she had blue eyes, and a fair, highly-colored complexion; she wore green, which went wellwith her flaming red hair, and a good deal

of gold costume-jewelry. behind her came dave ritter. he was rand'sassistant, and also kathie's lover. he was five or six years older than his employer,and slightly built. his hair, fighting a stubborn rearguard action against baldness, was anindeterminate mousy gray-brown. it was one of his professional assets that nobody evernoticed him, not even in a crowd of one; when he wanted it to, his thin face could assumethe weary, baffled expression of a middle-aged book-keeper with a wife and four childrenon fifty dollars a week. actually, he drew three times that much, had no wife, admittedto no children. during the war, he and kathie had kept the tri-state agency in somethingbetter than a state of suspended animation

while rand had been in the army. ritter fumbled a camel out of his shirt pocketand made a beeline for the desk, appropriating rand's lighter and sharing the flame withkathie. "you know, jeff," he said, "one of the reasonswhy this agency never made any money while you were away was that i never had the unadulteratedinsolence to ask the kind of fees you do. i was listening in on the extension in thefile-room; i could hear kathie damn near faint when you said five grand." "yes; five thousand dollars for appraisinga collection they've been offered ten for, and she only has a third-interest," kathiesaid, retracting herself into the chair lately

vacated by gladys fleming. "if that makessense, now ..." "ah, don't you get it, kathleen mavourneen?"ritter asked. "she doesn't care about the pistols; she wants jeff to find out who fixedup that accident for fleming. you heard that big, long shaggy-dog story about exactly whathappened and where everybody was supposed to have been at the time. i hope you got allthat recorded; it was all told for a purpose." rand had picked up the outside phone and wasdialing. in a moment, a girl's voice answered. "carter tipton's law-office; good afternoon." "hello, rheba; is tip available?" "oh, hello, jeff. just a sec; i'll see." shebuzzed another phone. "jeff rand on the line,"

she announced. a clear, slightly harvard-accented male voicetook over. "hello, jeff. now what sort of malfeasancehave you committed?" "nothing, so far—cross my fingers," randreplied. "i just want a little information. are you busy?... okay, i'll be up directly." he replaced the phone and turned to his disciples. "our client," he said, "wants two jobs doneon one fee. getting the pistol-collection sold is one job. exploring the whys and whereforesof that quote accident unquote is the other. she has a hunch, and probably nothing muchbetter, that there's something sour about

the accident. she expects me to find evidenceto that effect while i'm at rosemont, going over the collection. i'm not excluding otherpossibilities, but i'll work on that line until and unless i find out differently. fivethousand should cover both jobs." "you think that's how it is?" kathie asked. "look, kathie. i got just as far in arithmetic,at school, as you did, and i suspect that mrs. fleming got at least as far as long division,herself. for reasons i stated, i simply couldn't have handled that collection business foranything like a reasonable fee, so i told her five thousand, thinking that would stopher. when it didn't, i knew she had something else in mind, and when she went into all thatdetail about the death of her husband, she

as good as told me that was what it was. nowi'm sorry i didn't say ten thousand; i think she'd have bought it at that price just ascheerfully. she thinks lane fleming was murdered. well, on the face of what she told me, sodo i." "all right, professor; expound," ritter said. "you heard what he was supposed to have shothimself with," rand began. "a colt-type percussion revolver. you know what they're like. andi know enough about lane fleming to know how much experience he had with old arms. i can'tbelieve that he'd buy a pistol without carefully examining it, and i can't believe that he'dbring that thing home and start working on it without seeing the caps on the nipplesand the charges in the chambers, if it had

been loaded. and if it had been, he wouldhave first taken off the caps, and then taken it apart and drawn the charges. and she sayshe started working on it as soon as he got home—presumably around five—and then tooktime out for dinner, and then went back to work on it, and more than half an hour later,there was a shot and he was killed." rand blew a bronx cheer. "if that accident hadbeen the mccoy, it would have happened in the first five minutes after he started workingon that pistol. no, in the first thirty seconds. and then, when they found him, he had therevolver in his right hand, and an oily rag in his left. i hope both of you noticed thatlittle touch." "yeah. when i clean a gat, i generally haveit in my left hand, and clean with my right,"

ritter said. "exactly. and why do you use an oily rag?"rand inquired. ritter looked at him blankly for a half-second,then grinned ruefully. "damn, i never thought of that," he admitted."okay, he was bumped off, all right." "but you use oily rags on guns," kathie objected."i've seen both of you, often enough." "when we're all through, honey," ritter toldher. "yes. when he brought home that revolver,it was in neglected condition," rand said. "either surface-rusted, or filthy with gummedoil and dirt. even if mrs. fleming hadn't mentioned that point, the length of time hespent cleaning it would justify such an inference.

he would have taken it apart, down to thesmallest screw, and cleaned everything carefully, and then put it together again, and then,when he had finished, he would have gone over the surface with an oiled rag, before hangingit on the wall. he would certainly not have surface-oiled it before removing the charges,if there ever were any. i assume the revolver he was found holding, presumably the one withwhich he was killed, was another one. and i would further assume that the killer wasn'tparticularly familiar with the subject of firearms, antique, care and maintenance of." "and with all the hollering and whooping andhysterics-throwing, nobody noticed the switch," ritter finished. "wonder what happened tothe one he was really cleaning."

"that i may possibly find out," rand said."the general incompetence with which this murder was committed gives me plenty of roomto hope that it may still be lying around somewhere." "well, have you thought that it might justbe suicide?" kathie asked. "i have, very briefly; i dismissed the thought,almost at once," rand told her. "for two reasons. one, that if it had been suicide, mrs. flemingwouldn't want it poked into; she'd be more than willing to let it ride as an accident.and, two, i doubt if a man who prided himself on his gun-knowledge, as fleming did, wouldwant his self-shooting to be taken for an accident. i'm damn sure i wouldn't want myfriends to go around saying: 'what a dope;

didn't know it was loaded!' i doubt if he'deven expect people to believe that it had been an accident." he shook his head. "no,the only inference i can draw is that somebody murdered fleming, and then faked evidenceintended to indicate an accident." he rose. "i'll be back, in a little; think it over,while i'm gone." carter tipton had his law-office on the floorabove the tri-state detective agency. he handled all rand's not infrequent legal involvements,and rand did all his investigating and witness-chasing; annually, they compared books to see who owedwhom how much. tipton was about five years rand's junior, and had been in the navy duringthe war. he was frequently described as new belfast's leading younger attorney and mosteligible bachelor. his dark, conservatively

cut clothes fitted him as though they hadbeen sprayed on, he wore gold-rimmed glasses, and he was so freshly barbered, manicured,valeted and scrubbed as to give the impression that he had been born in cellophane and justunwrapped. he leaned back in his chair and waved his visitor to a seat. "tip, do you know anything about this flemingfamily, out at rosemont?" rand began, getting out his pipe and tobacco. "the premix-foods flemings?" tipton asked."yes, a little. which one of them wants you to frame what on which other one?" "that'll do for a good, simplified description,to start with," rand commented. "why, my client

is mrs. gladys fleming. as to what she wants...." he told the young lawyer about his recentinterview and subsequent conclusions. "so you see," he finished, "she won't commitherself, even with me. maybe she thinks i have more official status, and more obligationsto the police, than i have. maybe she isn't sure in her own mind, and wants me to see,independently, if there's any smell of something dead in the woodpile. or, she may think thathaving a private detective called in may throw a scare into somebody. or maybe she thinkssomebody may be fixing up an accident for her, next, and she wants a pistol-totin' gentin the house for a while. or any combination thereof. personally, i deplore these clientswho hire you to do one thing and expect you

to do another, but with five grand for sweetening,i can take them." "yes. you know, i've heard rumors of suicide,but this is the first whiff of murder i've caught." he hesitated slightly. "i must say,i'm not greatly surprised. lane fleming's death was very convenient to a number of people.you know about this premix company, don't you?" "vaguely. they manufacture ready-mixed pancakeflour, and ready-mixed ice-cream and pudding powders, and this dehydrated vegetable soup—pouron hot water, stir, and serve—don't they? my colored boy, buck, got some of the soup,once, for an experiment. we unanimously voted not to try it again."

"they put out quite a line of such godsendsto the neophyte in the kitchen, the popularity of which is reflected in a steadily risingdivorce-rate," tipton said. "they advertise very extensively, including half an hour oftear-jerking drama on a national hookup during soap-opera time. your client, the former gladysfarrand, was on the air for premix for a couple of years; that's how lane fleming first mether." "so you think some irate and dyspeptic husbandwent to the source of his woes?" rand inquired. "well, not exactly. you see, premix is onlylittle business, as the foods industry goes, but they have something very sweet. so sweet,in fact, that one of the really big fellows, national milling & packaging, has been goingto rather extreme lengths to effect a merger.

mill-pack, par 100, is quoted at around 145,and premix, par 50, is at 75 now, and mill-pack is offering a two-for-one-share exchange,which would be a little less than four-for-one in value. i might add, for what it's worth,that this stephen gresham you mentioned is mill-pack's attorney, negotiator, and generalmr. fixit; he has been trying to put over this merger for mill-pack." "i'll bear that in mind, too," rand said. "naturally, all this is not being shoutedfrom the housetops," tipton continued. "fact is, it's a minor infraction of ethics forme to mention it to you." "i'll file it in the burn-box," rand promised."what was the matter; didn't premix want to

merge?" "lane fleming didn't. and since he held fifty-twoper cent of the common stock himself, try and do anything about it." "anything short of retiring fleming to thegraveyard, that is," rand amended. "that would do for a murder-motive, very nicely.... whatwere fleming's objections to the merger?" "mainly sentimental. premix was his baby,or, at least, his kid brother. his father started mixing pancake flour back before thefirst world war, and lane fleming peddled it off a spring wagon. they worked up a nicelittle local trade, and finally a state-wide wholesale business. they incorporated in theearly twenties, and then, after the old man

died, lane fleming hired an advertising agencyto promote his products, and built up a national distribution, and took on some sidelines.then, during the late mr. chamberlain's 'peace in our time,' he picked up a refugee czechchemist and foods-expert named anton varcek, who whipped up a lot of new products. so businessgot better and better, and they made more money to spend on advertising to get moremoney to buy more advertising to make more money, like bill nye's puritans digging clamsin the winter to get strength to hoe corn in the summer to get strength to dig clamsin the winter. "so premix became a sort of symbol of achievementto fleming. then, he was one of these old-model paternalistic employers, and he was afraidthat if he relinquished control, a lot of

his old retainers would be turned out to grass.and finally, he was opposed in principle to concentration of business ownership. he claimedit made business more vulnerable to government control and eventual socialization." "i'm not sure he didn't have something there,"rand considered. "we get all our corporate eggs in a few baskets, and they're that mucheasier for the planned-economy boys to grab.... just who, on the premix side, was in favorof this merger?" "just about everybody but fleming," tiptonreplied. "his two sons-in-law, fred dunmore and varcek, who are first and second vicepresidents. humphrey goode, the company attorney, who doubles as board chairman. all the directors.all the new york banking crowd who are interested

in premix. and all the two-share tinymites.i don't know who inherits fleming's voting interest, but i can find out for you by thistime tomorrow." "do that, tip, and bill me for what you thinkfinding out is worth," rand said. "it'll be a novel reversal of order for you to be billingme for an investigation.... now, how about the family, as distinct from the company?" "well, there's your client, gladys fleming.she married lane fleming about ten years ago, when she was twenty-five and he was fifty-five.in spite of the age difference, i understand it was a fairly happy marriage. then, thereare two daughters by a previous marriage, nelda dunmore and geraldine varcek, and theirrespective husbands. they all live together,

in a big house at rosemont. in the company,dunmore is sales, and varcek is production. they each have a corner of the mantle of lanefleming in one hand and a dirk in the other. nelda and geraldine hate each other like greeksand trojans. nelda is the nymphomaniac sister, and geraldine is the dipsomaniac. from timeto time, temporary alliances get formed, mainly against gladys; all of them resent the wayshe married herself into a third-interest in the estate. you're going to have yourselfa nice, pleasant little stay in the country." "i'm looking forward to it." rand grimaced."you mentioned suicide rumors. such as, and who's been spreading them?" "oh, they are the usual bodyless voices thatfloat about," tipton told him. "emanating,

i suspect, from sources interested in shakingout the less sophisticated small shareholders before the merger. the story is always approximatelythe same: that lane fleming saw his company drifting reefward, was unwilling to survivethe shipwreck, and performed seppuku. the family are supposed to have faked up the accidentafterward. i dismiss the whole thing as a rather less than subtle bit of market-manipulationchicanery." "or a smoke screen, to cover the defects incamouflaging a murder as an accident," rand added. tipton nodded. "that could be so, too," heagreed. "say somebody dislikes the looks of that accident, and starts investigating. thenhe runs into all this miasma of suicide rumors,

and promptly shrugs the whole thing off. flemingkilled himself, and the family made a few alterations and are passing it off as an accident.the families of suicides have been known to do that." "yes. regular defense-in-depth system; ifthe accident line is penetrated, the suicide line is back of it," rand said. "well, inthe last few years, we've seen defenses in depth penetrated with monotonous regularity.i've jeeped through a couple, myself, to interrogate the surviving ex-defenders. it's all in havingthe guns and armor to smash through with." chapter 3 humphrey goode was sixty-ish, short and chunky,with a fringe of white hair around a bald

crown. his brow was corrugated with wrinkles,and he peered suspiciously at rand through a pair of thick-lensed, black-ribboned glasses.his wide mouth curved downward at the corners in an expression that was probably intendedto be stern and succeeded only in being pompous. his office was dark, and smelled of dustybooks. "mr. rand," he began accusingly, "when yoursecretary called to make this appointment, she informed me that you had been retainedby mrs. gladys fleming." "that's correct." rand slowly packed tobaccointo his pipe and lit it. "mrs. fleming wants me to look after some interests of hers, andas you're executor of her late husband's estate, i thought i ought to talk to you, first ofall."

goode's eyes narrowed behind the thick glasses. "mr. rand, if you're investigating the deathof lane fleming, you're wasting your time and mrs. fleming's money," he lectured. "thereis nothing whatever for you to find out that is not already public knowledge. mr. flemingwas accidentally killed by the discharge of an old revolver he was cleaning. i don't knowwhat foolish feminine impulse led mrs. fleming to employ you, but you'll do nobody any goodin this matter, and you may do a great deal of harm." "did my secretary tell you i was making aninvestigation?" rand demanded incredulously. "she doesn't usually make mistakes of thatsort."

the wrinkles moved up goode's brow like abattalion advancing in platoon front. he looked even more narrowly at rand, his suspicioncompounded with bewilderment. "why should i investigate the death of lanefleming?" rand continued. "as far as i know, mrs. fleming is satisfied that it was an accident.she never expressed any other belief to me. do you think it was anything else?" "why, of course not!" goode exclaimed. "that'sjust what i was telling you. i—" he took a fresh start. "there have been rumors—utterlywithout foundation, of course—that mr. fleming committed suicide. they are, i may say, nothingbut malicious fabrications, circulated for the purpose of undermining public confidencein premix foods, incorporated. i had thought

that perhaps mrs. fleming might have heardthem, and decided, on her own responsibility, to bring you in to scotch them; i was afraidthat such a step might, by giving these rumors fresh currency, defeat its intended purpose." "oh, nothing of the sort!" rand told him."i'm not in the least interested in how mr. fleming was killed, and the question is simplynot involved in what mrs. fleming wants me to do." he stopped there. goode was looking at himsideways, sucking in one corner of his mouth and pushing out the other. it was not a facialcontortion that impressed rand favorably; it was too reminiscent of a high-school principalunder whom he had suffered, years ago, in

vicksburg, mississippi. rand began to suspectthat goode might be just another such self-righteous, opinionated, egotistical windbag. such mencould be dangerous, were usually quite unscrupulous, and were almost always unpleasant to dealwith. "then why," the lawyer demanded, "did mrs.fleming employ you?" "well, as you know," rand began, "the flemingpistol-collection, now the joint property of mrs. fleming and her two stepdaughters,is an extremely valuable asset. mr. fleming spent the better part of his life gatheringit. at one time or another, he must have owned between four and five thousand different pistolsand revolvers. the twenty-five hundred left to his heirs represent the result of a systematicpolicy of discriminating purchase, replacement

of inferior items, and general improvement.it's one of the largest and most famous collections of its kind in the country." "well?" goode was completely out of his depthby now. "surely mrs. fleming doesn't think...?" "mrs. fleming thinks that expert advice isurgently needed in disposing of that collection," rand replied, carefully picking his wordsto fit what he estimated to be goode's probable semantic reactions. "she has the utmost confidencein your ability and integrity, as an attorney; however, she realized that you could hardlydescribe yourself as an antique-arms expert. it happens that i am an expert in antiquefirearms, particularly pistols. i have a collection of my own, i am the author of a number ofarticles on the subject, and i am recognized

as something of an authority. i know arms-values,and understand market conditions. furthermore, not being a dealer, or connected with anymuseum, i have no mercenary motive for undervaluing the collection. that's all there is to it;mrs. fleming has retained me as a firearms-expert, in connection with the collection." goode was looking at rand as though the latterhad just torn off a mask, revealing another and entirely different set of features underneath.the change seemed to be a welcome one, but he was evidently having trouble adjustingto it. rand grinned inwardly; now he was going to have to find himself a new set of verballabels and identifications. "well, mr. rand, that alters the situationconsiderably," he said, with noticeably less

hostility. he was still a bit resentful; peoplehad no right to confuse him by jumping about from one category to another, like that. "nowunderstand, i'm not trying to be offensive, but it seems a little unusual for a privatedetective also to be an authority on antique firearms." "mr. fleming was an authority on antique firearms,and he was a manufacturer of foodstuffs," rand parried, carefully staying inside goode'saristotelian system of categories and verbal identifications. "my own business does notoccupy all my time, any more than his did, and i doubt if an interest in the historyand development of deadly weapons is any more incongruous in a criminologist than in anindustrialist. but if there's any doubt in

your mind as to my qualifications, you cancheck with colonel taylor, at the state museum, or with the editor of the american rifleman." "i see." goode nodded. "and as you point out,being a sort of non-professional expert, you should be free from mercenary bias." he noddedagain, taking off his glasses and polishing them on an outsize white handkerchief. "frankly,now that i understand your purpose, mr. rand, i must say that i am quite glad that mrs.fleming took this step. i was perplexed about how to deal with that collection. i realizedthat it was worth a great deal of money, but i haven't the vaguest idea how much, or howit could be sold to the best advantage.... at a rough guess, mr. rand, how much do youthink it ought to bring?"

rand shook his head. "i only saw it twice,the last time two years ago. ask me that after i've spent a day or so going over it, andi'll be able to give you an estimate. i will say this, though: it's probably worth a lotmore than the ten thousand dollars arnold rivers has offered for it." that produced an unexpected effect. goodestraightened in his chair, gobbling in surprised indignation. "arnold rivers? has he had the impudence totry to buy the collection?" he demanded. "where did you hear that?" "from mrs. fleming. i understand he made theoffer to fred dunmore. that's his business,

isn't it?" "i believe the colloquial term is 'racket,'"goode said. "why, that man is a notorious swindler! mr. rand, do you know that onlya week before his death, mr. fleming instructed me to bring suit against him, and also tosecure his indictment on criminal charges of fraud?" "i didn't know that, but i'm not surprised,"rand answered. "what did he burn fleming with?" "here; i'll show you." goode rose from hisseat and went to a rank of steel filing-cabinets behind the desk. in a moment, he was back,with a large manila envelope under his arm, and a huge pistol in either hand. "here, mr.rand," he chuckled. "we'll just test your

firearms knowledge. what do you make of these?" rand took the pistols and looked at them.they were wheel locks, apparently sixteenth-century south german; they were a good two feet inover-all length, with ball-pommels the size of oranges, and long steel belt-hooks. thestocks were so covered with ivory inlay that the wood showed only in tiny interstices;the metal-work was lavishly engraved and gold-inlaid. to the trigger-guards were attached tags markedfleming vs. rivers. rand examined each pistol separately, thencompared them. finally, he took a six-inch rule from his pocket and made measurements,first with one edge and then with the other. "well, i'm damned," he said, laying them onthe desk. "these things are the most complete

fakes i ever saw—locks, stocks, barrelsand mountings. they're supposed to be late sixteenth-century; i doubt if they were madebefore 1920. as far as i can see or measure, there isn't the slightest difference betweenthem, except on some of the decorative inlay. the whole job must have been miked in ten-thousandths,and what's more, whoever made them used metric measurements. you'll find pairs of englishdueling pistols as early as 1775 that are almost indistinguishable, but in 1575, whenthese things were supposed to have been made, a gunsmith was working fine when he was workingin sixteenth-inches. they just didn't have the measuring instruments, at that time, todo closer work. i won't bother taking these things apart, but if i did, i'd bet all wallstreet to junior's piggy-bank that i'd find

that the screws were machine-threaded andthe working-parts interchanged. i've heard about fakes like these,"—he named a famous,recently liquidated west coast collection—"but i'd never hoped to see an example like this." goode gave a hacking chuckle. "you'll do asan arms-expert, mr. rand," he said. "and you'd win the piggy-bank. it seems that after mr.fleming bought them, he took them apart, and found, just as you say, that the screw-threadshad been machine-cut, and that the working-parts were interchangeable from one pistol to theother. there were a lot of papers accompanying them—i have them here—purporting to showthat they had been sold by some austrian nobleman, an anti-nazi refugee, in whose family theyhad been since the reign of maximilian ii.

they are, of course, fabrications. i lookedup the family in the almanach de gotha; it simply never existed. at first, mr. fleminghad been inclined to take the view that rivers had been equally victimized with himself.however, when rivers refused to take back the pistols and refund the purchase price,he altered his opinion. he placed them in my hands, instructing me to bring suit andalso start criminal action; he was in a fearful rage about it, and swore that he'd drive riversout of business. however, before i could start action, mr. fleming was killed in that accident,and as he was the sole witness to the fact of the sale, and as none of the heirs wasinterested, i did nothing about it. in fact, i advised them that action against riverswould cost the estate more than they could

hope to recover in damages." he picked upone of the pistols and examined it. "now, i don't know what to do about these." "take them home and hang them over the mantel,"rand advised. "if i'm going to have anything to do with selling the collection, i don'twant anything to do with them." goode was peering at the ivory inlay on theunderbelly of the stock. "they are beautiful, and i don't care whenthey were made," he said. "i think, if nobody else wants them, i'll do just that.... now,mr. rand, what had you intended doing about the collection?" "well, that's what i came to see you about,mr. goode. as i understand it, it is you who

are officially responsible for selling thecollection, and the proceeds would be turned over to you for distribution to mrs. fleming,mrs. dunmore and mrs. varcek. is that correct?" "yes. the collection, although in the physicalpossession of mrs. fleming, is still an undistributed asset." "i thought so." rand got out gladys fleming'sletter of authorization and handed it to goode. "as you'll see by that, i was retained by,and only by, mrs. fleming," he said. "i am assuming that her interests are identicalwith those of the other heirs, but i realize that this is true only to a very limited extent.it's my understanding that relations between the three ladies are not the most pleasant."

goode produced a short, croaking laugh. "nowthere's a cautious understatement," he commented. "mr. rand, i feel that you should know thatall three hate each other poisonously." "that was rather my impression. now, i expectsome trouble, from mrs. dunmore and/or mrs. varcek, either or both of whom are sure toaccuse me of having been brought into this by mrs. fleming to help her defraud the others.that, of course, is not the case; they will all profit equally by my participation inthis. but i'm going to have trouble convincing them of that." "yes. you will," goode agreed. "would yourather carry my authorization than mrs. fleming's?" "yes, indeed, mr. goode. to tell the truth,that was why i came here, for one reason.

you will not be obligated in any way by authorizingme to act as your agent—i'm getting my fee from mrs. fleming—but i would be obligatedto represent her only as far as her interests did not improperly conflict with those ofthe other heirs, and that's what i want made clear." goode favored the detective with a sauriansmile. "you're not a lawyer, too, mr. rand?" he asked. "well, i am a member of the bar in the stateof mississippi, though i never practiced," rand admitted. "instead of opening a law-office,i went into the f.b.i., in 1935, and then opened a private agency a couple of yearslater. but if i had to, which god forbid,

i could go home tomorrow and hang out my shingle." "you seem to have had quite an eventful career,"goode remarked, with a queer combination of envy and disapproval. "i understand that,until recently, you were an officer in the army intelligence, too.... i'll have yourauthorization to act for me made out immediately; to list and appraise the collection, and tonegotiate with prospective purchasers. and by the way," he continued, "did i understandyou to say that you had heard some of these silly rumors to the effect that lane fleminghad committed suicide?" "oh, that's what's always heard, under thecircumstances," rand shrugged. "a certain type of sensation-loving mind..."

"mr. rand, there is not one scintilla of truthin any of these scurrilous stories!" goode declared, pumping up a fine show of indignation."the premix company is in the best possible financial condition; a glance at its books,or at its last financial statement, would show that. i ought to know, i'm chairman ofthe board of directors. just because there was some talk of retrenchment, shortly beforemr. fleming's death ..." "oh, no responsible person pays any attentionto that sort of talk," rand comforted him. "my armed-guard and armored-car service bringsme into contact with a lot of the local financial crowd. none of them is taking these rumorsseriously." "well, of course, nobody wants the responsibilityof starting a panic, even a minor one, but

people are talking, and it's hurting premixon the market," goode gloomed. "and now, people will hear of mrs. fleming's having retainedyou, and will assume, just as i did at first, that you are making some kind of an investigation.i hope you will make a prompt denial, if you hear any talk like that." he pressed a buttonon his desk. "and now, i'll get a letter of authorization made out for you, mr. rand ..."chapter 4 stephen gresham was in his early sixties,but he could have still worn his world war i uniform without anything giving at the seams,and buckled the old sam browne at the same hole. as rand entered, he rose from behindhis desk and advanced, smiling cordially. "why, hello, jeff!" he greeted the detective,grasping his hand heartily. "you haven't been

around for months. what have you been doing,and why don't you come out to rosemont to see us? dot and irene were wondering whathad become of you." "i'm afraid i've been neglecting too manyof my old friends lately," rand admitted, sitting down and getting his pipe out. "beenbusy as the devil. fact is, it was business that finally brought me around here. i understandthat you and some others are forming a pool to buy the lane fleming collection." "yes!" gresham became enthusiastic. "wantin on it? i'm sure the others would be glad to have you in with us. we're going to needall the money we can scrape together, with this damned rivers bidding against us."

"i'm afraid you will, at that, stephen," randtold him. "and not necessarily on account of rivers. you see, the fleming estate hasjust employed me to expertize the collection and handle the sale for them." rand got hispipe lit and drawing properly. "i hate doing this to you, but you know how it is." "oh, of course. i should have known they'dget somebody like you in to sell the collection for them. humphrey goode isn't competent tohandle that. what we were all afraid of was a public auction at some sales-gallery." rand shook his head. "worst thing they coulddo; a collection like that would go for peanuts at auction. remember the big sales in thetwenties?... why, here; i'm going to be in

rosemont, staying at the fleming place, workingon the collection, for the next week or so. i suppose your crowd wouldn't want to makean offer until i have everything listed, but i'd like to talk to your associates, in agroup, as soon as possible." "well, we all know pretty much what's in thecollection," gresham said. "we were neighbors of his, and collectors are a gregarious lot.but we aren't anxious to make any premature offers. we don't want to offer more than wehave to, and at the same time, we don't want to underbid and see the collection sold elsewhere." "no, of course not." rand thought for a moment."tell you what; i'll give you and your friends the best break i can in fairness to my clients.i'm not obliged to call for sealed bids, or

anything like that, so when i've heard fromeverybody, i'll give you a chance to bid against the highest offer in hand. if you want totop it, you can have the collection for any kind of an overbid that doesn't look too suspiciouslynominal." "why, jeff, i appreciate that," gresham said."i think you're entirely within your rights, but naturally, we won't mention this outside.i can imagine arnold rivers, for instance, taking a very righteous view of such an arrangement." "yes, so can i. of course, if he'd call mea crook, i'd take that as a compliment," rand said. "i wonder if i could meet your group,say tomorrow evening? i want to be in a position to assure the fleming family and humphreygoode that you're all serious and responsible."

"well, we're very serious about it," greshamreplied, "and i think we're all responsible. you can look us up, if you wish. besides myself,there is philip cabot, of cabot, joyner & teale, whom you know, and adam trehearne, who's worthabout a half-million in industrial shares, and colin macbride, who's vice president incharge of construction and maintenance for edison-public power & light, at about twentythousand a year, and pierre jarrett and his fiancã©e, karen lawrence. pierre was a marinecaptain, invalided home after being wounded on peleliu; he writes science-fiction forthe pulps. karen has a little general-antique business in rosemont. they intend using theirshare of the collection, plus such culls and duplicates as the rest of us can consign tothem, to go into the arms business, with a

general-antique sideline, which karen canmanage while pierre's writing.... tell you what; i'll call a meeting at my place tomorrowevening, say at eight thirty. that suit you?" that, rand agreed, would be all right. greshamasked him how recently he had seen the fleming collection. "about two years ago; right after i got backfrom germany. you remember, we went there together, one evening in march." "yes, that's right. we didn't have time tosee everything," gresham said. "my god, jeff! twenty-five wheel locks! ten snaphaunces.and every imaginable kind of flintlock—over a hundred u.s. martials, including the 1818springfield, all the s. north types, a couple

of virginia manufactory models, and—he gotthis since the last time you saw the collection—a real rappahannock forge flintlock. and abouta hundred and fifty colts, all models and most variants. remember that big whitneyvillewalker, in original condition? he got that one in 1924, at the fred hines sale, at theold walpole galleries. and seven paterson colts, including a couple of cased sets. andanything else you can think of. a hall flintlock breech-loader; an elisha collier flintlockrevolver; a pair of forsythe detonator-lock pistols.... oh, that's a collection to endcollections." "by the way, humphrey goode showed me a pairof big ball-butt wheel locks, all covered with ivory inlay," rand mentioned.

gresham laughed heartily. "aren't they thedamnedest ever seen, though?" he asked. "made in germany, about 1870 or '80, about the timearms-collecting was just getting out of the family-heirloom stage, wouldn't you say?" "i'd say made in japan, about 1920," randreplied. "remember, there were a couple of small human figures on each pistol, a knightand a huntsman? did you notice that they had slant eyes?" he stopped laughing, and lookedat gresham seriously. "just how much more of that sort of thing do you think i'm goingto have to weed out of the collection, before i can offer it for sale?" he asked. gresham shook his head. "they're all. theywere lane fleming's one false step. ordinarily,

lane was a careful buyer; he must have lethimself get hypnotized by all that ivory and gold, and all that documentation on crestednotepaper. you know, fleming's death was an undeserved stroke of luck for arnold rivers.if he hadn't been killed just when he was, he'd have run rivers out of the old-arms business." "i notice that rivers isn't advertising inthe american rifleman any more," rand observed. "no; the national rifle association stoppedhis ad, and lifted his membership card for good measure," gresham said. "rivers solda rifle to a collector down in virginia, about three years ago, while you were still occupyinggermany. a fine, early flintlock kentuck, that had been made out of a fine, late percussionkentuck by sawing off the breech-end of the

barrel, rethreading it for the breech-plug,drilling a new vent, and fitting the lock with a flint hammer and a pan-and-frizzenassembly, and shortening the fore-end to fit. rivers has a gunsmith over at kingsville,one elmer umholtz, who does all his fraudulent conversions for him. i have an example ofumholtz's craftsmanship, myself. the collector who bought this spurious flintlock spottedwhat had been done, and squawked to the rifle association, and to the postal authorities." "rivers claimed, i suppose, that he had gottenit from a family that had owned it ever since it was made, and showed letters signed 'd.boone' and 'davy crockett' to prove it?" "no, he claimed to have gotten it in tradefrom some wayfaring collector," gresham replied.

"he convinced uncle whiskers, but the n.r.a.took a slightly dimmer view of the transaction, so rivers doesn't advertise in the riflemanany more." "wasn't there some talk about whitneyvillewalker colts that had been made out of 1848 model colt dragoons?" rand asked. "oh lord, yes! this fellow umholtz was practicallyturning them out on an assembly-line, for a while. rivers must have sold about ten ofthem. you know, umholtz is a really fine gunsmith; i had him build a deer-rifle for dot, a coupleof years ago—mexican-mauser action, johnson barrel, chambered for .300 savage; umholtzmade the stock and fitted a scope-sight—it's a beautiful little rifle. i hate to see himprostitute his talents the way he does by

making these fake antiques for rivers. youknow, he made one of these mythical heavy .44 six-shooters of the sort colt was supposedto have turned out at paterson in 1839 for colonel walker's texas rangers—you know,the model he couldn't find any of in 1847, when he made the real walker colt. that storyyou find in sawyer's book." "why, that story's been absolutely disproved,"rand said. "there never was any such revolver." "not till umholtz made one," gresham replied."rivers sold it to,"—he named a moving-picture bigshot—"for twenty-five hundred dollars.his story was that he picked it up in mexico, in 1938; traded a .38-special to some halfbreedgoat-herder for it." "this fellow who bought it, now; did he seebelden and haven's colt book, when it came

out in 1940?" "yes, and he was plenty burned up, but whatcould he do? rivers was dug in behind this innocent-purchase-and-sale-in-good-faith maginotline of his. you know, that bastard took me, once, just one-tenth as badly, with a fakeu.s. north & cheney navy flintlock 1799 model that had been made out of a french 1777 model."the lawyer muttered obscenely. "why didn't you sue hell out of him?" randasked. "you might not have gotten anything, but you'd have given him a lot of dirty publicity.that's all fleming was expecting to do about those wheel locks." "i'm not fleming. he could afford litigationlike that; i can't. i want my money, and if

i don't get it in cash, i'm going to beatit out of that dirty little swindler's hide," gresham replied, an ugly look appearing onhis face. "i wouldn't blame you. you could find plentyof other collectors who'd hold your coat while you were doing it," rand told him. then heinquired, idly: "what sort of a pistol was it that lane fleming is supposed to have shothimself with?" gresham frowned. "i really don't know; i didn'tsee it. it's supposed to have been a confederate leech & rigdon .36; you know, one of thoseimitation colt navy models that were made in the south during the civil war." rand nodded. he was familiar with the type.

"the story is that fleming found it hangingback of the counter at some roadside lunch-stand, along with a lot of other old pistols, andtalked the proprietor into letting it go for a few dollars," gresham continued. "it wassupposed to have been loaded at the time, and went off while fleming was working onit, at home." he shook his head. "i can't believe that, jeff. lane fleming would knowa loaded revolver when he saw one. i believe he deliberately shot himself, and the familyfaked the accident and fixed the authorities. the police never made any investigation; itwas handled by the coroner alone. and our coroner, out in scott county, is eminentlyfixable, if you go about it right; a pitiful little nonentity with a tremendous inferioritycomplex."

"but good lord, why?" rand demanded. "i neverheard of fleming having any troubles worth killing himself over." gresham lowered his voice. "jeff, i'm notsupposed to talk about this, but the fact is that i believe fleming was about to losecontrol of the premix company," he said. "i have, well, sources of inside information.this is in confidence, so don't quote me, but certain influences were at work, insidethe company, toward that end." he inspected the tip of his cigar and knocked off the ashinto the tray at his elbow. "lane fleming's death is on record as accidental, jeff. it'sbeen written off as such. it would be a great deal better for all concerned if it were leftat that."

chapter 5 rand drove slowly through rosemont, the nextday, refreshing his memory of the place. it was one of the many commuters' villages strungout for fifty miles along the railroad lines radiating from new belfast, and depended forits support upon a population scattered over a five-mile radius at estates and countryhomes. obviously a planned community, it was dominated by a gray-walled, green-roofed railroadstation which stood on its passenger-platform like a captain in front of four platoons ofgray-walled, green-roofed houses and stores aligned along as many converging roads. therewas a post office, uniform with the rest of the buildings; an excessive quantity of aluminumtrimming dated it somewhere in the middle

andrew w. mellon period. there were four gasstations, a movie theater, and a woolworth store with a red front that made it look likesome painted hussy who had wandered into a quaker meeting. over the door of one of the smaller stores,rand saw a black-lettered white sign: antiques. there was a smoke-gray plymouth coupã© parkedin front of it. instead of turning onto the road to the flemingestate, he continued along route 19 for a mile or so beyond the village, until he cameto a red brick pseudo-colonial house on the right. he pulled to the side of the road andgot out, turning up the collar of his trench coat. the air was raw and damp, doubly unpleasantafter the recent unseasonable warmth. an apathetically

persistent rain sogged the seedling-dottedold fields on either side, and the pine-woods beyond, and a high ceiling of unbroken dirtygray gave no promise of clearing. the mournful hoot of a distant locomotive whistle was theonly sound to pierce the silence. for a moment, rand stood with his back to the car, lookingat the gallows-like sign that proclaimed this to be the business-place of arnold rivers,fine antique and modern firearms for the discriminating collector. the house faced the road with a long side;at the left, a porch formed a continuation under a deck roof, and on the right, an ellhad been built at right angles, extending thirty feet toward the road. although connectedto the house by a shed roof, which acquired

a double pitch and became a gable roof wherethe ell projected forward, it was, in effect, a separate building, with its own front doorand its own door-path. its floor-level was about four feet lower than that of the parentstructure. a fibber mcgee door-chime clanged as randentered. closing the door behind him, he looked around. the room, some twenty feet wide andfifty long, was lighted by an almost continuous row of casement windows on the right, andanother on the left for as far as the ell extended beyond the house. they were set high,a good five feet from lower sill to floor, and there was no ceiling; the sloping roofwas supported by bare timber rafters. racks lined the walls, under the windows, holdinglong-guns and swords; the pistols and daggers

and other small items were displayed on anumber of long tables. in the middle of the room, glaring at the front door, was a brassfour-pounder on a ship's carriage; a philippine latanka, muzzle tilted upward, stood besideit. where the ell joined the house under the shed roof, there was a fireplace, and a shortflight of steps to a landing and a door out of the dwelling, and some furniture—a davenport,three or four deep chairs facing the fire, a low cocktail-table, a cellarette, and, inthe far corner, a big desk. as rand went toward the rear, a young manrose from one of the chairs, laid aside a magazine, and advanced to meet him. he didn'texactly harmonize with all the lethal array around him; he would have looked more at homepresiding over an establishment devoted to

ladies' items. his costume ran to pastel shades,he had large and soulful blue eyes and prettily dimpled cheeks, and his longish blond hairwas carefully disordered into a windblown effect. "oh, good afternoon," he greeted. "is thereanything in particular you're interested in, or would you like to just look about?" "mostly look about," rand said. "is mr. riversin?" "mr. rivers is having luncheon. he'll be finishedbefore long, if you care to wait.... have you ever been here before?" "not for some time," rand said. "when i washere last, there was a young fellow named

jordan, or gordon, or something like that." "oh. he was before my time." the present functionaryintroduced himself as cecil gillis. rand gave his name and shook hands with him. young gilliswanted to know if rand was a collector. "in a small way. general-pistol collector,"rand told him. "have you many colts, now?" there was a whole table devoted to colts.no spurious whitneyville walkers; after all, a dealer can sell just so many of such top-drawerrarities before the finger of suspicion begins leveling itself in his direction, and arnoldrivers had long ago passed that point. there were several of the commoner percussion models,however, with lovely, perfect bluing that was considerably darker than that appliedat the colt factory during the 'fifties and

'sixties of the last century. the silver platingon backstraps and trigger-guards was perfect, too, but the naval-battle and stagecoach-holdupengravings on the cylinders were far from clear—in one case, completely obliterated.the cylinder of one 1851 navy bore serial numbers that looked as though they had beenaltered to conform to the numbers on other parts of the weapon. many of the colts, however,were entirely correct, and all were in reasonably good condition. rand saw something that interested him, andpicked it up. "that isn't a real colt," the exquisite mr.gillis told him. "it's a confederate copy; a leech & rigdon."

"so i see. i have a griswold & grier, butno leech & rigdon." "the griswold & grier; that's the one withthe brass frame," cecil gillis said. "surprising how many collectors think all confederaterevolvers had brass frames, because of the griswold & grier, and the spiller & burr....that's an unusually fine specimen, mr. rand. mr. rivers got it sometime in late decemberor early january; from a gentleman in charleston, i understand. i believe it had been carriedduring the civil war by a member of the former owner's family." rand looked at the tag tied to the trigger-guard;it was marked, in letter-code, with three different prices. that was characteristicof arnold rivers's business methods.

"how much does mr. rivers want for this?"he asked, handing the revolver to young gillis. the clerk mentally decoded the three pricesand vacillated for a moment over them. he had already appraised rand, from his twenty-dollarstetson past his burberry trench coat to his english hand-sewn shoes, and placed him inthe pay-dirt bracket; however, from some remarks rand had let drop, he decided that this customerknew pistols, and probably knew values. "why, that is sixty dollars, mr. rand," hesaid, with the air of one conferring a benefaction. maybe he was, at that, rand decided; priceshad jumped like the very devil since the war. "i'll take it." he dug out his billfold andextracted three twenties. "nice clean condition; clean it up yourself?"

"why, no. mr. rivers got it like this. asi said, it's supposed to have been a family heirloom, but from the way it's been caredfor, i would have thought it had been in a collection," the clerk replied. "shall i wrapit for you?" "yes, if you please." rand followed him tothe rear, laying aside his coat and hat. gillis got some heavy paper out of a closet and packagedit, then hunted through a card-file in the top drawer of the desk, until he found thecard he wanted. he made a few notes on it, and was still holding it and the sixty dollarswhen he rejoined rand by the fire. in spite of his effeminate appearance andover-refined manner, the young fellow really knew arms. the conversation passed from confederaterevolvers to the arms of the civil war in

general, and they were discussing the changesin tactics occasioned by the introduction of the revolver and the repeating carbinewhen the door from the house opened and arnold rivers appeared on the landing. he looked older than when rand had last seenhim. his hair was thinner on top and grayer at the temples. never particularly robust,he had lost weight, and his face was thinner and more hollow-cheeked. his mouth still hadthe old curve of supercilious insolence, and he was still smoking with the six-inch carvedivory cigarette-holder which rand remembered. he looked his visitor over carefully fromthe doorway, decided that he was not soliciting magazine subscriptions or selling fuller brushes,and came down the steps. as he did, he must

have recognized rand; he shifted the cigarette-holderto his left hand and extended his right. "mr. rand, isn't it?" he asked. "i thoughti knew you. it's been some years since you've been around here." "i've been a lot of places in the meantime,"rand said. "you were here last in october, '41, weren'tyou?" rivers thought for a moment. "you bought a highlander, then. by alexander murdoch,of doune, wasn't it?" "no; andrew strahan, of edzel," rand replied. rivers snapped his fingers. "that's right!i sold both of those pistols at about the same time; a gentleman in chicago got themurdoch. the strahan had a star-pierced lobe

on the hammer. did you ever get anybody totranslate the gaelic inscription on the barrel?" "you've a memory like jim farley," rand flattered."the inscription was the clan slogan of the camerons; something like: sons of the hound,come and get flesh! i won't attempt the original." "mr. rand just bought 6524, the leech & rigdon.36," gillis interjected, handing rivers the card and the money. rivers looked at both,saw how much rand had been taken for, and nodded. "a nice item," he faintly praised, as thoughanything selling for less than a hundred dollars was so much garbage. "considering the conditionin which confederate arms are usually found, it's really first-rate. i think you'll likeit, mr. rand."

the telephone rang, cecil gillis answeredit, listened for a moment, and then said: "for you, mr. rivers; long distance from milwaukee." rivers's face lit with the beatific smileof a cat at a promising mouse-hole. "ah, excuse me, mr. rand." he crossed to the desk, pickedup the phone and spoke into it. "this is arnold rivers," he said, much as edward murrow usedto say, this—is london! the telephone sputtered for a moment. "ah, yes indeed, mr. verral.quite well, i thank you. and you?... no, it hasn't been sold yet. do you wish me to shipit to you?... on approval; certainly.... of course it's an original flintlock; i didn'tlist it as re-altered, did i?... no, not at all; the only replacement is the small springinside the patchbox.... yes, the rifling is

excellent.... of course; i'll ship it at once....good-by, mr. verral." he hung up and turned to his hireling, fairlylicking his chops. "cecil, mr. verral, in milwaukee, whose addresswe have, has just ordered 6288, the f. zorger flintlock kentuck. will you please attendto it?" "right away, mr. rivers." gillis went to oneof the racks under the windows and selected a long flintlock rifle, carrying it out thedoor at the rear. "i issued a list, a few days ago," riverstold rand. "when cecil comes back, i'll have him get you a copy. i've been receiving callsever since; this is the twelfth long-distance call since tuesday."

"business must be good," rand commented. "iunderstand you've offered to buy the lane fleming collection. for ten thousand dollars." "where did you hear that?" rivers demanded,looking up from the drawer in which he was filing the card on the leech & rigdon. "from mrs. fleming." rand released a puffof pipe smoke and watched it draw downward into the fireplace. "i've been retained tohandle the sale of that collection; naturally, i'd know who was offering how much." rivers's eyes narrowed. he came around thedesk, loading another cigarette into his holder. "and just why, might i ask, did mrs. flemingthink it in order to employ a detective in

a matter like that?" he wanted to know. rand let out more smoke. "she didn't. sheemployed an arms-expert, a colonel jefferson davis rand, u.s.a., o.r.c., who is a well-knowncontributor to the american rifleman and the infantry journal and antiques and the oldgun report. you've read some of his articles, i believe?" "then you're not making an investigation?" "what in the world is there to investigate?"rand asked. "i'm just selling a lot of old pistols for the fleming estate." "i thought fred dunmore was doing that."

"so did fred. you're both wrong, though. iam." he got out goode's letter of authorization and handed it to rivers, who read it throughtwice before handing it back. "you see anything in that about fred dunmore, or any of theother relatives-in-law?" he asked. "well, i didn't understand; i'm glad to knowwhat the situation really is." rivers frowned. "i thought you were making some kind of aninvestigation, and as i'm the only party making any serious offer to buy those pistols, iwanted to know what there was to investigate." "do you consider ten thousand dollars to bea serious offer?" rand asked. "and aren't you forgetting stephen gresham and his friends?" "oh, those people!" rivers scoffed. "mr. rand,you certainly don't expect them to be able

to handle anything like this, do you?" "well, the banks speak well of them," randreplied. "some of them have good listings in dun & bradstreet's, too." "well, so do i," rivers reported. "i can topany offer that crowd makes. what do you expect to get out of them, anyhow?" "i haven't talked price with them, yet. alot more than ten thousand dollars, anyhow." rivers forced a laugh. "now, mr. rand! thatwas just an opening offer. i thought fred dunmore was handling the collection." he grimaced."what do you think it's really worth?" rand shrugged. "it probably has a dealer'spiece-by-piece list-value of around seventy

thousand. i'm not nuts enough to expect anythinglike that in a lump sum, but please, let's not mention ten thousand dollars in this connectionany more. that's on the order of lawyer marks bidding seventy-five cents for uncle tom;it's only good for laughs." "well, how much more than that do you thinkgresham and his crowd will offer?" "i haven't talked price with them, yet," randrepeated. "i mean to, as soon as i can." "well, you get their offer, and i'll top it,"rivers declared. "i'm willing to go as high as twenty-five thousand for that collection;they won't go that high." although he just managed not to show it, randwas really surprised. even a consciousness of abstracting had not prepared him for theshock of hearing arnold rivers raise his own

offer to something resembling an acceptablefigure. a good case, he reflected, could be made of that for the actuality of miracles. he rose, picking up his trench coat. "well! that's something like it, now," hesaid. "i'll see you later; i don't know how long it's going to take me to get a list prepared,and circularize the old-arms trade. i should hear from everybody who's interested in afew weeks. you can be sure i'll keep your offer in mind." he slipped into the coat and put on his hat,and then picked up the package containing the confederate revolver. rivers had risen,too; he was watching rand nervously. when

rand tucked the package under his arm andbegan drawing on his gloves, rivers cleared his throat. "mr. rand, i'm dreadfully sorry," he began,"but i'll have to return your money and take back that revolver. it should not have beensold." he got rand's sixty dollars out of his pocket as though he expected it to catchfire, and held it out. rand favored him with a display of painedsurprise. "why, i can't do that," he replied. "i boughtthis revolver in good faith, and you accepted payment and were satisfied with the transaction.the sale's been made, now." rivers seemed distressed. it was probablythe first time he had ever been on the receiving

end of that routine, and he didn't like it. "now you're being unreasonable, mr. rand,"he protested. "look here; i'll give you seventy-five dollars' credit on anything else in the shop.you certainly can't find fault with an offer like that." "i don't want anything else in the shop; iwant this revolver you sold me." rand gave him a look of supercilious insolence thatwas at least a two hundred per cent improvement on rivers at his most insolent. "you know,i'll begin to acquire a poor idea of your business methods before long," he added. rivers laughed ruefully. "well, to tell thetruth, i just remembered a customer of mine

who specializes in confederate arms, who wouldpay me at least eighty for that item," he admitted. "i thought..." rand shook his head. "i have a special fondnessfor confederate arms, myself. one of my grandfathers was in mosby's rangers, and the other waswith barksdale, to say nothing of about a dozen great-uncles and so on." "well, you're entirely within your rights,mr. rand," rivers conceded. "i should apologize for trying to renege on a sale, but.... well,i hope to see you again, soon." he followed rand to the door, shaking hands with him."don't forget; i'm willing to pay anything up to twenty-five thousand for the flemingcollection."

chapter 6 the fleming butler—walters, rand rememberedgladys fleming having called him—became apologetic upon learning who the visitor was. "forgive me, colonel rand, but i'm afraidi must put you to some inconvenience, sir," he said. "you see, we have no chauffeur, atpresent, and i don't drive very well, myself. would you object to putting up your own car,sir? the garage is under the house, at the rear; just follow the driveway around. i'llgo through the house and meet you there for the luggage. i'm dreadfully sorry to put youto the trouble, but...." "oh, that's all right," rand comforted him."just as soon do it, myself, now, anyhow.

i expect to be in and out with the car whilei'm here, and i'd better learn the layout of the garage now." "you may back in, sir, or drive straight inand back out," the butler told him. "one way's about as easy as the other." rand returned to his car, driving around thehouse. a row of doors opened out of the basement garage; walters, who must have gone throughthe house on the double, was waiting for him. having what amounted to a conditioned reflexto park his car so that he could get it out as fast as possible, he cut over to the right,jockeyed a little, and backed in. there were already two cars in the garage; a big maroonpackard sedan, and a sand-colored packard

station-wagon, standing side by side. randput his lincoln in on the left of the sedan. "bags in the luggage-compartment; it isn'tlocked," he told the butler, making sure that the glove-compartment, where he had placedthe leech & rigdon revolver, was locked. as he got out, the servant went to the rear ofthe car and took out the gladstone and the b-4 bag rand had brought with him. "if you don't mind entering the house fromthe rear, sir, we can go up those steps, there, and through the rear hall," the butler suggested,almost as though he were making some indecent and criminal proposal. rand told him to forget the protocol and leadthe way. the butler picked up the bags and

conducted him up a short flight of concretesteps to a landing and a door opening into a short hall above. an open door from thisgave access to a longer hall, stretching to the front of the house, and there was a thirddoor, closed, which probably led to the servants' domain. rand followed his guide through the open doorand into the long hall, which passed under an arch to extend to the front door. therewas a door on either side, about midway to the arch under the front stairway; the oneon the right was the dining-room, walters explained, and the one on the left was thelibrary. he seemed to be still suffering from the ignominy of admitting a house-guest throughany but the main portal.

emerging into the front hallway, he put downthe bags, took rand's hat and coat and laid them on top of the luggage, and then wentto an open doorway on the right, standing in it and coughing delicately, before announcingthat colonel rand was here. gladys fleming, wearing a pale blue frock,came forward as rand entered the parlor, her hand extended. the two other women in thebig parlor remained motionless. they would be the sisters, geraldine varcek and neldadunmore. rand didn't wonder that they resented gladys so bitterly; economic considerationsaside, girls seldom enthuse over a stepmother so near their own age who is so much morebeautiful. "good afternoon, colonel rand," gladys said."this is mrs. varcek." she indicated a very

pale blonde who sat slumped in a deep chairbeside a low cocktail-table, a highball in her hand. "and mrs. dunmore." she was thebrunette with the full bust and hips, in the short black skirt and the tight white sweater,who was standing by the fireplace. "h'lo." the blonde—geraldine—smiled shylyat him. she had big blue eyes, and delicately tinted rose-petal lips that seemed to be tryingnot to laugh at some private joke. she wasn't exactly blotto, but she had evidently laida good foundation for a first-class jag. after all, it was only two thirty in the afternoon. the other sister—nelda—didn't say anything.she merely stood and stared at rand distrustfully. rand doubted that she ordinarily gave menthe hostile eye. the full, dark-red lips;

the lush figure; the way she draped it againstthe side of the fireplace, to catch the ruddy light on her more interesting curves and bulges—therewas a bimbo just made to be leered at, and she probably resented it like hell if sheweren't. rand gave them a general good-afternoon, thenturned to gladys. "i had a talk with goode, yesterday afternoon," he said. "i have hisauthorization to handle all the details. as soon as i get an itemized list, i'll circularizedealers and other possible buyers and ask for offers." "is that all?" nelda demanded angrily of gladys."why fred's done all that already!" "is that correct, mrs. fleming?" rand asked,for the record.

"i told you, yesterday, what's been done,"gladys replied. "fred has talked to one dealer, arnold rivers. there has been no inventoryof any sort made." "mr. rivers is offering us ten thousand dollars,"nelda retorted. "i don't see why you had to bring this colonel what's-his-name into it,at all. you think he can get us a better offer? if you do, you're crazy!" "ten thousand dollars, for a collection thatought to sell for five times that, in macy's basement!" geraldine hooted. "how much isrivers slipping fred, on the side?" "oh, go back to your bottle!" nelda cried."you're too drunk to know what you're talking about!"

"they tell me colonel rand is a detective,too," geraldine continued. "maybe he can find out why fred never talked to stephen gresham,or carl gwinnett, or anybody else except this rivers. how much is fred getting out of rivers,anyhow?" "my god, geraldine, shut up!" nelda howled.then she decided to take direct notice of rand's presence. "colonel rand, i'm sorryto say that, in her present condition, my sister doesn't know what she's saying. it'sbad enough for my stepmother to bring an outsider into what's obviously a family matter, butwhen my sister begins making these ridiculous accusations ..." "what's ridiculous about them?" geraldinedemanded, dumping another two ounces of whiskey

into her glass and freshening it with thesiphon. "i think rivers's offering ten thousand dollars for the collection, and fred's thinkingwe'd accept it, are the only ridiculous things about it." "that's rather what i told rivers, this afternoon,"rand put in. "he seemed a bit upset about my being brought into this, too, but he finallyadmitted that he was willing to pay up to twenty-five thousand dollars for the collection,and if he buys it, that's exactly what it's going to cost him." "what?" nelda fairly screamed. her hands openedand closed spasmodically: she was using a dark-red nail-tint that made rand think ofblood-dripping talons.

"mr. arnold rivers told me, this afternoon,and i quote: i'm willing to pay up to twenty-five thousand dollars for that collection, unquote,"rand said. "and i can tell you now that twenty-five thousand dollars is just what he will payfor it, unless i can find somebody who's willing to pay more, which is not at all improbable." "h'ray!" geraldine waved her glass and toastedrand with it. "and twenty-five g ain't hay, brother!" gladys smiled quickly at rand, then turnedto nelda. "now i hope you see why i thought it wise to bring in somebody who knows somethingabout old arms," she said. nelda evidently saw; there was apparentlynothing stupid about her. "and fred was going

to take a miserable ten thousand dollars!"the way she said it, ten thousand sounded like a fairly generous headwaiter's tip. "didrivers actually tell you he'd pay twenty-five?" rand gave, as nearly verbatim as possible,his conversation with the dealer. "and he can afford it, too," he finished. "he canmake a nice profit on the collection, at that figure." "my god, do you mean the pistols are worthmore than that, even?" she wanted to know, aghast. "certainly, if you're a dealer with an establishedbusiness, and customers all over the country, and want to take five or six years to makeyour profit," rand replied. "if you aren't,

and want your money in a hurry, no." "that's why i was against turning the collectionover to gwinnett on a commission basis," gladys said. "it would take him five years to geteverything sold." nelda left the fireplace and advanced towardrand. "colonel, i owe you an apology," she said. "i had no idea father's pistols wereworth anywhere near that much. i don't suppose fred did, either." she frowned. wait tillshe gets fred alone, rand thought; i'd hate to be in his spot.... "you say you're actingon humphrey goode's authority?" "that's right. i'll negotiate the sale, butthe money will be paid directly to him, for distribution according to the terms of yourfather's will." rand got out goode's letter

and handed it to nelda. she read it carefully. "i see." she seemedgreatly relieved; she was looking at rand, now, as she was accustomed to look at men,particularly handsome six-footers who were broad across the shoulders and narrow at thehips and resembled king charles ii. she was probably wondering if rand was equal to oldrowley in another important respect. "i didn't understand ... i thought...." a dirty look,aimed at gladys, explained what she had thought. then her glance fell on the bottle and siphonon the table beside geraldine's chair, and she changed the subject by inquiring if colonelrand mightn't like a drink. "well, let's go up to the gunroom," gladyssuggested. "we can have our drink up there,

while colonel rand's looking at the pistols....coming with us, geraldine?" geraldine rose, not too steadily, her glassstill in her hand, and took rand's left arm. gladys, seeing nelda moving in on the detective'sright, took his other arm. nelda was barely successful in suppressing a look of murderousanger. the double doorway into the hall was just wide enough for rand and his two flankersto pass through; nelda had to fall in a couple of paces rear of center, and wasn't able tocome up into line until they were in the hall upstairs. "there's the gunroom." gladys pointed. "andthat's your room, over there." as she spoke, walters came out of the doorway she had indicated.

"your bags are unpacked, sir," he reported.then he told rand where he would find his things, and where the bath was. there was a brief discussion of drinks. thebutler received his instructions and went down the stairway; rand broke up the feminineformation around him and ushered the ladies ahead of him into the gunroom. it was much as he remembered it from his visitof two years before. there was a desk in one corner, and back of it a short workbench andtool-cabinet. there was a long table in the middle of the room, its top covered with greenbaize, upon which many flat rectangular boxes of hardwood rested—some walnut, some rosewood,some quartered oak. each would contain a pistol

or pair of pistols, with cleaning and loadingtools. in the corner farthest from the desk, he saw the head of the spiral stairway fromthe library below, mentioned by gladys fleming. there were ashstands and a couple of cocktail-tables,and a number of chairs, and the old maple cobbler's bench on which lane fleming haddied. the only books in the room were in a small case over the workbench; they were allarms-books. then he looked at the walls. on both ends,and on the long inside wall, the pistols hung, hundreds and hundreds of them, the cream ofa lifetime's collecting. horizontal white-painted boards had been fixed to the walls about fourfeet from the floor, and similar boards had been placed five feet above them. between,narrow vertical strips, as wide as a lath

but twice as thick, were set. rows of pistolswere hung, the barrels horizontal, on pairs of these strips, with screwhooks at grip andmuzzle. there were about a hundred such vertical rows of pistols. rand was still looking at them when the butlerbrought in the drinks; when gladys told the servant that that would be all, he went out,rather reluctantly, by the spiral stairs to the library. "well, what do you think of them, colonelrand?" gladys asked. rand tasted his whiskey and looked around."it's one of the finest collections in the country," he said. "i may even be able tofind somebody who'll top rivers's offer, but

don't be disappointed if i don't.... by theway, did anybody help mr. fleming keep this stuff clean? the room seems dry, but evenso, they'd need an occasional wiping-off." "oh, walters was always in here, going overthe pistols," nelda said. "he's been in here every day, lately." "i wonder if you could spare him to help mea little? i'll need somebody who knows his way around here, at first." "why, of course," gladys agreed. "he isn'tvery busy in the mornings, or in the afternoons till close to dinner-time. are you going tostart work today?" "i'll have to. i'm going to see stephen greshamand his associates this evening, and i'll

want to know what i'm talking about." they spent about fifteen minutes over theirdrinks, talking about the collection. rand and gladys did most of the talking, in spiteof nelda's best efforts to monopolize the conversation. geraldine, after a few minutes,retired into her private world and only roused herself when her sister and stepmother wereabout to leave. when they went out, gladys promised to send walters up directly; randheard her speaking to him at the foot of the main stairway.chapter 7 when walters entered, rand had his pipe litand was walking slowly around the room, laying out the work ahead of him. roughly, the earliestpieces were on the extreme left, on the short

north wall of the room, and the most recentones on the right, at the south end. this was, of course, only relatively true; thepistols seemed to have been classified by type in vertical rows, and chronologicallyfrom top to bottom in each row. the collection seemed to consist of a number of intenselyspecialized small groups, with a large number of pistols of general types added. for instance,about midway on the long east wall, there were some thirty-odd all-metal pistols, fromwheel lock to percussion. there was a collection of u.s. martials, with two rows of the regulationpistols, flintlock and percussion, of foreign governments, placed on the left, and the collectionof colts on the right. after them came the other types of percussion revolvers, and thelater metallic-cartridge types.

it was an arrangement which made sense, fromthe arms student's point of view, and rand decided that it would make sense to the dealersand museums to whom he intended sending lists. he would save time by listing them as theywere hung on the walls. then, there were the cases between the windows on the west wall,containing the ammunition collection—examples of every type of fixed-pistol ammunition—andthe collection of bullet-molds and powder flasks and wheel lock spanners and assortedcleaning and loading accessories. all that stuff would have to be listed, too. "i beg your pardon, sir," walters broke in,behind him. "mrs. fleming said that you wanted "oh, yes." rand turned. "is this the wholething? what's on the walls, here?"

"yes, sir. there is also a wall-case containinga number of modern pistols and revolvers, and several rifles and shotguns, in the roomformerly occupied by mr. fleming, but they are not part of the collection, and they arenow the personal property of mrs. fleming. i understand that she intends selling at leastsome of them, on her own account. then, there is a quantity of ammunition and ammunition-componentsin that closet under the workbench—cartridges, primed cartridge-shells, black and smokelesspowder, cartridge-primers, percussion caps—but they are not part of the collection, either.i believe mrs. fleming wants to sell most of that, too." "well, i'll talk to her about it. i may wantto buy some of the ammunition for myself,"

rand said. "so i only need to bother withwhat's on the walls, in this room?... by the way, did mr. fleming keep any sort of recordof his collection? a book, or a card-index, or anything like that?" "why no, sir." walters was positive. thenhe hedged. "if he did, i never saw or heard of anything of the sort. mr. fleming kneweverything in this room. i've seen him, downstairs, when somebody would ask him about something,close his eyes as though trying to visualize and then give a perfect description of anypistol in the collection. or else, he could enumerate all the pistols of a certain type;say, all the philadelphia deringers, or all the allen pepperboxes, or all the rim-firesmith & wesson tip-back types. he had a remarkable

memory for his pistols, although it was notout of the ordinary otherwise, sir." rand nodded. any collector—at least, anycollector who was a serious arms-student—could do that, particularly if he were a good visualizerand kept his stuff in some systematic order. at the moment, he could have named and describedany or all of his own modest collection of two hundred-odd pistols and revolvers. "i was hoping he'd kept a record," he said."a great many collectors do, and it would have helped me quite a bit." he made up hismind to compile such a record, himself, when he got back to new belfast. it would be abig help to carter tipton, when it came time to settle his own estate, and a man on whomthe reaper has scored as many near-misses

as on jeff rand should begin to think of suchthings. "and how about writing materials? and is there a typewriter available?" there was: a cased portable was on the floorbeside the workbench. walters showed him which desk drawers contained paper and other things.there was, rand noticed, a loaded .38 colt detective special, in the upper right-handdesk drawer. "and these phones," the butler continued,indicating them. "this one is a private outside phone; it doesn't connect with any other inthe house. the other is an extension. it has a buzzer; the outside phone has a regularbell." rand thanked him for the information. then,picking up a note-pad and pencil, he started

on the left of the collection, meaning tomake a general list and rough approximation of value for use in talking to gresham's friendsthat evening. tomorrow he would begin on the detailed list for use in soliciting outsideoffers. twenty-five wheel locks: four heavy southgerman dags, two singles and a pair; three saxon pistols, with sharply dropped grips,a pair and one single; five french and italian sixteenth-century pistols; a pair of smallpocket or sash pistols; a pair of french petronels, and an extremely long seventeenth-centurydutch pistol with an ivory-covered stock and a carved ivory venus-head for a pommel; eightseventeenth-century french, italian and flemish pistols. rand noted them down, and was aboutto pass on; then he looked sharply at one

of them. it was nothing out of the ordinary, as wheellocks go; a long flemish weapon of about 1640, the type used by the royalist cavalry in theenglish civil war. there were two others almost like it, but this one was in simply appallingcondition. the metal was rough with rust, and apparently no attempt had been made toclean it in a couple of centuries. there was a piece cracked out of the fore-end, the ramrodwas missing, as was the front ramrod-thimble, both the trigger-guard and the butt-cap wereloose, and when rand touched the wheel, it revolved freely if sluggishly, betraying abroken spring or chain. the vertical row next to it seemed to be allsnaphaunces, but among them rand saw a pair

of turkish flintlocks. not even good turkishflintlocks; a pair of the sort of weapons hastily thrown together by native craftsmenor imported ready-made from belgium for bazaar sale to gullible tourists. among the fineexamples of seventeenth-century brescian gunmaking above and below it, these things looked likea pair of dogpatchers in the waldorf's starlight room. rand contemplated them with distaste,then shrugged. after all, they might have had some sentimental significance; say souvenirsof a pleasantly remembered trip to the levant. a few rows farther on, among some exceptionallyfine flintlocks, all of which pre-dated 1700, he saw one of those big belgian navy pistols,circa 1800, of the sort once advertised far and wide by a certain old-army-goods dealerfor $6.95. this was a particularly repulsive

specimen of its breed; grimy with hardeneddust and gummed oil, maculated with yellow-surface-rust, the brasswork green with corrosion. it wasimpossible to shrug off a thing like that. from then on, rand kept his eyes open forsimilar incongruities. they weren't hard to find. there was a bigarmy pistol, of central european origin and in abominable condition, among a row of finemulti-shot flintlocks. multi-shot ... stephen gresham had mentioned an elisha collier flintlockrevolver. it wasn't there. it should be hanging about where this post-napoleonic german thingwas. there was no hall breech-loader, either, butthere was a dilapidated old ketland. there were many such interlopers among the u.s.martials: an english ounce-ball cavalry pistol,

a french 1777 and a french 1773, a couplemore $6.95 bargain-counter specials, a miserable altered s. north 1816. among the colts, therewas some awful junk, including a big spanish hinge-frame .44 and a belgian imitation ofa webley r.i.c. model. there weren't as many paterson colts as gresham had spoken of, andthe whitneyville walker was absent. it went on like that; about a dozen of the best pistolswhich rand remembered having seen from two years ago were gone, and he spotted at leasttwenty items which the late lane fleming wouldn't have hung in his backyard privy, if he'd hadone. well, that was to be expected. the way thesepistols were arranged, the absence of one from its hooks would have been instantly obvious.so, as the good stuff had moved out, these

disreputable changelings had moved in. "you had rather a shocking experience here,in mr. fleming's death," rand said, over his shoulder, to the butler. "oh, yes indeed, sir!" walters seemed relievedthat rand had broken the silence. "a great loss to all of us, sir. and so unexpected." he didn't seem averse to talking about it,and went on at some length. his story closely paralleled that of gladys fleming. "mr. varcek called the doctor immediately,"he said. "then mr. dunmore pointed out that the doctor would be obliged to notify eitherthe coroner or the police, so he called mr.

goode, the family solicitor. that was abouttwenty minutes after the shot. mr. goode arrived directly; he was here in about ten minutes.i must say, sir, i was glad to see him; to tell the truth, i had been afraid that theauthorities might claim that mr. fleming had shot himself deliberately." somebody else doesn't like the smell of thataccident, rand thought. aloud, he said: "mr. goode lives nearby, then, i take it?" "oh, yes, sir. you can see his house fromthese windows. over here, sir." rand looked out the window. the rain-soakedlawn of the fleming residence ended about a hundred yards to the west; beyond it, anorchard was beginning to break into leaf,

and beyond the orchard and another lawn stooda half-timbered tudor-style house, somewhat smaller than the fleming place. a path leddown from it to the orchard, and another led from the orchard to the rear of the housefrom which rand looked. "must be comforting to know your lawyer'sso handy," he commented. "and what do you think, walters? are you satisfied, in yourown mind, that mr. fleming was killed accidentally?" the servant looked at him seriously. "no,sir; i'm not," he replied. "i've thought about it a great deal, since it happened, sir, andi just can't believe that mr. fleming would have that revolver, and start working on it,without knowing that it was loaded. that just isn't possible, if you'll pardon me, sir.and i can't understand how he would have shot

himself while removing the charges. the factis, when i came up here at quarter of seven, to call him for cocktails, he had the wholething apart and spread out in front of him." the butler thought for a moment. "i believemr. dunmore had something like that in mind when he called mr. goode." "well, what happened?" rand asked. "did thecoroner or the doctor choke on calling it an accident?" "oh no, sir; there was no trouble of any sortabout that. you see, dr. yardman called the coroner, as soon as he arrived, but mr. goodewas here already. he'd come over by that path you saw, to the rear of the house, and inthrough the garage, which was open, since

mrs. dunmore was out with the coupã©. theyall talked it over for a while, and the coroner decided that there would be no need for anyinquest, and the doctor wrote out the certificate. that was all there was to it." rand looked at the section of pistol-rackdevoted to colts. "which one was it?" he asked. "oh it's not here, sir," walters replied."the coroner took it away with him." "and hasn't returned it yet? well, he hasno business keeping it. it's part of the collection, and belongs to the estate." "yes, sir. if i may say so, i thought it wasa bit high-handed of him, taking it away,

myself, but it wasn't my place to say anythingabout it." "well, i'll make it mine. if that revolver'swhat i'm told it is, it's too valuable to let some damned county-seat politician walkoff with." a thought occurred to him. "and if i find that he's disposed of it, this county'sgoing to need a new coroner, at least till the present incumbent gets out of jail." the buzzer of the extension phone went offlike an annoyed rattlesnake. walters scooped it up, spoke into it, listened for a moment,and handed it to rand. "for you, sir; mrs. fleming." "colonel rand, carl gwinnett, the commission-dealeri told you about is here," gladys told him.

"do you want to talk to him?" "why, yes. do i understand, now, that youand the other ladies want cash, and don't want the collection peddled off piecemeal?...all right, send him up. i'll talk to him." a few minutes later, a short, compact-lookingman of forty-odd entered the gunroom, shifting a brief case to his left hand and extendinghis right. rand advanced to meet him and shook hands with him. "you're colonel rand? enjoyed your articlesin the rifleman," he said. "mrs. fleming tells me you're handling the sale of the collectionfor the estate." "that's right, mr. gwinnett. mrs. flemingtells me you're interested."

"yes. originally, i offered to sell the collectionfor her on a commission basis, but she didn't seem to care for the idea, and neither dothe other ladies. they all want spot cash, in a lump sum." "yes. mrs. fleming herself might have beeninterested in your proposition, if she'd been sole owner. you could probably get more forthe collection, even after deducting your commission, than i'll be able to, but thecollection belongs to the estate, and has to be sold before any division can be made." "yes, i see that. well, how much would theestate, or you, consider a reasonable offer?" "sit down, mr. gwinnett," rand invited. "whatwould you consider a reasonable offer, yourself?

we're not asking any specific price; we'rejust taking bids, as it were." "well, how much have you been offered, todate?" "well, we haven't heard from everybody. infact, we haven't put out a list, or solicited offers, except locally, as yet. but one gentlemanhas expressed a willingness to pay up to twenty-five thousand dollars." gwinnett's face expressed polite skepticism."colonel rand!" he protested. "you certainly don't take an offer like that seriously?" "i think it was made seriously," rand replied."a respectable profit could be made on the collection, even at that price."

gwinnett's eyes shifted over the rows of horizontalbarrels on the walls. he was almost visibly wrestling with mental arithmetic, and at thesame time trying to keep any hint of his notion of the collection's real value out of hisface. "well, i doubt if i could raise that much,"he said. "might i ask who's making this offer?" "you might; i'm afraid i couldn't tell you.you wouldn't want me to publish your own offer broadcast, would you?" "i think i can guess. if i'm right, don'thold your head in a tub of water till you get it," gwinnett advised. "making a big offerto scare away competition is one thing, and paying off on it is another. i've seen thathappen before, you know. fact is, there's

one dealer, not far from here, who makes aregular habit of it. he'll make some fantastic offer, and then, when everybody's been bluffedout, he'll start making objections and finding faults, and before long he'll be down to abouta quarter of his original price." "the practice isn't unknown," rand admitted. "i'll bet you don't have this twenty-fivethousand dollar offer on paper, over a signature," gwinnett pursued. "well, here." he openedhis brief case and extracted a sheet of paper, handing it to rand. "you can file this; i'llstand back of it." rand looked at the typed and signed statementto the effect that carl gwinnett agreed to pay the sum of fifteen thousand dollars forthe lane fleming pistol-collection, in its

entirety, within thirty days of date. thatwas an average of six dollars a pistol. there had been a time, not too long ago, when apistol-collection with an average value of six dollars, particularly one as large asthe fleming collection, had been something unusual. for one thing, arms values had increasedsharply in the meantime. for another, lane fleming had kept his collection clean of thetwo-dollar items which dragged down so many collectors' average values. except for thetwo-dozen-odd mysterious interlopers, there wasn't a pistol in the fleming collectionthat wasn't worth at least twenty dollars, and quite a few had values expressible inthree figures. "well, your offer is duly received and filed,mr. gwinnett," rand told him, folding the

sheet and putting it in his pocket. "thisis better than an unwitnessed verbal statement that somebody is willing to pay twenty-fivethousand. i'll certainly bear you in mind." "you can show that to arnold rivers, if youwant to," gwinnett said. "see how much he's willing to commit himself to, over his signature."chapter 8 pre-dinner cocktails in the library seemedto be a sort of household rite—a self-imposed truce of bacchus before the resumption ofhostilities in the dining-room. it lasted from six forty-five to seven; everybody sippedmanhattans and kept quiet and listened to the radio newscast. the only new face, torand, was fred dunmore's. it was a smooth, pinkly-shaven face, decoratedwith octagonal rimless glasses; an entirely

unremarkable face; the face of the type thatused to be labeled "babbitt." the corner of rand's mind that handled such data subconsciouslyfiled his description: forty-five to fifty, one-eighty, five feet eight, hair brown andthinning, eyes blue. to this he added the rotarian button on the lapel, and the smallgold globule on the watch chain that testified that, when his age and weight had been considerablyless, dunmore had played on somebody's basketball team. at that time he had probably belongedto the y.m.c.a., and had thought that mussolini was doing a splendid job in italy, that h.l. mencken ought to be deported to russia, and that prohibition was here to stay. atcompany sales meetings, he probably radiated an aura of synthetic good-fellowship.

as rand followed walters down the spiral fromthe gunroom, the radio commercial was just starting, and geraldine was asking dunmorewhere anton was. "oh, you know," dunmore told her, impatiently."he had to go to louisburg, to that medical association meeting; he's reading a paperabout the new diabetic ration." he broke off as rand approached and was introducedby gladys, who handed both men their cocktails. then the news commentator greeted them outof the radio, and everybody absorbed the day's news along with their manhattans. after thebroadcast, they all crossed the hall to the dining-room, where hostilities began almostbefore the soup was cool enough to taste. "i don't see why you women had to do this,"dunmore huffed. "rivers has made us a fair

offer. bringing in an outsider will only givehim the impression that we lack confidence in him." "well, won't that be just too, too bad!" geraldineslashed at him. "we mustn't ever hurt dear mr. rivers's feelings like that. let him havethe collection for half what it's worth, but never, never let him think we know what agod-damned crook he is!" dunmore evidently didn't think that worthdignifying with an answer. doubtless he expected nelda to launch a counter-offensive, as amatter of principle. if he did, he was disappointed. "well?" nelda demanded. "what did you wantus to do; give the collection away?" "you don't understand," dunmore told her."you've probably heard somebody say what the

collection's worth, and you never stoppedto realize that it's only worth that to a dealer, who can sell it item by item. youcan't expect ..." "we can expect a lot more than ten thousanddollars," nelda retorted. "in fact, we can expect more than that from rivers. colonelrand was talking to rivers, this afternoon. colonel rand doesn't have any confidence inrivers at all, and he doesn't care who knows it." "you were talking to arnold rivers, this afternoon,about the collection?" dunmore demanded of rand. "that's right," rand confirmed. "i told himhis ten thousand dollar offer was a joke.

stephen gresham and his friends can top thatout of one pocket. finally, he got around to admitting that he's willing to pay up totwenty-five thousand." "i don't believe it!" dunmore exclaimed angrily."rivers told me personally, that neither he nor any other dealer could hope to handlethat collection profitably at more than ten thousand." "and you believed that?" nelda demanded. "andyou're a business man? my god!" "he's probably a good one, as long as he sticksto pancake flour," geraldine was generous enough to concede. "but about guns, he barelyknows which end the bullet comes out at. ten thousand was probably his idea of what we'dthink the pistols were worth."

dunmore ignored that and turned to rand. "didarnold rivers actually tell you he'd pay twenty-five thousand dollars for the collection?" he asked."i can't believe that he'd raise his own offer "he didn't raise his offer; i threw it outand told him to make one that could be taken seriously." rand repeated, as closely as hecould, his conversation with the arms-dealer. when he had finished, dunmore was frowningin puzzled displeasure. "and you think he's actually willing to paythat much?" "yes, i do. if he handles them right, he candouble his money on the pistols inside of five years. i doubt if you realize how valuablethose pistols are. you probably defined mr. fleming's collection as a 'hobby' and thereforesomething not to be taken seriously. and,

aside from the actual profit, the prestigeof handling this collection would be worth a good deal to rivers, as advertising. i haven'tthe least doubt that he can raise the money, or that he's willing to pay it." dunmore was still frowning. maybe he hatedbeing proved wrong in front of the women of the family. "and you think gresham and his friends willoffer enough to force him to pay the full amount?" rand laughed and told him to stop being naã¯ve."he's done that, himself, and what's more, he knows it. when he told me he was willingto go as high as twenty-five thousand, he

fixed the price. unless somebody offers more,which isn't impossible." "but maybe he's just bluffing." dunmore seemedto be following gwinnett's line of thought. "after he's bluffed gresham's crowd out, maybehe'll go back to his original ten thousand offer." "fred, please stop talking about that tenthousand dollars!" geraldine interrupted. "how much did rivers actually tell you he'dpay? twenty-five thousand, like he did colonel rand?" dunmore turned in his chair angrily. "now,look here!" he shouted. "there's a limit to what i've got to take from you...."

he stopped short, as nelda, beside him, movedslightly, and his words ended in something that sounded like a smothered moan. rand suspectedthat she had kicked her husband painfully under the table. then walters came in withthe meat course, and firing ceased until the butler had retired. "by the way," rand tossed into the conversationalvacuum that followed his exit, "does anybody know anything about a record mr. fleming keptof his collection?" "why, no; can't say i do," dunmore repliedpromptly, evidently grateful for the change of subject. "you mean, like an inventory?" "oh, fred, you do!" nelda told him impatiently."you know that big gray book father kept all

his pistols entered in." "it was a gray ledger, with a black leatherback," gladys said. "he kept it in the little bookcase over the workbench in the gunroom." "i'll look for it," rand said. "sure it'sstill there? it would be a big help to me." the rest of the dinner passed in relativetranquillity. the conversation proceeded in fairly safe channels. dunmore was anxiousto avoid any further reference to the sum of ten thousand dollars; when gladys inducedrand to talk about his military experiences, he lapsed into preoccupied silence. severaltimes, geraldine and nelda aimed halfhearted feline swipes at one another, more out ofcustom than present and active rancor. the

women seemed to have erected a temporary tri-partiteentente-more-or-less-cordiale. finally, the meal ended, and the diners driftedaway from the table. rand went to his room for a few moments, then went to the gunroomto get the notes he had made. fred dunmore was using the private phone as he entered. "well, never mind about that, now," he wassaying. "we'll talk about it when i see you.... yes, of course; so am i.... well, say abouteleven.... be seeing you." he hung up and turned to rand. "more god-damnedunion trouble," he said. "it's enough to make a saint lose his religion! our factory-handsare organized in the c.i.o., and our warehouse, sales, and shipping personnel are in the a.f.of l., and if they aren't fighting the company,

they're fighting each other. now they havesome damn kind of a jurisdictional dispute.... i don't know what this country's coming to!"he glared angrily through his octagonal glasses for a moment. then his voice took on an ingratiatingnote. "look here, colonel; i just didn't understand the situation, until you explained it. i hopeyou aren't taking anything that sister-in-law of mine said seriously. she just blurts outthe first thing that comes into her so-called mind; why, only yesterday she was accusinggladys of bringing you into this to help her gyp the rest of us. and before that ..." "oh, forget it." rand dismissed geraldinewith a shrug. "i know she was talking through a highball glass. as far as selling the collectionis concerned, you just let rivers sell you

a bill of something you hadn't gotten a goodlook at. he's a smart operator, and he's crooked as a wagon-load of blacksnakes. maybe younever realized just how much money fleming put into this collection; naturally you wouldn'trealize how much could be gotten out of it again. a lot of this stuff has been here forquite a while, and antiques of any kind tend to increase in value." "well, i want you to know that i'm just asglad as anybody if you can get a better price out of him than i could." dunmore smiled ruefully."i guess he's just a better poker player than i am." "not necessarily. he could see your hand,and you couldn't see his," rand told him.

"you going to see gresham and his friends,this evening?" dunmore asked. "well, when you get back, if you find four cars in thegarage, counting the station-wagon, lock up after you've put your own car away. if youfind only three, then you'll know that anton varcek's still out, so leave it open for him.that's the way we do here; last one in locks up."chapter 9 rand found another car, a smoke-gray plymouthcoupã©, standing on the left of his lincoln when he went down to the garage. running hiscar outside and down to the highway, he settled down to his regular style of driving—a barelylegal fifty m.p.h., punctuated by bursts of absolutely felonious speed whenever he foundan unobstructed straightaway. entering rosemont,

he slowed and went through the underpass atthe railroad tracks, speeding again when he was clear of the village. a few minutes later,he was turning into the crushed-limestone drive that led up to the buff-brick greshamhouse. a girl met him at the door, a cute littleredhead in a red-striped dress, who gave him a smile that seemed to start on the bridgeof her nose and lift her whole face up after it. she held out her hand to him. "colonel rand!" she exclaimed. "i'll bet youdon't remember me." "sure i do. you're dot," rand said. "at least,i think you are; the last time i saw you, you were in pigtails. and you were only aboutso high." he measured with his hand. "the

last time i was here, you were away at school.you must be old enough to vote, by now." "i will, this fall," she replied. "come onin; you're the first one here. daddy hasn't gotten back from town yet. he called and saidhe'd be delayed till about nine." in the hall she took his hat and coat and guided him towardthe parlor on the right. "oh, mother!" she called. "here's colonelrand!" rand remembered irene gresham, too; an over-agedizzy blonde who was still living in the flaming youth era of the twenties. she was an extremelygood egg; he liked her very much. after all, insisting upon remaining an f. scott fitzgeraldcharacter was a harmless and amusing foible, and it was no more than right that somebodyshould try to keep the bright banner of jazz

age innocence flying in a grim and sullenworld. he accepted a cigarette, shared the flame of his lighter with mother and daughter,and submitted to being gushed over. "... and, honestly, jeff, you get handsomerevery year," irene gresham rattled on. "dot, doesn't he look just like clark gable in gonewith the wind? but then, of course, jeff really is a southerner, so ..." the doorbell interrupted this slight non sequitur.she broke off, rising. "sit still, jeff; i'm just going to see whoit is. you know, we're down to only one servant now, and it seems as if it's always her nightoff, or something. i don't know, honestly, what i'm going to do...."

she hurried out of the room. voices soundedin the hall; a man's and a girl's. "that's pierre and karen," dot said. "let'sall go up in the gunroom, and wait for the others there." they went out to meet the newcomers. the manwas a few inches shorter than rand, with gray eyes that looked startlingly light againstthe dark brown of his face. he wasn't using a cane, but he walked with a slight limp.beside him was a slender girl, almost as tall as he was, with dark brown hair and browneyes. she wore a rust-brown sweater and a brown skirt, and low-heeled walking-shoes. irene gresham went into the introductions,the newcomers shook hands with rand and were

advised that the style of address was "jeff,"rather than "colonel rand," and then dot suggested going up to the gunroom. irene gresham saidshe'd stay downstairs; she'd have to let the others in. "have you seen this collection before?" pierrejarrett inquired as he and rand went upstairs together. "about two years ago," rand said. "stephenhad just gotten a cased dueling set by wilkinson, then. from the far west hobby shop, i think." "oh, he's gotten a lot of new stuff sincethen, and sold off about a dozen culls and duplicates," the former marine said. "i'llshow you what's new, till the others come."

they reached the head of the stairs and starteddown the hall to the gunroom, in the wing that projected out over the garage. alongthe way, the girls detached themselves for nose-powdering. unlike the room at the fleming home, stephengresham's gunroom had originally been something else—a nursery, or play-room, or party-room.there were windows on both long sides, which considerably reduced the available wall-space,and the situation wasn't helped any by the fact that the collection was about thirtyper cent long-arms. things were pretty badly crowded; most of the rifles and muskets werein circular barracks-racks, away from the walls.

"here, this one's new since you were here,"pierre said, picking a long musket from one of the racks and handing it to rand. "howdo you like this one?" rand took it and whistled appreciatively."real european matchlock; no, i never saw that. looks like north italian, say 1575 toabout 1600." "that musket," pierre informed him, "cameover on the mayflower." "really, or just a gag?" rand asked. "it easilycould have. the mayflower company bought their muskets in holland, from some seventeenth-centuryforerunner of bannerman's, and europe was full of muskets like this then, left overfrom the wars of the holy roman empire and the french religious wars."

"yes; i suppose all their muskets were obsoletetypes for the period," pierre agreed. "well, that's a real mayflower arm. stephen has thedocumentation for it. it came from the charles winthrop sawyer collection, and there wereonly three ownership changes between the last owner and the mayflower company. stephen onlypaid a hundred dollars for it, too." "that was practically stealing," rand said.he carried the musket to the light and examined it closely. "nice condition, too; i wouldn'tbe afraid to fire this with a full charge, right now." he handed the weapon back. "hedidn't lose a thing on that deal." "i should say not! i'd give him two hundredfor it, any time. even without the history, it's worth that."

"who buys history, anyhow?" rand wanted toknow. "the fact that it came from the sawyer collection adds more value to it than thismayflower business. past ownership by a recognized authority like sawyer is a real guaranteeof quality and authenticity. but history, documented or otherwise—hell, only yesterdayi saw a pair of pistols with a wonderful three-hundred-and-fifty-year documented history. only not a word of itwas true; the pistols were made about twenty years ago." "those wheel locks fleming bought from arnoldrivers?" pierre asked. "god, wasn't that a crime! i'll bet rivers bought himself a bigdrink when lane fleming was killed. fleming was all set to hang rivers's scalp in hiswigwam.... but with stephen, the history does

count for something. as you probably know,he collects arms-types that figured in american history. well, he can prove that this individualmusket was brought over by the pilgrims, so he can be sure it's an example of the typethey used. but he'd sooner have a typical pilgrim musket that never was within fivethousand miles of plymouth rock than a non-typical arm brought over as a personal weapon by oneof the mayflower company." "oh, none of us are really interested in theindividual history of collection weapons," rand said. "you show me a collection that'sfull of known-history arms, and i'll show you a collection that's either full of junkor else cost three times what it's worth. and you show me a collector who blows moneyon history, and nine times out of ten i'll

show you a collector who doesn't know guns.i saw one such collection, once; every item had its history neatly written out on a tagand hung onto the trigger-guard. the owner thought that the patent-dates on colts weremodel-dates, and the model-dates on french military arms were dates of fabrication." pierre wrinkled his nose disgustedly. "god,i hate to see a collection all fouled up with tags hung on things!" he said. "or stuck overwith gummed labels; that's even worse. once in a while i get something with a label pastedon it, usually on the stock, and after i get it off, there's a job getting the wood underit rubbed up to the same color as the rest of the stock."

"yes. i picked up a lovely little rifled flintlockpistol, once," rand said. "american; full-length curly-maple stock; really a kentucky riflein pistol form. whoever had owned it before me had pasted a slip of paper on the undersideof the stock, between the trigger-guard and the lower ramrod thimble, with a lot of crap,mostly erroneous, typed on it. it took me six months to remove the last traces of wherethat thing had been stuck on." "what do you collect, or don't you specialize?" "pistols; i try to get the best possible specimensof the most important types, special emphasis on british arms after 1700 and american armsafter 1800. what i'm interested in is the evolution of the pistol. i have a couple ofwheel locks, to start with, and three miguelet-locks

and an italian snaphaunce. then i have a fewearly flintlocks, and a number of mid-eighteenth-century types, and some late flintlocks and percussiontypes. and about twenty colts, and so on through percussion revolvers and early cartridge typesto some modern arms, including a few world war ii arms." "i see; about the same idea lane fleming had,"pierre said. "i collect personal combat-arms, firearms and edge-weapons. arms that eitherinfluenced fighting techniques, or were developed to meet special combat conditions. from whatyou say, you're mainly interested in the way firearms were designed and made; i'm interestedin the conditions under which they were used. and adam trehearne, who'll be here shortly,collects pistols and a few long-arms in wheel

lock, proto-flintlock and early flintlock,to 1700. and philip cabot collects u.s. martials, flintlock to automatic, and also enemy andallied army weapons from all our wars. and colin macbride collects nothing but colts.odd how a scot, who's only been in this country twenty years, should become interested inso distinctively american a type." "and i collect anything i can sell at a profit,from chinese matchlocks to tommy-guns," karen lawrence interjected, coming into the roomwith dot gresham. pierre grinned. "karen is practically a uniquespecimen herself; the only general-antique dealer i've ever seen who doesn't hate thesight of a gun-collector." "that's only because i'm crazy enough to wantto marry one," the girl dealer replied. "of

all the miserly, unscrupulous, grasping characters..." she expressed a doubt that the average gun-collector would pay more than ten centsto see his lord and savior riding to hounds on a bren-carrier. "they don't give a hootwhose grandfather owned what, and if anything's battered up a little, they don't think itlooks quaint, they think it looks lousy. and they've never heard of inflation; they thinkarms ought still to sell for the sort of prices they brought at the old mark field sale, backin 1911." "what were you looking at?" dot asked rand,then glanced at the musket in pierre's hands. "oh, priscilla." karen laughed. "dot not only knows everythingin the collection; she knows it by name. dot,

show colonel rand hester prynne." "hester coming up," gresham's daughter said,catching another musket out of the same rack from which pierre had gotten the matchlockand passing it over to rand. he grasped the heavy piece, approving of the easy, instinctiveway in which the girl had handled it. "look on the barrel," she told him. "on top, rightat the breech." the gun was a flintlock, or rather, a dog-lock;sure enough, stamped on the breech was the big "a" of the company of workmen armorersof london, the seventeenth-century gunmakers' guild. "that's right," he nodded. "that's hesterprynne, all right; the first american girl

to make her letter." there were footsteps in the hall outside,and male voices. "adam and colin," pierre recognized them beforethey entered. both men were past fifty. colin macbride wasa six-foot black highlander; black eyes, black hair, and a black weeping-willow mustache,from under which a stubby pipe jutted. except when he emptied it of ashes and refilled it,it was a permanent fixture of his weather-beaten face. trehearne was somewhat shorter, andfair; his sandy mustache, beginning to turn gray at the edges, was clipped to micrometricexactness. they shook hands with rand, who set hesterback in her place. trehearne took the matchlock

out of pierre's hands and looked at it wistfully. "some chaps have all the luck," he commented."what do you think of it, mr. rand?" pierre, who had made the introductions, had respectedthe detective's present civilian status. "or don't you collect long-arms?" "i don't collect them, but i'm interestedin anything that'll shoot. that's a good one. those things are scarce, too." "yes. you'll find a hundred wheel locks forevery matchlock, and yet there must have been a hundred matchlocks made for every wheellock." "matchlocks were cheap, and wheel locks wereexpensive," macbride suggested. he spoke with

the faintest trace of highland accent. "naturally,they got better care." "it would take a scot to think of that," karensaid. "now, you take a scot who collects guns, and you have something!" "that's only part of it," rand said. "i believethat by the last quarter of the seventeenth century, most of the matchlocks that werelying around had been scrapped, and the barrels used in making flintlocks. hester prynne,over there, could easily have started her career as a matchlock. and then, a great manymatchlocks went into the west african slave and ivory trade, and were promptly ruinedby the natives." "yes, and i seem to recall having seen spanishand french miguelet muskets that looked as

though they had been altered directly frommatchlock, retaining the original stock and even the original lock-plate," trehearne added. "so have i, come to think of it." rand stolea glance at his wrist-watch. it was nine five; he was wishing stephen gresham would put inan appearance. macbride and trehearne joined pierre and thegirls in showing him gresham's collection; evidently they all knew it almost as wellas their own. after a while, irene gresham ushered in philip cabot. he, too, was pastmiddle age, with prematurely white hair and a thin, scholarly face. according to hollywoodtype-casting, he might have been a professor, or a judge, or a boston brahmin, but nevera stockbroker.

irene gresham wanted to know what everybodywanted to drink. rand wanted bourbon and plain water; macbride voted for jamaica rum; trehearneand cabot favored brandy and soda, and pierre and the girls wanted bacardi and coca-cola. "and stephen'll want rye and soda, when hegets here," irene said. "come on, girls; let's rustle up the drinks." before they returned, stephen gresham camein, lighting a cigar. it was just nine twenty-two. "well, i see everybody's here," he said. "no;where's karen?" pierre told him. a few minutes later the womenreturned, carrying bottles and glasses; when the flurry of drink-mixing had subsided, theyall sat down.

"let's get the business over first," greshamsuggested. "i suppose you've gone over the collection already, jeff?" "yes, and first of all, i want to know something.when was the last that any of you saw it?" gresham and pierre had been in fleming's gunroomjust two days before the fatal "accident." "and can you tell me if the big whitneyvillecolt was still there, then?" rand asked. "or the rappahannock forge, or the collier flintlock,or the hall?" "why, of course ... my god, aren't they therenow?" gresham demanded. rand shook his head. "and if fleming stillhad them two days before he was killed, then somebody's been weeding out the collectionsince. doing it very cleverly, too," he added.

"you know how that stuff's arranged, and howconspicuous a missing pistol would be. well, when i was going over the collection, i foundabout two dozen pieces of the most utter trash, things lane fleming wouldn't have allowedin the house, all hanging where some really good item ought to have been." he took a paperfrom his pocket and read off a list of the dubious items, interpolating comments on thecondition, and a list of the real rarities which gresham had mentioned the day before,which were now missing. "all that good stuff was there the last timei saw the collection," gresham said. "what do you say, pierre?" "i had the hall pistol in my hands," pierresaid. "and i remember looking at the rappahannock

forge." trehearne broke in to ask how many englishdog-locks there were, and if the snaphaunce highlander and the big all-steel wheel lockwere still there. at the same time, cabot was inquiring about the springfield 1818 andthe virginia manufactory pistols. "i'll have a complete, itemized list in afew days," rand said. "in the meantime, i'd like a couple of you to look at the collectionand help me decide what's missing. i'm going to try to catch the thief, and then get atthe fence through him." "think rivers might have gotten the pistols?"gresham asked. "he's the crookedest dealer i know of."

"he's the crookedest dealer anybody knowsof," rand amended. "the only thing, he's a little too anxious to buy the collection,for somebody who's just skimmed off the cream." "ten thousand dollars isn't much in the wayof anxiety," cabot said. "i'd call that a nominal bid, to avoid suspicion." "the dope's changed a little on that." randbrought him up to date. "rivers's offer is now twenty-five thousand." there was a stunned hush, followed by a gustof exclamations. "guid lorrd!" the scots accent fairly curdledon colin macbride's tongue. "we canna go over that!"

"i'm afraid not; twenty would be about ourlimit," gresham agreed. "and with the best items gone ..." he shrugged. pierre and karen were looking at each otherin blank misery; their dream of establishing themselves in the arms business had blownup in their faces. "oh, he's talking through his hat!" cabotdeclared. "he just hopes we'll lose interest, and then he'll buy what's left of the collectionfor a song." "maybe he knows the collection's been robbed,"trehearne suggested. "that would let him out, later. he'd accuse you or the fleming estateof holding out the best pieces, and then offer to take what's left for about five thousand."

"well, that would be presuming that he knowsthe collection has been robbed," cabot pointed out. "and the only way he'd know that wouldbe if he, himself, had bought the stolen pistols." "well, does anybody need a chaser to swallowthat?" trehearne countered. "i'm bloody sure i don't." karen lawrence shook her head. "no, he'd paytwenty-five thousand for the collection, just as it stands, to keep pierre and me out ofthe arms business. this end of the state couldn't support another arms-dealer, and with thereputation he's made for himself, he'd be the one to go under." she stubbed out hercigarette and finished her drink. "if you don't mind, pierre, i think i'll go home."

"i'm not feeling very festive, myself, rightnow." the ex-marine rose and held out his hand to rand. "don't get the idea, jeff, thatanybody here holds this against you. you have your clients' interests to look out for." "well, if this be treason make the most ofit," rand said, "but i hope rivers doesn't go through with it. i'd like to see you peopleget the collection, and i'd hate to see a lot of nice pistols like that get into thehands of a damned swindler like rivers.... maybe i can catch him with the hot-goods onhim, and send him up for about three-to-five." "oh, he's too smart for that," karen despaired."he can get away with faking, but the dumbest jury in the world would know what receivingstolen goods was, and he knows it."

dorothy and irene gresham accompanied pierreand karen downstairs. after they had gone, gresham tried, not very successfully, to injectmore life into the party with another round of drinks. for a while they discussed thepersonal and commercial iniquities of arnold rivers. trehearne and macbride, who had cometogether in the latter's car, left shortly, and half an hour later, philip cabot roseand announced that he, too, was leaving. "you haven't seen my collection since beforethe war, jeff," he said. "if you're not sleepy, why don't you stop at my place and see what'snew? you're staying at the flemings'; my house is along your way, about a mile on the otherside of the railroad." they went out and got into their cars. randkept cabot's taillight in sight until the

broker swung into his drive and put his carin the garage. rand parked beside the road, took the leech & rigdon out of the glove-box,and got out, slipping the confederate revolver under his trouser-band. he was pulling downhis vest to cover the butt as he went up the walk and joined his friend at the front door. cabot's combination library and gunroom wason the first floor. like rand's own, his collection was hung on racks over low bookcases on eitherside of the room. it was strictly a collector's collection, intensely specialized. there wereall but a few of the u.s. regulation single-shot pistols, a fair representation of secondarytypes, most of the revolvers of the civil war, and all the later revolvers and automatics.in addition, there were british pistols of

the revolution and 1812, confederate revolvers,a couple of spanish revolvers of 1898, the lugers and mausers and steyers of the firstworld war, and the pistols of all our allies, beginning with the french weapons of the revolution. "i'm having the devil's own time filling infor this last war," cabot said. "i have a want-ad running in the rifleman, and i'vegotten a few: that nambu, and that japanese model-14, and the polish radom, and the italianglisenti, and that tokarev, and, of course, the p-'38 and the canadian browning; but it'sgoing to take the devil's own time. i hope nobody starts another war, for a few years,till i can get caught up on the last one." rand was looking at the confederate revolvers.griswold & grier, haiman brothers, tucker

& sherrod, dance brothers & park, spiller& burr—there it was: leech & rigdon. he tapped it on the cylinder with a finger. "wasn't it one of those things that killedlane fleming?" he asked. "leech & rigdon? so i'm told." cabot hesitated."jeff, i saw that revolver, not four hours before fleming was shot. had it in my hands;looked it over carefully." he shook his head. "it absolutely was not loaded. it was empty,and there was rust in the chambers." "then how the hell did he get shot?" randwanted to know. "that i couldn't say; i'm only telling youhow he didn't get shot. here, this is how it was. it was a thursday, and i'd come halfwayout from town before i remembered that i hadn't

bought a copy of time, so i stopped at biddle'sdrugstore, in the village, for one. just as i was getting into my car, outside, lane flemingdrove up and saw me. he blew his horn at me, and then waved to me with this revolver inhis hand. i went over and looked at it, and he told me he'd found it hanging back of thecounter at a barbecue-stand, where the road from rosemont joins route 22. there had beensome other pistols with it, and i went to see them later, but they were all trash. theleech & rigdon had been the only decent thing there, and fleming had talked it out of thisfellow for ten dollars. he was disgustingly gleeful about it, particularly as it was abetter specimen than mine." "would you know it, if you saw it again?"rand asked.

"yes. i remember the serials. i always lookat serials on confederate arms. the highest known serial number for a leech & rigdon is1393; this one was 1234." rand pulled the .36 revolver from his pants-legand gave it a quick glance; the number was 1234. he handed it to cabot. "is this it?" he asked. cabot checked the number. "yes. and i rememberthis bruise on the left grip; fleming was saying that he was glad it would be on theinside, so it wouldn't show when he hung it on the wall." he carried the revolver to thedesk and held it under the light. "why, this thing wasn't fired at all!" he exclaimed."i thought that fleming might have loaded

it, meaning to target it—he had a pistolrange back of his house—but the chambers are clean." he sniffed at it. "hoppe's numbernine," he said. "and i can see traces of partly dissolved rust, and no traces of fouling.what the devil, jeff?" "it probably hasn't been fired since appomattox,"rand agreed. "philip, do you think all this didn't-know-it-was-loaded routine might bean elaborate suicide build-up, either before or after the fact?" "absolutely not!" there was a trace of impatiencein cabot's voice. "lane fleming wasn't the man to commit suicide. i knew him too wellever to believe that." "i heard a rumor that he was about to losecontrol of his company," rand mentioned. "you

know how much premix meant to him." "that's idiotic!" cabot's voice was openlyscornful, now, and he seemed a little angry that rand should believe such a story, asthough his confidence in his friend's intelligence had been betrayed. "good lord, jeff, wheredid you ever hear a yarn like that?" "quote, usually well-informed sources, unquote." "well, they were unusually ill-informed, thattime," cabot replied. "take my word for it, there's absolutely nothing in it." "so it wasn't an accident, and it wasn't suicide,"rand considered. "philip, what is the prognosis on this merger of premix and national milling& packaging, now that lane fleming's opposition

has been, shall we say, liquidated?" cabot's head jerked up; he looked at randin shocked surprise. "my god, you don't think...?" he began. "jeff,are you investigating lane fleming's death?" "i was retained to sell the collection," randstated. "now, i suppose, i'll have to find out who's been stealing those pistols, andrecover them, and jail the thief and the fence. but i was not retained to investigate thedeath of lane fleming. and i do not do work for which i am not paid," he added, with mendaciousliteralness. "i see. well, the merger's going through.it won't be official until the sixteenth of may, when the premix stockholders meet, butthat's just a formality. it's all cut and

dried and in the bag now. better let me pickyou up a little premix; there's still some lying around. you'll make a little less thanfour-for-one on it." "i'd had that in mind when i asked you aboutthe merger," rand said. "i have about two thousand with you, haven't i?" he did a moment'smental arithmetic, then got out his checkbook. "pick me up about a hundred shares," he toldthe broker. "i've been meaning to get in on this ever since i heard about it." "i don't see how you did hear about it," cabotsaid. "for obvious reasons, it's being kept pretty well under the hat." rand grinned. "quote, usually well-informedsources, unquote. not the sources mentioned

above." "jeff, you know, this damned thing's worryingme," cabot told him, writing a receipt and exchanging it for rand's check. "i've beentrying to ignore it, but i simply can't. do you really think lane fleming was murderedby somebody who wanted to see this merger consummated and who knew that that was animpossibility as long as fleming was alive?" "philip, i don't know. and furthermore, idon't give a damn," rand lied. "if somebody wants me to look into it, and pays me my possiblyexaggerated idea of what constitutes fair compensation, i will. and i'll probably comeup with fleming's murderer, dead or alive. but until then, it is simply no epidermisoff my scrotum. and i advise you to adopt

a similar attitude." they changed the subject, then, to the varietyof pistols developed and used by the opposing nations in world war ii, and the difficultiesahead of cabot in assembling even a fairly representative group of them. rand promisedto mail cabot a duplicate copy of his list of the letter-code symbols used by the nazisto indicate the factories manufacturing arms for them, as well as copies of some old wartimeintelligence dope on enemy small-arms. at a little past one, he left cabot's home andreturned to the fleming residence. there were four cars in the garage. the packardsedan had not been moved, but the station-wagon was facing in the opposite direction. thegray plymouth was in the space from which

rand had driven earlier in the evening, anda black chrysler imperial had been run in on the left of the plymouth. he put his owncar in on the right of the station-wagon, made sure that the leech & rigdon was lockedin his glove-box, and closed and locked the garage doors. then he went up into the house,through the library, and by the spiral stairway to the gunroom. the garage had been open, he recalled, atthe time of lane fleming's death. the availability of such an easy means of undetected ingressand egress threw the suspect field wide open. anybody who knew the habits of the fleminghousehold could have slipped up to the gunroom, while varcek was in his lab, dunmore was inthe bathroom, and gladys and geraldine were

in the parlor. as he crossed the hall to hisown room, rand was thinking of how narrowly arnold rivers had escaped a disastrous lawsuitand criminal action by the death of lane fleming. chapter 10 when rand came down to breakfast the nextmorning, he found gladys, nelda, and a man whom he decided, by elimination, must be antonvarcek, already at the table. the latter rose as rand entered, and bowed jerkily as gladysverified the guess with an introduction. he was about rand's own age and height; hehad a smooth-shaven, tight-mouthed face, adorned with bushy eyebrows, each of which was almostas heavy as rand's mustache. it was a face that seemed tantalizingly familiar, and randpuzzled for a moment, then nodded mentally.

of course he had seen a face like that hundredsof times, in newsreels and news-photos, and, once in pre-war berlin, its living double.rudolf hess. he wondered how much deeper the resemblance went, and tried not to let itprejudice him. nelda greeted him with a trowelful of sweetnessand a dash of bedroom-bait. gladys waved him to a vacant seat at her right and summonedthe maid who had been serving breakfast. after rand had indicated his preference of fruitand found out what else there was to eat, he inquired where the others were. "oh, fred's still dressing; he'll be downin a minute," nelda told him. "and geraldine won't; she never eats with her breakfast."

varcek winced slightly at this, and shiftedthe subject by inquiring if rand were a professional antiques-expert. "no, i'm a lily-pure amateur," rand told him."or was until i took this job. i have a collection of my own, and i'm supposed to be somethingof an authority. my business is operating a private detective agency." "but you are here only as an arms-expert?"varcek inquired. "you are not making any sort of detective investigation?" "that's right," rand assured him. "this ispractically a paid vacation, for me. first time i ever handled anything like this; it'sa real pleasure to be working at something

i really enjoy, for a change." varcek nodded. "yes, i can understand that.my own work, for instance. i would continue with my research even if i were independentlywealthy and any sort of work were unnecessary." "tell colonel rand what you're working onnow," nelda urged. varcek gave a small mirthless laugh. "oh,colonel rand would be no more interested than i would be in his pistols," he objected, thenturned to rand. "it is a series of experiments having to do with the chemical nature of life,"he said. another perfunctory chuckle. "no, i am not trying to re-create frankenstein'smonster. the fact is, i am working with fruit flies."

"something about heredity?" rand wanted toknow. varcek laughed again, with more amusement."so! one says: 'fruit flies,' and immediately another thinks: 'heredity.' it is practicallya standard response. only, in this case, i am investigating the effect of diet changes.i use fruit flies because of their extreme adaptability. if i find that i am on the righttrack, i shall work with mice, next." "fred dunmore mentioned a packaged diabeticration you'd developed," rand mentioned. "oh, yes." varcek shrugged. "yes. somethinglike an army field-ration, for diabetics to carry when traveling, or wherever proper foodmay be unobtainable. that is for the company; soon we put it on the market, and make lotsof money. but this other, that is my own private

work." dunmore had come in while varcek was speakingand had seated himself beside his wife. "don't let him kid you, colonel," he said."anton's just as keen about that dollar as the rest of us. i don't know what he's cookingup, up there in the attic, but i'll give ten-to-one we'll be selling it in twenty-five-cent packagesinside a year, and selling plenty of them.... oh, and speaking about that dollar; how didyou make out with gresham and his friends?" "i didn't. they'd expected to pay about twentythousand for the collection; rivers's offer has them stopped. and even if they could goover twenty-five, i think rivers would raise them. he's afraid to let them get the collection;pierre jarrett and karen lawrence intended

using their share of it to go into the old-armsbusiness, in competition with him." "uh-huh, that's smart," dunmore approved."it's always better to take a small loss stopping competition than to let it get too big foryou. you save a damn-sight bigger loss later." "how soon do you think the pistols will besold?" gladys asked. "oh, in about a month, at the outside," randsaid, continuing to explain what had to be done first. "well, i'm glad of that," varcek commented."i never liked those things, and after what happened ... the sooner they can be sold,the better." breakfast finally ended, and varcek and dunmoreleft for the premix plant. rand debated for

a moment the wisdom of speaking to gladysabout the missing pistols, then decided to wait until his suspicions were better verified.after a few minutes in the gunroom, going over lane fleming's arms-books on the shelfover the workbench without finding any trace of the book in which he had catalogued hiscollection, he got his hat and coat, went down to the garage, and took out his car. it had stopped raining for the time being;the dingy sky showed broken spots like bits of bluing on a badly-rusted piece of steel.as he got out of his car in front of arnold rivers's red-brick house, he was wonderingjust how he was going to go about what he wanted to do. after all ...

the door of the shop was unlocked, and openedwith a slow clanging of the door-chime, but the interior was dark. all the shades hadbeen pulled, and the lights were out. for a moment rand stood in the doorway, adjustinghis eyes to the darkness within and wondering where everybody was. then, in the path of light that fell inwardfrom the open door, he saw two feet in tan shoes, toes up, at the end of tweed-trouseredlegs, on the floor. an instant later he stepped inside, pulled the door shut after him, andwas using his pen-light to find the electric switch. for a second or so after he snapped it nothinghappened, and then the darkness was broken

by the flickering of fluorescent tubes. whenthey finally lit, he saw the shape on the floor, arms outflung, the inverted rifle aboveit. for a seemingly long time he stood and stared at the grotesquely transfixed bodyof arnold rivers. the dead man lay on his back, not three feetbeyond the radius of the door, in a pool of blood that was almost dried and gave the rooma sickly-sweet butchershop odor. under the back of rand's hand, rivers's cheek was cold;his muscles had already begun to stiffen in rigor mortis. rand examined the dead man'swounds. his coat was stained with blood and gashed in several places; driven into hischest by a downward blow, the bayonet of a short german service mauser pinned him tothe floor like a specimen on a naturalist's

card. beside the one in which the weapon remained,there were three stab-wounds in the chest, and the lower part of the face was disfiguredby what looked like a butt-blow. bending over, rand could see the imprint of the mauser butt-plateon rivers's jaw; on the butt-plate itself were traces of blood. the rifle, a regulation german infantry weapon,the long-familiar gewehr '98 in its most recent modification, was a nazi product, bearingthe eagle and encircled swastika of the third reich and the code-letters lza—the symbolof the mauserwerke a.g. plant at karlsruhe. it had doubtless been sold to rivers by somereturned soldier. in a rack beside the door were a number of other bolt-action militaryrifles—a krag, a couple of arisakas, a long

german infantry rifle of the first world war,a greek mannlicher, a mexican mauser, a british short model lee-enfield. all had fixed bayonets;between the lee-enfield and one of the arisakas there was a vacancy. rivers's carved ivory cigarette-holder waslying beside the body, crushed at the end as though it had been stepped on. a half-smokedcigarette had been in it; it, too, was crushed. there was no evidence of any great struggle,however; the attack which had ended the arms-dealer's life must have come as a complete surprise.he had probably been holding the cigarette-holder in his hand when the butt-blow had been delivered,and had dropped it and flung up his arms instinctively. thereupon, his assailant had reversed hisweapon and driven the bayonet into his chest.

the first blow, no doubt, had been fatal—itcould have been any of the three stabs in the chest—but the killer had given him twomore, probably while he was on the floor. then, grasping the rifle in both hands, hehad stood over his victim and pinned the body to the floor. that last blow could have onlybeen inspired by pure anger and hatred. yet, apparently, rivers had been unaware ofhis visitor's murderous intentions, even while the rifle was being taken from the rack. randstrolled back through the shop, looking about. someone had been here with rivers for sometime; the dealer and another man had sat by the fire, drinking and smoking. on the lowtable was a fifth of haig & haig, a siphon, two glasses, a glass bowl containing waterthat had evidently melted from ice-cubes,

and an ashtray. in the ashtray were a numberof river's cigarette butts, all holder-crimped, and a quantity of ash, some of it cigar-ash.there was no cigar-butt, and no band or cellophane wrapper. the fire on the hearth had burned out andthe ashes were cold. they were not all wood-ashes; a considerable amount of paper—no, cardboard—hadbeen burned there also. poking gently with the point of a sword he took from a rack,rand discovered that what had been burned had been a number of cards, about six inchesby four, one of which had, somehow, managed to escape the flames with nothing more thana charred edge. improvising tweezers from a pipe-cleaner, he picked this up and lookedat it. it had been typewritten:

4850: english screw-barrel f/l pocket pistol. queenanne type, side hammer with pan attached to barrel, steel barrel and frame. marked: wilson,minories, london. silver masque butt-cap, hallmarked for 1723. 4-1/2" barrel; 9-1/4"o.a.; cal. abt .44. taken in trade, 3/21/'38, from v. sparling, for kentuck #2538, alongwith 4851, 4852, 4853. app. cost, rlss; replacement, do. nlss, osss, lsss. to this had been added, in pen: sold, r. kingsley, st. louis, mo., mail order,12/20/'42, osss. rand laid the card on the cocktail-table,along with the drinking equipment. at least,

he knew what had gone into the fire: arnoldrivers's card-index purchase and sales record. he doubted very strongly if that would havebeen burned while its owner was still alive. going over to the desk, he checked; the drawerfrom which he had seen cecil gillis get the card for the leech & rigdon had been cleanedout. picking up the phone in an awkward, unnaturalmanner, he used a pencil from his pocket to dial a number with which he was familiar,a number that meant the same thing on any telephone exchange in the state. "state police, corporal kavaalen," a voicesingsonged out of the receiver. "my name is rand," he identified himself."i am calling from arnold rivers's antique-arms

shop on route 19, about a mile and a halfeast of rosemont. i am reporting a homicide." "yeah, go ahead—hey! did you say homicide?"the other voice asked sharply. "who?" "rivers himself. i called at his shop a fewminutes ago, found the front door open, and walked in. i found rivers lying dead on thefloor, just inside the door. he had been killed with a mauser rifle—not shot; clubbed withthe butt, and bayoneted. the body is cold, beginning to stiffen; a pool of blood on thefloor is almost completely dried." "that's a good report, mister," the corporalapproved. "you stick around; we'll be right along. you haven't touched anything, haveyou?" "not around the body. how long will it takeyou to get here?"

"about ten minutes. i'll tell sergeant mckennaright away." rand hung up and glanced at his watch. tentwenty-two; he gave himself seven minutes and went around the room rapidly, lookingonly at pistols. he saw nothing that might have come from the fleming collection. finally,he opened the front door, just as a white state police car was pulling up at the endof the walk. sergeant ignatius loyola mckenna—customarilyknown and addressed as mick—piled out almost before it had stopped. the driver, a stocky,blue-eyed finn with a corporal's chevrons, followed him, and two privates got out frombehind, dragging after them a box about the size and shape of an army footlocker. mckennawas halfway up the drive before he recognized

rand. then he stopped short. "well, jaysus-me-beads!" he turned suddenlyto the corporal. "my god, aarvo; you said his name was grant!" "that's what i thought he said." rand recognizedthe singsong accent he had heard on the phone. "you know him?" "know him?" mckenna stepped aside quickly,to avoid being overrun by the two privates with the equipment-box. he sighed resignedly."aarvo, this is the notorious jefferson davis rand. tri-state agency, in new belfast." hegestured toward the finn. "corporal aarvo kavaalen," he introduced. "and privates skinnerand jameson.... well, where is it?"

"right inside." rand stepped backward, gesturingthem in. "careful; it's just inside the doorway." mckenna and the corporal entered; the twoprivates set down their box outside and followed. they all drew up in a semicircle around thelate arnold rivers and looked at him critically. "jesus!" kavaalen pronounced the j-sound asthough it were zh; he gave all his syllables an equally-accented intonation. "say, somebodygave him a good job!" "somebody's been seeing too many war-movies."mckenna got a cigarette out of his tunic pocket and lit it in rand's pipe-bowl. "want to confessnow, or do you insist on a third degree with all the trimmings?" kavaalen looked wide-eyed at rand, then atmckenna, and then back at rand. rand laughed.

"now, mick!" he reproved. "you know i neverkill anybody unless i have a clear case of self-defense, and a flock of witnesses toback it up." mckenna nodded and reassured his corporal."that's right, aarvo; when jeff rand kills anybody, it's always self-defense. and hedoesn't generally make messes like this." he gave the body a brief scrutiny, then turnedto rand. "you looked around, of course; what do you make of it?" "last night, sometime," rand reconstructed,"rivers had a visitor. a man, who smoked cigars. he and rivers were on friendly, or at leastsociable, terms. they sat back there by the fire for some time, smoking and drinking.the shades were all drawn. i don't know whether

that was standard procedure, or because thisconference was something clandestine. finally, rivers's visitor got up to leave. "now, of course, he could have left, and somebodyelse could have come here later, been admitted, and killed rivers. that's a possibility,"rand said, "but it's also an assumption without anything to support it. i rather like theidea that the man who sat back there drinking and smoking with rivers was the killer. ifso, rivers must have gone with him to the door and was about to open it when this fellowpicked up that rifle, probably from that rack, over there, and clipped him on the jaw withthe butt. then he gave him the point three times, the second and third probably whilerivers was down. then he swung it up and slammed

down with it, and left it sticking throughrivers and in the floor." mckenna nodded. "lights on when you got here?"he asked. "no; i put them on when i came in. the killermust have turned them off when he left, but the deadlatch on the door wasn't set, andhe doesn't seem to have bothered checking on that." "think he left right after he killed rivers?" rand shook his head. "no, that was just thefirst part of it. after he'd finished rivers, he went back to that desk and got all thecards rivers used to record his transactions on—an individual card for every item. hedestroyed the lot of them, or at least most

of them, in the fireplace. now, i'm only guessing,here, but i think he took out a card or cards in which he had some interest, and then dumpedthe rest in the fire to prevent anybody from being able to determine which ones he wasinterested in. i am further guessing that the cards which the killer wanted to suppresswere in the 'sold' file. but i am not guessing about the destruction of the record-file;i found the fireplace full of ashes, found one card that had escaped unburned—you canbe sure that one wasn't important—and found the drawer where the record-system was keptempty." "think he might have stolen something, andcovered up by burning the cards?" mckenna asked.

rand shook his head again. "i was here yesterday;bought a pistol from rivers. that's how i noticed this card-index system. of course,i didn't look at everything, while i was here, but i can't see where any quantity of armshave been removed, and rivers didn't have any single item that was worth a murder. factis, no old firearm is. there are only a very few old arms that are worth over a thousanddollars, and most of them are well-known, unique specimens that would be unsaleablebecause every collector would know where it came from." "we can check possible thefts with rivers'sclerk, when he gets here," mckenna said. "now, suppose you show me these things you found,back at the rear ... aarvo, you and the boys

start taking pictures," he told the corporal,then he followed rand back through the shop. he tested the temperature of the water inthe ice-bowl with his finger. he looked at the ashtray, and bent over and sniffed ateach of the two glasses. "i see one of them's been emptied out," hecommented. "want to bet it hasn't been wiped clean, too?" "huh-unh." rand smiled slightly. "even thetiny tots wipe off the cookie-jar, after they've raided it," he said. a flash-bulb lit the front of the shop briefly.corporal kavaalen said something to the others. mckenna picked up the card rand had foundby the edges and looked at it.

"what in hell's this all about, jeff?" heasked. "rivers made it out for one of his pistols.an english flintlock pocket-pistol; i can show you one almost like it, up front. he'dgotten it and three others, back in 1938, in trade for a kentucky rifle. the numbersare reference-numbers; the letters are rivers's private price-code. those three at the endare, respectively, what he absolutely had to get for it, what he thought was a reasonableprice, and the most he thought the traffic would stand. he sold it in 1942 for his middleprice." there was another flash by the door, thenkavaalen called out: "hey, mick; we got two of the stiffs, now.all right if we pull out the bayonet for a

close-up of his chest?" "sure. better chalkline it, first; you'llmove things jerking that bayonet out." he turned back to rand. "you think, then, thatmaybe some card in that file would have gotten somebody in trouble, and he had to croak riversto get it, and then burned the rest of the cards for a cover-up?" "that's the way it looks to me," rand agreed."just because i can't think of any other possibility, though, doesn't mean that there aren't anyothers." "hey! you think he might have been sellingmodern arms to criminals, without reporting the sale?" mckenna asked.

"i wouldn't put it past him," rand considered."there was very little that i would put past that fellow. but i wouldn't think he'd bestupid enough to carry a record of such sales in his own file, though." mckenna rubbed the butt of his .38 reflectively;that seemed to be his substitute for head-scratching, as an aid to cerebration. "you said you were here yesterday, and boughta pistol," he began. "all right; i know about that collection of yours. but why were youback here bright and early this morning? you working on rivers for somebody? if so, give." rand told him what he was working on. "riverswants to buy the fleming collection. that

was the reason i saw him yesterday. but thereason i came here, this morning, is that i find that somebody has stolen about twodozen of the best pistols out of the collection since fleming's death, and tried to coverup by replacing them with some junk that lane fleming wouldn't have allowed inside his house.for my money, it's the butler. now that fleming's dead, he's the only one in the house who knowsenough about arms to know what was worth stealing. he has constant access to the gunroom. i caughthim in a lie about a book fleming kept a record of his collection in, and now the book hasvanished. and furthermore, and most important, if he'd been on the level, he would have spottedwhat was going on, long ago, and squawked "that's a damn good circumstantial case, jeff,"mckenna nodded. "nothing you could take to

a jury, of course, but mighty good groundsfor suspicion.... you think rivers could have been the fence?" "he could have been. whoever was higradingthe collection had to have an outlet for his stuff, and he had to have a source of supplyfor the junk he was infiltrating into the collection as replacements. a crooked dealeris the answer to both, and arnold rivers was definitely crooked." "you know that?" mckenna inquired. "for sure?" another flash lit the front of the shop. randnodded. "for damn good and sure. i can show you halfa dozen firearms in this shop that have been

altered to increase their value. i don't meanlegitimate restorations; i mean fraudulent alterations." he went on to tell mckenna aboutrivers's expulsion from membership in the national rifle association. "and i know thathe sold a pair of pistols to lane fleming, about a week before fleming was killed, thatwere outright fakes. fleming was going to sue the ears off rivers about that; the factis, until this morning, i'd been wondering if that mightn't have been why fleming hadthat sour-looking accident. if he'd lived, he'd have run rivers out of business." "hell, i didn't know that!" mckenna seemedworried. "fleming used to target-shoot with our gang, and he knew too much about gatsto pull a russ columbo on himself. i didn't

like that accident, at the time, but i figuredhe'd pulled the dutch, and the family were making out it was an accident. we never werecalled in; the whole thing was handled through the coroner's office. you really think flemingcould have been bumped?" "yes. i think he could have been bumped,"rand understated. "i haven't found any positive proof, but—" he told mckenna about his purchase,from rivers, of the revolver that had been later identified as the one brought home byfleming on the day of his death. "i still don't know how rivers got hold of it," hecontinued. "until i walked in here not half an hour ago and found rivers dead on the floor,i'd had a suspicion that rivers might have sneaked into the fleming house, shot flemingwith another revolver, left it in fleming's

hand and carried away the one fleming hadbeen working on. the motive, of course, would have been to stop a lawsuit that would haveput rivers out of business and, not inconceivably, in jail. but now ..." he looked toward thefront of the shop, where another photo-flash glared for an instant. "and don't suggestthat rivers got conscience-stricken and killed himself. aside from the technical difficultiesof pinning himself to the floor after he was dead, that explanation's out. rivers had noconscience to be stricken with." "well, let's skip fleming, for a minute,"mckenna suggested. "you think this butler, at the fleming place, was robbing the collection.and you say he could've sold the stuff he stole to rivers. well, when the family getsyou in to work on the collection, jeeves,

or whatever his name is, realizes that you'regoing to spot what's been going on, and will probably suspect him. he knows you're no ordinaryarms-expert; you're an agency dick. so he gets scared. if you catch up with rivers,rivers'll talk. so he comes over here, last night, and kills rivers off before you canget to him. and while rivers may not keep a record of the stuff he got from jeeves,or whatever his name is—" "walters," rand supplied. "walters, then. while he may not keep a recordof what he bought from walters, the chances are he does keep a record of the stuff waltersgot from him, to use for replacements, so the card-file goes into the fire. how's that?"

the flare of another flash-bulb made distortedshadows dance over the walls. "that would hang together, now," rand agreed."of course, i haven't found anything here, except the revolver i bought yesterday, thatcame from the fleming place, but i'll add this: as soon as rivers found out i was workingfor the fleming family, he tried to get that revolver back from me. offered me seventy-fivedollars' worth of credit on anything else in the shop if i'd give it back to him, nottwenty minutes after i'd paid him sixty for "see!" mckenna pounced. "look; suppose youhad a lot of hot stuff, in a place like this. you might take a chance on selling somethingthat had gotten mixed in with your legitimate stuff, but would you want to sell it rightback to where it had been stolen from?"

"no, i wouldn't. and if i were a butler who'dbeen robbing a valuable collection, and an agency man moved in and started poking around,i might get in a panic and do something extreme. that all hangs together, too." while rand was talking to mckenna, privatejameson wandered back through the shop. "hey, sarge, is there any way into the housefrom here?" he asked. "the outside doors are all locked, and i can't raise anybody." rand pointed out the flight of steps besidethe fireplace. "i saw rivers come out of the house that way, yesterday," he said. the state policeman went up the steps andtried the door; it opened, and he went through.

"chances are mrs. rivers is away," mckennasaid. "she's away a lot. they have a colored girl who comes in by the day, but she doesn'tgenerally get here before noon. and the clerk doesn't get here till about the same time." "you seem to know a lot about this household,"rand said. "yeah. we have this place marked up as a badburglary- and stick-up hazard; we keep an eye on it. rivers has all these guns, he doesa big cash business, he always has a couple of hundred to a thousand on him—it's a wondersomebody hasn't made a try at this place long ago.... tell you what, jeff; say you checkup on this butler at the fleming place for us, and we'll check up here and see if wecan find any of the stuff that was stolen.

we can get together and compare notes. maybeone or another of us may run across something about that accident of fleming's, too." "suits me. i'll be glad to help you, and i'llbe glad for any help you can give me on recovering those pistols. i haven't made any formal reporton that, yet, because i'm not sure exactly what's missing, and i don't want any of thatkind of publicity while i'm trying to sell the collection. it may be that the two mattersare related; there are some points of similarity, which may or may not mean anything. and, ofcourse, i just may find somebody who'll make it worth my time to get interested in thiskilling, while i'm at it." mckenna chuckled. "that must hurt hell outof you, jeff," he said. "a nice classy murder

like this, and nobody to pay you to work onit." "it does," rand admitted. "i feel like anundertaker watching a man being swallowed by a shark." "you want to stick around till this clerkof rivers's gets here?" mckenna asked. "he should be here in about an hour and a half." "no. i'd just as soon not be seen taking toomuch of an interest in this right now. fact is, i'd just as soon not have my name mentionedat all in connection with this. you can charge the discovery of the body up to our old friend,anonymous tip, can't you?" "sure." mckenna accompanied rand to the frontdoor, past the white chalked outline that

marked the original position of the body.the body itself, with ink-blackened fingertips, lay to one side, out of the way. corporalkavaalen was going through the dead man's pockets, and skinner was working on the riflewith an insufflator. "well, we can't say it was robbery, anyhow,"kavaalen said. "he had eight c's in his billfold." "migawd, sarge, is this damn rifle ever lousywith prints," skinner complained. "a lot of rivers's, and everybody else's who's beenfooling with it around here, and half the wehrmacht." "swell, swell!" mckenna enthused. "maybe wecan pass the case off on the war crimes commission." chapter 11

mick mckenna had put his finger right on thesore spot. it did hurt rand like hell; a nice, sensational murder and no money in it forthe tri-state agency. obviously, somebody would have to be persuaded to finance an investigation.preferably some innocent victim of unjust suspicion; somebody who could best clear himselfby unmasking the real villain.... for "villain," rand mentally substituted "public benefactor." he was running over a list of possible suspectsas he entered rosemont. passing the little antique shop he slowed, backed, read the name"karen lawrence" on the window, and then pulled over to the curb and got out. crossing thesidewalk, he went up the steps to the door, entering to the jangling of a spring-mountedcowbell.

the girl dealer was inside, with a visitor,a sallow-faced, untidy-looking man of indeterminate age who was opening newspaper-wrapped packageson a table-top. karen greeted rand by name and military rank; rand told her he'd justlook around till she was through. she tossed him a look of comic reproach, as though shehad counted on him to rid her of the man with the packages. "now, just you look at this-here, miss lawrence,"the man was enthusing, undoing another package. "here's something i know you'll want; i thinkthis-here is real quaint! just look, now!" he displayed some long, narrow, dark object,holding it out to her. "ain't this-here an interestin' item, now, miss lawrence?"

"ooooooh! what in heaven's name is that thing?"she demanded. "that-there's a sword. a real african nativesword. look at that scabbard, now; made out of real crocodile-skin. a whole young crocodile,head, feet, an' all. i tell you, miss lawrence, that-there item is unique!" "it's revolting! it's the most repulsive objectthat's ever been brought into this shop, which is saying quite a lot. colonel rand! if youdon't have a hangover this morning, will you please come here and look at this thing?" rand laid down the merril carbine he had beenexamining and walked over beside karen. the man—whom rand judged to be some rural free-lanceantique-prospector—extended the object of

the girl's repugnance. it was an african sword,all right, with a plain iron hilt and cross-guard. the design looked berber, but the workmanshipwas low-grade, and probably attributable to some even more barbarous people. the scabbardwas what was really surprising, if you liked that kind of surprises. it was an infant crocodile,rather indifferently smoke-cured; the sword simply went in between the creature's jawsand extended the length of the body and into the tail. either end of a moldy-green leatherthong had been fastened to the two front paws for a shoulder-baldric. when new, rand thought,it must have given its wearer a really distinctive aroma, even for africa. he drew the bladegingerly, looked at it, and sheathed it with caution.

"east african; danakil, or somali, or somethinglike that," he commented. "be damn good and careful not to scratch yourself on that; ifyou do, you'll need about a gallon of anti-tetanus shots." "y'think it might be poisoned?" the man withthe dirty neck and the month-old haircut inquired eagerly. "see, miss lawrence? what i toldyou; a real african native sword. i got that-there from hen sourbaw, over at feltonville; hisuncle, the reverend sourbaw, that used to preach at hemlock gap church, brung it fromafrica, himself, about fifty years ago. he used to be a missionary, in his younger days....i can make you an awful good price on that-there item, miss lawrence."

"god forbid!" she exclaimed. "all my customersare heavy drinkers; i wouldn't want to answer for what might happen if some of them sawthat thing, suddenly." "oh, well.... how about that-there littleamethyst bottle, then?" "well ... i would give you seven dollars forthat," she grudged. "y'would? well, it's yours, then. an' howabout them-there salt-cellars, an' that-there knife-box?" rand wandered back to examining firearms.eventually, after buying the knife-box, karen got rid of the man with the antiques. whenhe had gone, she found a pack of cigarettes, offered it to rand and lit one for herself.

"well, now you see why girls leave home andstart antique shops," she said. "never a dull moment.... wasn't that sword the awfullestthing you ever saw, though?" "well, one of the ten awfullest," rand conceded."i just stopped in to give you some good news. you won't need to consider that offer of arnoldrivers's, any more. he is no longer interested in the fleming collection." "he isn't?" an eager, happy light danced upin her eyes. "you saw him again this morning? what did he say?" "he didn't say anything. he isn't talkingany more, either. fact is, he isn't even breathing any more."

"he.... you mean he's dead?" she was surprised,even shocked. the shock was probably a concession to good taste, but the surprise looked genuine."when did he die? it must have been very sudden; i saw him a few days ago, and he looked allright. of course, he's been having trouble with his lungs, but—" "it was very sudden. some time last night,some person or persons unknown gave him a butt-and-bayonet job with a german mauserout of a rack in his shop. a most unpleasantly thorough job. i went to see him this morning,hoping to badger something out of him about those pistols that are missing from the flemingcollection, and found the body. i notified the state police, and just came from there."

"for god's sake!" the shock was genuine, too,now. "have the police any idea—?" "not the foggiest. if some of the flemingpistols turn up at his place, i might think that had something to do with it. so far,though, they haven't. i gave the shop a once-over-lightly before the cops arrived, and couldn't findanything." she tried to take a puff from her cigaretteand found that she had broken it in her fingers. she lit a new one from the mangled butt. "when did it happen?" she tried to make thequestion sound casual. "that i couldn't say, either. around midnight,would be my guess. they might be able to fix a no-earlier time." an idea occurred to him,and he smiled.

"but that's dreadful!" she really meant that."it's a terrible thing to happen to anybody, being killed like that." she stopped justshort of adding: "even rivers." instead, she continued: "but i can't say i'm really verysorry he's dead, colonel." "outside of maybe his wife, and the gunsmithwho made his fake walker colts and north & cheney flintlocks, who is?" he countered. "oh, yes;cecil gillis. he's about due for induction into the army of the unemployed, unless mrs.rivers intends carrying on the business." karen's eyes widened. "cecil gillis!" sheexclaimed softly. "i wonder, now, if he has an alibi for last night!" "think he might need one?" rand asked. "ofcourse i only saw him once, but he didn't

strike me as a possible candidate. i can'tseem to see young gillis doing a messy job like this was, or going to all that manuallabor when he could have used something neat, like a pistol or a dagger." "well, cecil isn't quite the languishing flowerhe looks," karen told him. "he does a lot of swimming, and he's one of the few peoplearound here who can beat me at tennis. and he has a motive. maybe two motives." "such as?" rand prompted. "maybe you think cecil is a—you know—oneof those boys," she euphemized. "well, he isn't. he takes a perfectly normal, and evenslightly wolfish, interest in the female of

his species. and while arnold rivers may havebeen a good provider from a financial standpoint, he wasn't quite up to his wife's requirementsin another important respect. and rivers was away a lot, on buying trips and so on, andwhen he was, nobody ever saw cecil leave the rivers place in the evenings. at least, that'sthe story; personally, i wouldn't know. of course, where there's smoke, there may benothing more than somebody with a stogie, but, then, there may be a regular conflagration." "that would be a perfectly satisfactory motive,under some circumstances," rand admitted. "and the other?" "cecil might have been doing funny thingswith the books, and rivers might have caught

him." "that would also be a good enough motive."it would also, rand thought, furnish an explanation for the burning of rivers's record-cards."i'll mention it to mick mckenna; he's hard up for a good usable suspect. and by the way,the news of this killing will be out before evening, but in the meantime i wish you wouldn'tmention it to anybody, or mention that i was in here to tell you about it." "i won't. i'm glad you told me, though....do you think there may be a chance that we can get the collection, now?" "i wouldn't know why not. rivers's offer waspretty high; there aren't many other dealers

who would be able to duplicate it.... well,don't take any czechoslovakian stiegel." he moved his car down the street to the rosemontinn, where he went into the combination bar and grill and had a bourbon-and-water at thebar. then he ordered lunch, and, while waiting for it, went into a phone-booth and dialedthe number of stephen gresham's office in new belfast. "i'd hoped to catch you before you left forlunch," he said, when the lawyer answered. "there's been a new development in the flemingbusiness." he had decided to follow the same line as with karen lawrence. "you needn'tworry about arnold rivers's offer, any more." "ha! so he backed out?"

"he was shoved out," rand corrected. "on thesharp end of a mauser bayonet, sometime last night. i found the body this morning, wheni went to see him, and notified the state police. they call it murder, but of course,they're just prejudiced. i'd call it a nuisance-abatement project." "look here, are you kidding?" gresham demanded. "i never kid about those who have passed on,"rand denied piously. then he recited the already hackneyed description of what had happenedto rivers, with careful attention to all the gruesome details. "so i called copper, directly.sergeant mckenna's up a stump about it, and looking in all directions for a suspect."

gresham was silent for a moment, then sworesoftly. "my god, jeff! this is going to raise allkinds of hell!" he was silent for a moment. "look here, can you see me, at my home, abouttwo thirty this afternoon? i want to talk to you about this." rand smiled happily. this looked like whathe had been angling for. maybe arnold rivers hadn't died in vain, after all. "why, yes; i can make it," he replied. "good. see you there, then." rand assured him that he would be on hand.when he returned to his table, he found his

lunch waiting for him. he sat down and atewith a good appetite. after finishing, he had another drink, and sat sipping it slowlyand smoking his pipe; going over the story gladys fleming had told him, and the gossiphe had gotten from carter tipton, and the other statements which had been made to himby different people about the death of lane fleming, and the conclusions he had reachedabout the theft of the pistols, and the killing of arnold rivers; sorting out the inferencesfrom the descriptions, and the descriptive statements of others from the things he himselfhad observed. when his glass was empty and his pipe burned out, he left a tip besidethe ashtray, paid his check and went out. he had two hours until his meeting with stephengresham; he knew exactly where to spend them.

the county seat was a normal twenty minutes'drive from rosemont, but with the road relatively free from traffic he was able to cut thatto fifteen. parking his car in front of the courthouse, he went inside. the coroner, one jason kirchner, was an inoffensive-lookinglittle fellow with a caspar milquetoast mustache and an underslung jaw. he wore an elks watchcharm,an odd fellows ring, and a knights of pythias lapel-pin. he looked at rand's credentials,including the letter humphrey goode had given him, with some bewilderment. "you're working for mr. goode?" he asked,rather needlessly. "yes, i see; handling the sale of mr. fleming's pistols, for the estate.yes. that must be interesting work, mr. rand.

now, what can i do for you?" "why, i understand you have an item from thatcollection, here in your office," rand said. "the pistol with which mr. fleming shot himself.regardless of its unpleasant associations, that pistol is a valuable collector's item,and one of the assets of the estate. if i'm to get full value for the collection, forthe heirs, i'll have to have that, to sell with the rest of the weapons." "well, now, look here, mr. rand," kirchnerstarted to argue, "that revolver's a dangerous weapon. it's killed one man, already. i don'tknow as i ought to let it get out, where it might kill somebody else."

rand estimated that this situation calledfor a modified version of his hard-boiled act. "you think you can show cause why that revolvershouldn't be turned over to the fleming estate?" he demanded. "well, if i don't get it, rightaway, mr. goode will get a court order for it. you had no right to impound that revolver,in the first place; you removed it from the fleming home illegally in the second place,since you had no intention of holding any formal inquest, and you're holding it illegallynow. a court order might not be all we could get, either," he added menacingly. "now, ifyou have any reason to suspect that mr. fleming committed suicide ... or was murdered, forinstance ..."

"oh, my heavens, no!" kirchner cried, horrified."it was an accident, pure and simple; i so certified it. death by accident, due to inadvertenceof the deceased." "well, then," rand said, "you have no rightto hold that revolver, and i want it, right now. as mr. goode's agent, i'm responsiblefor that collection, of which the revolver you're holding is a part. that revolver istoo valuable an asset to ignore. you certainly realize that." "well, i don't have any intention of exceedingmy authority, of course," kirchner disclaimed hastily. "and i certainly wouldn't want togo against mr. goode's wishes." humphrey goode must pull considerable weight around the courthouse,rand surmised. "but you realize, that revolver's

still loaded...." "oh, that's not your worry. i'll draw thecharges, or, better, fire them out. it stood one shot, it can stand the other five." "well, would you mind if i called mr. goodeon the phone?" rand did, decidedly. however, he shook hishead negligently. "certainly not; go ahead and call him, byall means." the coroner went away. in a few minutes hewas back, carrying a revolver in both hands. evidently goode had given him the green light.he approached, handling the weapon with a caution that would have been excessive fora mills grenade; after warning rand again

that it was loaded, he laid it gently on hisdesk. it was a .36 colt, one of the 1860 series,with the round barrel and the so-called "creeping" ramming-lever. somebody had wound a pieceof wire around it, back of the hammer and through the loading-aperture in front of thecylinder; as the hammer was down on a fired chamber, there was no way in god's world,short of throwing the thing into a furnace, in which it could be discharged, but kirchnerwas shrinking away from it as though it might jump at his throat. "i put the wire on," the coroner said. "ithought it might be safer that way." "it'll be a lot safer after i've emptied itinto the first claybank, outside town," rand

told him. "sorry i had to be a little shortwith you, mr. kirchner, but you know how it is. i'm responsible to mr. goode for the collection,and this gun's part of it." "oh, that's all right; i really shouldn'thave taken the attitude i did," kirchner met him halfway. "after i talked to mr. goode,of course, i knew it was all right, but ... you see, i've been bothered a lot about that pistol,lately." "yes?" rand succeeded in being negligent aboutit. "oh my, yes! the newspaper people wanted totake pictures of me holding it, and then, there was an antique-dealer who was here tryingto buy it." "who was that—arnold rivers?"

"why yes! do you know him? he has an antique-shopon the other side of rosemont; he doesn't sell anything but guns and swords and thatsort of thing," kirchner said. "he was here, making inquiries about it, and my clerk showedit to him, and then he started making offers for it—first ten dollars, and then fifteen,and then twenty; he got up as high as sixty dollars. i suppose it's worth a couple ofhundred." it was probably worth about thirty-five. randwas intrigued by this second instance of an un-rivers-like willingness to spare no expenseto get possession of a .36-caliber percussion revolver. "did he have it in his hands?" he asked.

"oh, yes; he looked it over carefully. i supposehe thought he could get a lot of money for it, because of the accident, and mr. flemingbeing such a prominent man," kirchner suggested. rand allowed himself to be struck by an idea. "say, you know, that would make it worth more,at that!" he exclaimed. "what do you know! i never thought of that.... look, mr. kirchner;i'm supposed to get as much money for these pistols, for the heirs, as i can. how wouldyou like to give me a letter, vouching for this as the pistol mr. fleming killed himselfwith? put in how you found it in his hand, and mention the serial numbers, so that whoeverbuys it will know it's the same revolver." he picked up the colt and showed kirchnerthe serials, on the butt, and in front of

the trigger-guard. "see, here it is: 2444." kirchner would be more than willing to obligemr. goode's agent; he typed out the letter himself, looked twice at the revolver to makesure of the number, took rand's word for the make, model, and caliber, signed it, and evenslammed his seal down on it. rand thanked him profusely, put the letter in his pocket,and stuck the colt down his pants-leg. about two miles from the county seat randstopped his car on a deserted stretch of road and got out. unwinding the wire kirchner hadwrapped around the revolver, he picked up an empty beer-can from the ditch, set it againstan embankment, stepped back about thirty feet and began firing. the first shot kicked updirt a little over the can—rand never could

be sure just how high any percussion coltwas sighted—and the other four hit the can. he carried the revolver back to the car andput it into the glove-box with the leech & rigdon. after starting the car, he snapped on theradio, in time for the two fifteen news-broadcast from the new belfast station. as he had expected,the murder was out; the daily budget of strikes and congressional investigations and internationalturmoil was enlivened by a more or less imaginative account of what had already been christenedthe "rosemont bayonet murder." rand resigned himself to the inevitable influx of reporters.then he swore, as the newscaster continued: "district attorney charles p. farnsworth,of scott county, who has taken charge of the investigation, says, and we quote: 'thereis strong evidence implicating certain prominent

persons, whom we are not, as yet, preparedto name, and if the investigation, now under way and making excellent progress, justifies,they will be apprehended and formally charged. no effort will be spared, and no considerationof personal prominence will be allowed to deter us from clearing up this dastardly crime....'" rand swore again, with weary bitterness, wonderinghow much trouble he was going to have with district attorney charles p. farnsworth, ashe pulled to a stop in stephen gresham's driveway. chapter 12 gresham must have been waiting inside thedoor; as soon as rand came up onto the porch, he opened it, and motioned the detective inside.beyond a hasty greeting as rand passed the

threshold, he did not speak until they wereseated in the gunroom upstairs. then he came straight to the point. "jeff, can you spare the time from this workyou're doing at the flemings' to investigate this rivers business?" he asked. "and howmuch would an investigation cost me? it's got to be a blitz job. i'm not interestedin getting anybody convicted in court; i just want the case cleared up in a hurry." "well—" rand puffed at the cigar greshamhad given him, watching the ash form on the end. "i don't work by the day, stephen. itake a lump-sum fee, and, of course, it's to my interest to get a case cleared up assoon as i can. but i can't set any time limit

on a job like this. this rivers killing hasmore angles than nude descending a staircase; i don't know how much work i'll have to do,or even what kind." "well, it'll have to be fast," gresham toldhim urgently. "look. i didn't kill arnold rivers. i hated his guts, and i think whoeverdid it ought to get a medal and a testimonial dinner, but i did not kill him. you believeme?" "i'm inclined to," rand replied. "in yourlaw practice, you know what a lying client is letting himself in for. as my client, youwouldn't lie to me. you seem to think you may be suspected of purging rivers. but why?is there any reason, aside from that homemade north & cheney he sold you, why anybody wouldthink you'd killed him?"

"great god, yes!" gresham exclaimed. "nowlook. i'm not worried about being railroaded for this. i didn't do it, and i can beat anycase that half-assed ex-ambulance-chaser, farnsworth, could dream up against me. buti can't afford even to be mentioned in connection with this. you know what that would do tome, in town. i just can't get mixed up in this, at all. i want you to see to it thati don't." "that sounds like a large order." the ashwas growing on rand's cigar; he took another heavy drag at it. "but why necessarily you?rivers had plenty of other enemies." "yes, but, dammit, they weren't all in hisshop, last evening. just me. and one other. the one who killed him."

"on your way out from town?" rand inquired. "yes. i stopped at his place, about a quarterto nine. i was sore as hell about the hooking he gave me on that north & cheney, falselyso-called, and i decided to stop and have it out with him. we had words, most of themunpleasant. i told him, for one thing, that lane fleming's death hadn't pulled his baconoff the fire, that i was going to start the same sort of action against him on my ownaccount. but that isn't the point. the point is that when i was going in, this la-de-daclerk of his, cecil gillis, was coming out. he got into his car and drove away, leavingme alone with rivers. he'll be the first one the police talk to, and he'll tell them allabout it."

"that does put you back of the eight ball."rand dropped the ash into a tray and looked at it curiously. it looked like the sort ofash he had seen at rivers's shop, but he couldn't be sure. "but if it can be proved that riverswas alive after nine twenty, when you got here, you'll be in the clear." "i don't want to have to clear myself," greshaminsisted. "i don't want anything to do with it, at all. here; i'll pay you a thousanddown, and two more when you have the case completed; i want you to get the murder clearedup before i can be publicly involved in it. i say publicly, because this damned gillishas probably involved me with the police already." "well, gillis isn't exactly in a state ofpure sanctity, himself," rand commented. "as

a suspect, the smart handicappers are figuringhim to run well inside the money. for instance, you know, there have been stories about himand mrs. rivers." gresham snapped his fingers. "damned if therehaven't, now!" he said. "you talk to adam trehearne. he did business with rivers—therewasn't much in his line rivers and umholtz were able to fake—and different times he'sgone to rivers's shop and there'd be nobody around, and then gillis would come in fromthe house, smelling of chanel number five. mrs. rivers uses chanel number five. maybeyou have something there. if cecil thought he could marry the business, with rivers outof the way.... you'll take the case, won't you, jeff?"

"oh, certainly," rand assured him. "now, allthey have on you is that there was ill-feeling between you and rivers about that fake north& cheney, and that you were in rivers's shop yesterday evening?" rand's new client grimaced. "i wish that wereall!" he said. "the worst part of it is the way rivers was killed. see, back in kaiserwillie's war, before i was assigned a company of my own, i was regimental bayonet-instructionofficer. and after we got to france, i always carried a rifle and bayonet at the front;hell, i must have killed close to a dozen krauts just the way rivers was killed. andduring schicklgruber's war, i volunteered as bayonet instructor for the local home guard."

"my god!" rand made a wry face. "there mustbe close to a hundred people around here who'd know that, and all of them are probably convincedthat you killed rivers, and are expressing that opinion at the top of their voices toall comers. you don't want a detective, you want a magician!" he took another drag atthe cigar, and blew smoke through a circular gun-rack beside him. "what sort of a characteris this farnsworth, anyhow?" he asked. "before the war, i had all the d.a.'s in the statetyped and estimated, but since i got back—" gresham slandered the county prosecutor'slegitimacy. "god-damn headline-hunting little egotist! he's running for re-election thisyear, too." "one way, that could be bad. on the otherhand, it might be easy to throw a scare into

him.... stephen, when you were at rivers's,were you smoking a cigar?" gresham shook his head. "no. i threw my cigaraway when i got out of the car, and i didn't light another one till i got home. if youremember, i was lighting it when i came in here." "yes; so you were. well, i don't suppose,in view of the state of relations between you and rivers, that you had a drink withhim, either?" "i wouldn't drink that guy's liquor if i weredying of snakebite, and he wouldn't offer me a drink if he knew i was," gresham declared. "well, did you notice, back near the fireplace,a low table with a fifth of haig & haig pinchbottle,

and a couple of glasses, and a siphon, andso on, on it?" "i saw the table. there was an ashtray onit, and a book—i think it was gluckman's united states martial pistols and revolvers—butno bottle, or siphon, or glasses." "all right, then; it was the killer." randexplained about the drinks, and the cigar-ashes. he went on to tell about the destruction ofrivers's record-cards. "i don't get that." gresham was puzzled. "unlessit was young gillis, after all. he could have been knocking down on rivers, and rivers caughthim at it." "i'd thought of that," rand admitted. "buti doubt if rivers would sit down and drink with him, while accusing him of theft. andi can't seem to find anything around rivers's

place that looks as though it might have beenstolen from the fleming collection, either.... oh, and that reminds me: if you have timethis afternoon, i wonder if you'd come along with me to the flemings' and see just what'smissing. i'll have to know that, in any case, and there's a good possibility that the theftsfrom the collection and the killing of rivers are related." "yes, of course," gresham agreed. "and supposewe take pierre jarrett along with us. he knows that collection as well as i do; he'll spotanything i miss. he works at home; i'll call him now. we can pick him up before we go tothe flemings'." they went into gresham's bedroom, where therewas a phone, and gresham talked to pierre

jarrett. it was arranged that he should pickjarrett up with his car and come to the flemings', while rand went there directly. then rand used the phone to call his officein new belfast. he talked to dave ritter, explaining the situation to date. "i'm going to need some help," he continued."i want you to come here and get a room at the rosemont inn, under your own name. i'llsee you there about five thirty. and bring with you a suit of butler's livery, or reasonablefacsimile. i believe there will be a vacancy in the fleming household tomorrow or the nextday, and i want you ready to take over. and bring a small gun with you; something youcan wear under said livery. that .357 colt

of yours is a little too conspicuous. you'llfind a .380 beretta in the top right-hand drawer of my office desk, with a box of ammunitionand a couple of spare clips." "right. i'll be at rosemont inn at five thirty,"ritter promised. "and say, tip was in, this morning, with a lot of dope on the flemingestate. want me to let you have it now, or shall i give it to you when i see you?" "you have notes? bring them along; i'll beseeing you in a couple of hours." he parted from gresham, going out and gettingin his car. as gresham got his own car out of the garage and drove off toward pierrejarrett's house, rand started in the opposite direction, toward rosemont.

about a half-mile from gresham's he caughtan advancing gleam of white on the highway ahead of him and pulled to the side of theroad, waiting until the state police car drew up and stopped. in it were mick mckenna, aarvokavaalen, and a third man, a nordic type, in an untidy brown suit. "hi, jeff," mckenna greeted him, as rand gotout of his car and came across the road. "this is gus olsen, investigator for the d.a.'soffice. jeff rand; tri-state agency," he introduced. "hey!" olsen yelled. "we been lookin' foryou! where you been?" rand raised an eyebrow at mckenna. "you just came from where we're going," thestate police sergeant surmised. "was gresham

at home?" "he was; he's gone now," rand said. "he andanother man are going to help me check up on what's missing from the fleming collection." "hey!" olsen exploded. "what i told you, now;he run ahead of us with a tip-off! gresham's skipped out, now!" "what is all this?" rand wanted to know. "what'she screaming about, mick?" "like he don't know!" olsen vociferated. "hetipped off gresham so's he could skip out; i'll bet he's in it with gresham!" "pay no attention," mckenna advised. "he doesn'tknow what the score is; hell, he doesn't even

know what teams are playing." "now you look here!" olsen bawled. "we'llsee what mr. farnsworth has to say about this. you're supposed to cooperate with us, notgo fraternizin' with a lot of suspects. why, it's plain as anything; him and gresham'sin it together. i bet that was why he come around, the first thing in the morning, tofind the body!" kavaalen, behind the wheel, turned aroundand began jabbering at olsen, in the back seat, in something that sounded like swedish.most finns can speak swedish, and rand was wishing he could understand it. the corporal'sremarks ran to about a paragraph, and must have been downright incendiary. at least,olsen seemed to catch fire from them. he rose

in his seat, waving his arms and howling backin the same language. "shut up, goddammit, shut up!" mckenna bellowedinto his face. "shut up before i sling your ass to hell out of this car! i'm talking,and i don't want any goddam jaw from you, olsen. you either," he barked at kavaalen,winking at him at the same time. silence fell with a heavy thump in the car. "well, now that the international crisis seemsto have been averted, how's about letting me in on it, too?" rand asked. "for instance,what about gresham? what's he supposed to be a suspect for?" "ah, olsen suspects him of chopping riversup," mckenna replied wearily. "see, we questioned

this cecil gillis, and he told us that lastevening, as he was leaving rivers's, he saw stephen gresham drive up and go into the shop.i wanted to talk to him, myself; i thought he might account for the cigar-ashes, andthe drink-fixings on that table. but when farnsworth heard about the killing, he sentolsen around, and when olsen heard that gresham had been there, he tried him and convictedhim on the spot." "oh, obscenity! is that what it's about?"rand exclaimed in disgust. "yes, gresham told me about that. he didn't have the drink, andhe wasn't smoking a cigar in the shop, and he left a little after nine. he got home atnine twenty-two. i can testify to that, myself; i was there at the time, and so were sevenother people." rand named them. "they dribbled

away at different times during the evening,but philip cabot and i stayed till around eleven." he mentioned the approximate timeat which the others had left. "what time was rivers killed, or hasn't the time been fixed?" "the m.e. says around ten to two," mckennasaid. "he could be wrong; them guys only guess,half the time," olsen argued. "and besides, gresham had it in for rivers. and that ain'tall, neither; he knew how to use a bayonet, too. i seen him, myself, during the war, showin'the home guard how to do it, just the way rivers was killed!" he produced triumphantly. mckenna used a dirty word. "so what? anybodywho's ever had infantry training knows that

butt-stroke-and-lunge," he retorted. "i learnedit myself, when i was a kid, in '24 and '25, in c.m.t.c. hell, anybody who's ever seena war-movie.... if you hadn't lammed out of sweden when you were sixteen, to duck conscription,you'd of known it, too." "well, maybe olsen, or his boss, can explainwhy gresham threw those record-cards in the fire," rand contributed. "you know why olsensays gresham had it in for rivers? rivers sold gresham a fake antique, a flint locknavy pistol that had been worked over into something else. gresham was going to subpoenathose records, when he brought suit against rivers," rand lied. "but i can explain whycecil gillis might have destroyed them, after killing rivers, if he'd been cheating riversand rivers caught him at it."

"yeah, and that might explain why gillis wasin such a hurry to sic us onto gresham, too," mckenna added. "i thought of something likethat. and this high-brown girl that works for rivers says that gillis and mrs. riversplayed all kinds of games together, when rivers was away." "well, who's in charge of the investigation?"rand wanted to know. "i heard, on the radio ..." "you're liable to hear anything on the radio,including slanders on bing crosby's horses. but for the record, i am in charge of thisinvestigation. and don't anybody forget it, either," he added, in the direction of therear seat.

"that's what i thought. well, stephen greshamhas just retained me to make an independent investigation," rand said. "it is not thathe lacks confidence in the state police, or in you; he was afraid that other parties mightget into the act and try to make political capital out of it. which appears to have happened." "well, if gresham retained you, i'm satisfied,"mckenna said. "you can take care of that end of it. glad you're in with us." "well, i ain't satisfied!" olsen began yelling,again. "and mr. farnsworth won't be, neither. why, this here private dick is like as notworkin' for the very man that killed rivers!" mckenna turned slowly in his seat, to faceolsen.

"one time, ten years ago," he began, "jeffrand had a client who was guilty of the crime he hired jeff to investigate. it was an arsoncase; this guy set fire to his own factory, and then got jeff to run down a lot of fakeclues he'd planted. i know about that; i was on the case, myself. that's where i firstmet jeff, and he saved me from making a jackass out of myself. and what happened to this guywho'd hired jeff was something that oughtn't to happen even to molotov, and it happenedbecause jeff fixed it to happen. if anybody hires jeff rand, he's one of two things. he'seither innocent, or else he's out of luck.... i don't know why the hell i bother tellingyou this." "ten to two, you say," rand considered. "look.a couple of days ago, rivers put out a new

price-list to his regular customers. a lotof them, in different parts of the country, order by telephone, and some of them livein the west, where there's a couple of hours' time-difference. one of them, calling at,say, eight o'clock, local time, would get his call in at ten, eastern standard. if youchecked the long-distance calls to rivers's number last night, now, you might get something." "yeah. and if he took a call after nine twenty-two,that would let gresham out. even farnsworth could figure that out. sure. i'll check rightaway." "who's at rivers's now?" "skinner and jameson, of our gang. and farnsworth,and some of his outfit. and the hell's own

slew of reporters, of course," mckenna said."aarvo's going back there, in a little. we're still trying to locate mrs. rivers; we haven'tbeen able to, yet. the maid says she went to new york day before yesterday." "i'll probably be around at rivers's, laterin the day. i want to check on that fleming angle." "uh-huh; i'll be there, in half an hour,"corporal kavaalen said. "be seeing you." they exchanged so-longs, and kavaalen backed,and made a u-turn, moving off in the direction of rosemont. olsen's voluble protests driftedback as the car receded. rand returned to his own car and followed.

chapter 13 rand found gladys alone in the library. asshe rose to greet him, he came close to her, gesturing for silence with finger on lips. "there's a perfect hell of a mess," he whispered."somebody murdered arnold rivers last night." she looked at him in horror. "murdered? whowas it? how did it...?" "i haven't time to talk about that right now,"he told her. "stephen gresham and pierre jarrett are on their way here, and i'd like you tokeep the servants, and particularly walters, out of earshot of the gunroom while they'rehere. it seems that a number of the best pistols have been stolen from the collection, sometimebetween the death of mr. fleming and the time

i saw the collection yesterday. stephen andpierre are going to help me find out just what's been taken. i have an idea they mighthave been sold to rivers. that may have been why he was killed—to prevent him from implicatingthe thief." "you think somebody here—the servants?"she asked. "i can't see how it could have been an outsider.the stuff wasn't all taken at once; it must have been moved out a piece at a time, andworthless pistols moved in and hung on the racks to replace valuable pistols taken."he had left the library door purposely open; when the doorbell rang, he heard it. "i'lllet them in," he said. "you go and head walters off."

rand hurried to the front door and admittedgresham and pierre, hustling them down the hall, into the library, and up the spiralto the gunroom, while gladys went to the foot of the front stairs. through the open gunroomdoor, rand could hear her speaking to walters, as though sending him on some errand to therear of the house. he closed the door and turned to the others. "we'll have to make it fast," he said. "mrs.fleming can't hold the butler off all day. let's start over here, and go around the racks." they began at the left, with the wheel locks.pierre put his finger immediately on the shabby and disreputable specimen rand had first noticed.

"phew! is that one a stinker!" he said. "whatused to be there was a nice late sixteenth- or early seventeenth-century north italianpistol, all covered with steel filigree-work. a real beauty; much better than average." "those turkish atrocities," gresham pointedout. "they're filling in for a pair of lazarino cominazo snaphaunces that lane fleming paidseven hundred for, back in the mid-thirties, and didn't pay a cent too much for, even then.worth an easy thousand, now. remember the pair of cominazo flintlocks illustrated inpollard's short history of firearms? these were even better, and snaphaunces." "well, you go over the collection," rand toldthem. "note down anything you find missing."

he handed them a pad of paper and a pencilfrom the desk. "i have something else to do, for a few minutes." with that he left them scrutinizing the pistolson the wall, and went to the workbench in the corner, drawing the .36 colt from underhis waistband. working rapidly, he dismounted it, taking off the barrel and cylinder, andcleaned it thoroughly before putting it together again. pierre and gresham had just startedon the colts when he slipped the revolver out of sight and rejoined them. it took over a half-hour to finish; when theyhad gotten completely around the collection, rand had a list of twenty-six missing items,including four cased sets. at a conservative

estimate, the missing pistols were worth tento twelve thousand dollars, dealer's list value; the stuff that had been moved in toreplace them might have a value of two or three hundred, but no serious collector wouldbuy any of it at any price. there had been no attempt to replace the cased items; thecases had been merely rearranged on the table to avoid any conspicuous vacancies. "see that thing?" pierre asked, tapping asmall .25 webley & scott automatic with his finger. rand looked at it; it had been fittedwith an english-made silencer. "that thing," pierre said, "is the one illustrated in pollard'sbook. the identical pistol; it used to be in the pollard collection."

"lane had a lot of stuff from some famouscollections," gresham said. "pollard collection, sawyer collection, fred hines collection,meeks collection, even the old mark field collection, that was sold at libbie galleriesin 1911. his own could rank with any of them. think you can get any of this stuff back?" "i hope so. by the way, where does this fellowumholtz, the fabricator of spurious whitneyville walker colts, hang out? i believe he oughtto be looked into." "say, that's an idea!" pierre ejaculated."he might have bought the pistols, instead of rivers. why, he has a gunshop at kingsville,on route 22, about fifteen miles west of here, just this side of the village. he had a bigsign along the road, and his shop's in the

barn, behind the house." "i'll have to check up on him. but first,i want to see if any of this stuff's at rivers's shop. i won't ask you to come along," he toldgresham. "no use you sticking your head into the lion's mouth. i've talked the state policetemporarily off your trail, but i still have farnsworth to worry about." "he'd like to prosecute a big corporationlawyer, if he thought he had any chance of getting a conviction," pierre said. "makea nice impression on the proletarian vote in the south end of the county." "you're a member of the mohawk club in newbelfast, aren't you?" rand asked gresham.

"well, go there and stay there for a coupleof days, till the heat's off. pierre, you can come with me to rivers's; i'll run youhome in my car when we're through." gresham let himself out the front door; pierreand rand went out through the garage and got into rand's car. "you have any idea, so far, about who couldhave killed rivers?" the ex-marine asked, as they coasted down the drive to the highway. "i haven't even the start of an idea," randsaid. he ran briefly over what he knew, or at least those items which were likely tobecome public knowledge soon. "from what i've observed at the shop, and from what i knowof rivers's character, i'd think that he'd

been in some kind of a crooked deal with somebody,and got double-crossed, or else the other man caught rivers double-crossing him. orelse, rivers and somebody else had some secret in common, and the other man wanted a monopolyon it and killed rivers as a security measure." "think it might be the fleming pistols?" "that depends. i'll have to see whether anyof the fleming pistols turn up anywhere in rivers's former possession. personally, i'veabout decided that the man who was drinking with rivers killed him. there aren't any indicationsthat anybody else was in the shop afterward. if that's the case, i doubt if the killerwas walters. you know what a snobbish guy rivers was. and from what i know of him, heseems to have had a thoroughly aristotelian

outlook; he identified individuals with class-labels.walters, of course, would be identified with the label 'butler,' and i can't imagine riverssitting down and drinking with a 'butler.' he would only drink with people whom he thoughtof as his equals, that is, people whom he identified with class-labels of equal socialimportance to his own labels of 'antiquarian' and 'businessman.'" "that sounds like korzybski," pierre said,as they turned onto route 19 in the village and headed east. "you've read science andsanity?" rand nodded. "yes. i first read it in the1933 edition, back about 1936; i've been rereading it every couple of years since. the principlesof general semantics come in very handy in

my business, especially in criminal-investigationwork, like this. a consciousness of abstracting, a realization that we can only know somethingabout a thin film of events on the surface of any given situation, and a habit of thinkingstructurally and of individual things, instead of verbally and of categories, saves a lotof blind-alley chasing. and they suggest a great many more avenues of investigation thanwould be evident to one whose thinking is limited by intensional, verbal, categories." "yes. i find general semantics helpful inmy work, too," pierre said. "i can use it in plotting a story.... oh-oh!" "the gentlemen of the press," rand said, lookingahead as the car approached the rivers house

and shop. "there hasn't been a good, sensational,murder story for some time; this is a gift from the gods." a swarm of cars were parked in front and besidethe red-brick house. among them, rand spotted a gold-lettered green sedan of the new belfastdispatch and evening express, a black coupã© bearing the blazonry of the new belfast mercury,cars from a couple of papers at louisburg, the state capital, and cars from papers asfar distant as pittsburgh, buffalo, and cincinnati. in front of the shop, a motley assemblageof journalists was interviewing and photographing an undersized runt in a tan chesterfield topcoatand a gray homburg hat, whom they were addressing as mr. farnsworth. the district attorney ofscott county had a mustache which failed miserably

to make him look like tom dewey; he impressedrand as the sort of offensive little squirt who compensates for his general insignificanceby bad manners and loud-mouthed self-assertion. corporal kavaalen, standing in the doorwayof the shop, caught sight of rand and his companion as they got out of the car and cameto meet them, hustling them around the crowd and into the shop before anybody could noticeand recognize them. "that was a good tip, about the telephone,"he said softly. "mick checked at the rosemont exchange. rivers got a long-distance callfrom topeka last night; ten fifteen to ten seventeen. we got the night long distanceoperator out of bed, and she confirmed it; rivers took the call himself. he gets a lotof long distance calls in the evenings; she

knew his voice." he corrected himself, shiftingto the past tense and glancing, as he did, at the chalk outline on the floor, now scuffedby many feet, and the dried bloodstains. "you say this puts gresham in the clear?" "absolutely," rand assured him. "he was athome from nine twenty-two on." he introduced pierre jarrett, and explained their mission."you find anything except what's here in the shop?" "only rivers's own .38 smith & wesson, inhis room, and a lot of pistols out in the garage, that look like junk to me," kavaalensaid. "i'll show them to you." rand nodded. "pierre, you look around theshop; i'll see what this other stuff is."

he followed kavaalen through a door at therear of the shop; the same one through which cecil gillis had carried the kentucky riflethe afternoon before. beside rivers's car, there was a long workbench in the garage,and piles of wood and cardboard cartons, and stacks of newspapers, and a barrel full ofexcelsior, all evidently used in preparing arms for shipment. there was also a largepile of old pistols, and a number of long-arms. rand pawed among the pistols; they were, asthe state police corporal had said, all junk. the sort of things a dealer has to buy, attimes, in order to get something really good. many of them had been partially dismantledfor parts. when he was certain that the heap of junk-weapons didn't conceal anything ofvalue, he returned to the shop. pierre was

waiting for him by rivers's desk. he shook his head. "not a thing," he reported."i found a couple of out-and-out fakes, and about ten or fifteen that had been alteredin one way or another, and a lot of reblued stuff, but nothing from fleming's collection.what did you find?" rand laughed. "i found rivers's scrap-heap,and some pistols that probably contributed parts to some of the stuff you found," hesaid. "of course, all we can say is that the stuff isn't here; rivers could have boughtit, and stored it outside somewhere. but even so, i'm not taking the fleming butler tooseriously as a suspect for the murder." "what's this about fleming's butler?" a voicebroke in. "have you been withholding information

from me?" rand turned, to find that farnsworth had leftthe press conference in front and crepe-soled up on him from behind. "i withheld a theory, which seems to havecome to nothing," he replied. kavaalen told the d.a. who rand was. "he'scooperating with us," he added. "sergeant mckenna instructed us to give him every consideration." "it seems that a number of valuable pistolswere stolen from the collection of the late lane fleming," rand said. "we suspected thatthe butler had stolen them and sold them to rivers; i thought it possible that he mightalso have killed rivers to silence him about

the transaction." he shrugged. "none of thestolen items have turned up here, so there's nothing to connect the thefts with the deathof rivers." "good heavens, you certainly didn't suspecta prominent and respected citizen like mr. rivers of receiving stolen goods?" farnsworthdemanded, aghast. "who respects him?" rand hooted. "rivers wasa notorious swindler; he had that reputation among arms-collectors all over the country.he was expelled from membership in the national rifle association for misrepresentation andfraud. why, he even swindled lane fleming on a pair of fake pistols, a week or so beforefleming's death. and the very reason why your man olsen was inclined to suspect stephengresham was that he had had trouble with rivers

about a crooked deal rivers had put over onhim. fortunately, mr. gresham has since been cleared of any suspicion, but—" "who says he's been cleared?" farnsworth snapped."he's still a suspect." "sergeant mckenna says so," corporal kavaalendeclared. "he has been cleared. i guess we just didn't get around to telling you aboutthat." he went on to explain about the long distance call that had furnished stephen gresham'salibi. "and gresham was at home from nine twenty-twoon," rand added. "there are eight witnesses to that: his wife and daughter; myself; captainjarrett, here; and his fiancã©e, miss lawrence; philip cabot; adam trehearne; colin macbride."

farnsworth looked bewildered. "why wasn'ti told about that?" he demanded sulkily. "sergeant mckenna's been too busy, and i didn'tthink of it," kavaalen said insolently. "i'm not supposed to report to you, anyhow. whydidn't your man olsen tell you; he was with us when we checked with the telephone company." farnsworth tried to ignore that by questioningpierre about the time of gresham's arrival home, then turned to rand and wanted to knowwhat the latter's interest in the case was. rand told him about his work in connectionwith the fleming collection, producing humphrey goode's letter of authorization. farnsworthseemed impressed in about the same way as the coroner, kirchner, but he was still puzzled.

"but i understood that you had been retainedby stephen gresham, to investigate this murder," he said. "so you did talk to olsen, after i saw him,"rand pounced. "odd he didn't mention this telephone thing.... why, yes; that's true.my agency handles all sorts of business. the two operations aren't mutually exclusive;for a while, i even thought they might be related, but now—" he shrugged. "well, you believe, now, that rivers had nothingto do with the pistols you say were stolen from the fleming collection?" farnsworth asked.rand shook his head ambiguously; farnsworth took that for a negative answer to his question,as he was intended to. "and you say mr. gresham

has been completely cleared of any suspicionof complicity in this murder?" "mr. rand's helping us; we want him to stickaround till the case is closed," corporal kavaalen threw in, perceiving the drift offarnsworth's questions. "he and sergeant mckenna have worked together before; he's given usa lot of good tips." "you understand," rand took over, "mr. greshamdidn't retain me merely to help him clear himself. i don't accept that kind of retainers.i was retained to find the murderer of arnold rivers, and i intend to continue working onthis case until i do. i hope that the same friendly spirit of mutual cooperation willexist between your office and my agency as exists between me and the state police. icertainly don't want to have to work at cross

purposes with any of the regular law-enforcementagencies." "oh, certainly; of course." farnsworth didn'tseem to like the idea, but there was no apparent opening for objection. he and rand exchangedmendacious compliments, pledged close cooperation, and did practically everything but draw upand sign a treaty of alliance. then farnsworth and corporal kavaalen accompanied rand andpierre jarrett to the front door. some of the reporters who were ravening outsidemust have spotted rand as he had entered; they were all waiting for him to come out,and set up a monstrous ululation when he appeared in the doorway. with farnsworth beaming approval,rand assured the press that he was no more than a mere spectator, that the state policeand the efficient district attorney of scott

county had the situation well in hand, andthat an arrest was expected within a matter of hours. then he and pierre hurried to hiscar and drove away. chapter 14 neither of them spoke for a moment or two.then, after they had left the criminological-journalistic uproar at the rivers place behind and wereapproaching the village of rosemont, pierre turned to rand. "you know," he said, "for a disciple of korzybski,you came pretty close to confusing orders of abstraction, a couple of times, back there.you showed that stephen was at home while rivers was taking that phone call, a littleafter ten. but when you talk about clearing

him completely, aren't you overlooking thepossibility that he came back to rivers's after you and philip cabot left the greshamplace?" rand eased the foot-pressure on the gas andspared young jarrett a side-glance before returning his attention to the road ahead. "understand," pierre hastened to add, "i don'tbelieve that stephen was fool enough to kill rivers over that fake north & cheney, butweren't you producing inferences that hadn't been abstracted from any descriptive data?" "pierre, when i'm working on a case like this,any resemblance between my opinions and the statements i may make is purely due to consciousconsiderations of policy," rand told him.

"i don't want farnsworth or mick mckenna goingaround bitching this operation up for me. if they feel justified in eliminating greshamon the strength of that phone call, i'm satisfied, regardless of the semantics involved. rightnow, the thing that's worrying me is the ease with which i seem to have talked farnsworthinto laying off gresham. he and olsen both have single-track minds. they may just dismissthat telephone alibi, such as it is, as mere error of the mortal mind, and go right aheadbuilding some kind of a ramshackle case against gresham. since they picked him for their entry,they won't want to have to scratch him.... damn, i wish i could think of where walterscould have sold those pistols!" "well, if rivers wasn't involved somehow,why was he killed?" pierre wondered. "hey!

maybe walters sold the pistols to umholtz!he's just as big a crook as rivers was, only not quite so smart." rand nodded thoughtfully. "maybe so. and supposerivers found out about it, and tried to declare himself in on it. that stuff would be worthat least ten thousand; i doubt if whoever bought it paid walters more than two. in theumholtz-rivers income bracket, the difference might be worth killing for." "that's right. and umholtz was in the infantry,in the other war; he served in the twenty-eighth division. he was trained to use a bayonet.and he'd pick that short mauser; it has about the same weight and balance as a 1903 springfield."

"well, you know, the killer wouldn't needto have been trained to use a bayonet," rand pointed out. "mick mckenna made that point,this afternoon. there have been a lot of war-movies that showed bayonet fighting; pretty nearlyeverybody knows about the technique that was used. and against an unarmed and probablyunsuspecting victim like rivers, a great deal of proficiency wouldn't be needed." he slowedthe car. "up this road?" he asked. "yes. that's my place, over there." pierre pointed to a white-walled, red-roofedhouse that lay against a hillside, about a mile ahead, making a vivid spot in the dullgrays and greens of the early april landscape. it consisted of a square two-story block,with one-story wings projecting to give it

an l-shaped floorplan. it reminded rand offarmhouses he had seen in sicily during the war. "come on in and see my stuff, if you havetime," pierre invited, as rand pulled to a stop in the driveway. "i think i told youwhat i collect—personal combat arms, both firearms and edge-weapons." they entered the front door, which openeddirectly into a large parlor, a brightly colored, cheerful room. a woman rose from a chair whereshe had been reading. she was somewhere between forty-five and fifty, but her figure was stilltrim, and she retained much of what, in her youth, must have been great beauty.

"mother, this is colonel rand," pierre said."jeff, my mother." rand shook hands with her, and said somethingpolite. she gave him a smile of real pleasure. "pierre has been telling me about you, colonel,"she said. there was a faint trace of french accent in her voice. "i suppose he broughtyou here to show you his treasures?" "yes; i collect arms too. pistols," rand said. she laughed. "you gun-collectors; you're likewomen looking at somebody's new hat.... will you stay for dinner with us, colonel rand?" "why, i'm sorry; i can't. i have a great manythings to do, and i'm expected for dinner at the flemings'. i really wish i could, mrs.jarrett. maybe some other time."

they chatted for a few minutes, then pierreguided rand into one of the wings of the house. "this is my workshop, too," he said. "here'swhere i do my writing." he opened a door and showed rand into a large room. on one side, the wall was blank; on the other,it was pierced by two small casement windows. the far end was of windows for its entirewidth, from within three feet of the floor almost to the ceiling. there were bookcaseson either long side, and on the rear end, and over them hung pierre's weapons. randwent slowly around the room, taking everything in. very few of the arms were of issue militarytype, and most of these showed alterations to suit individual requirements. as pierrehad told him the evening before, the emphasis

was upon weapons which illustrated techniquesof combat. at the end of the room, lighted by the widewindows, was a long desk which was really a writer's assembly line, with typewriter,reference-books, stacks of notes and manuscripts, and a big dictionary on a stand beside a comfortableswivel-chair. "what are you writing?" rand asked. "science-fiction. i do a lot of stories forthe pulps," pierre told him. "space-trails, and other worlds, and wonder-stories; magslike that. most of it's standardized formula-stuff; what's known to the trade as space-operas.my best stuff goes to astonishing. parenthetically, you mustn't judge any of these magazines bytheir names. it seems to be a convention to

use hyperbolic names for science-fiction magazines;a heritage from what might be called an earlier and ruder day. what i do for astonishing isreally hard work, and i enjoy it. i'm working now on one for them, based on j. w. dunne'stime-theories, if you know what they are." "i think so," rand said. "polydimensionaltime, isn't it? based on an effect dunne observed and described—dreams obviously related tosome waking event, but preceding rather than following the event to which they are related.i read dunne's experiment with time some years before the war, and once, when i had nothingbetter to do, i recorded dreams for about a month. i got a few doubtful-to-fair examples,and two unmistakable dunne-effect dreams. i never got anything that would help me picka race-winner or spot a rise in the stock

market, though." "well, you know, there's a case on recordof a man who had a dream of hearing a radio narration of the english derby of 1933, includingthe announcement that hyperion had won, which he did," pierre said. "the dream was six hoursbefore the race, and tallied very closely with the phraseology used by the radio narrator.here." he picked up a copy of tyrrell's science and psychical phenomena and leafed throughit. "did this fellow cash in on it?" rand asked. "no. he was a quaker, and violently opposedto betting. here." he handed the book to rand. "case twelve."

rand sat down on the edge of the desk, andread the section indicated, about three pages in length. "well, i'll be damned!" he said, as he finished.the idea of anybody passing up a chance like that to enrich himself literally smote himto the vitals. "i see the british society for psychical research checked that case,and got verification from a couple of independent witnesses. if the s.p.r. vouches for a story,it must be the mccoy; they're the toughest-minded gang of confirmed skeptics anywhere in christendom.they take an attitude toward evidence that might be advantageously copied by most ofthe district attorneys i've met, the one in this county being no exception.... what'sthis story you're working on?"

"oh, it's based on dunne's precognition theories,plus a few ideas of my own, plus a theory of alternate lines of time-sequence for alternateprobabilities," pierre said. "see, here's the situation ..." half an hour later, they were still arguingabout a multidimensional universe when rand remembered dave ritter, who should be at therosemont inn by now. he looked at his watch, saw that it was five forty-five, and inquiredabout a telephone. "yes, of course; out here." pierre took himback to the parlor, where he dialed the inn and inquired if a mr. ritter, from new belfast,were registered there yet. he was. a moment later he was speaking toritter.

"jeff, for gawdsake, don't come here," ritteradvised. "this place is six-deep with reporters; the bar sounds like the second act of thefront page. tony ashe and steve drake from the dispatch and express; harry bentz, fromthe mercury; joe rawlings, the ap man from louisburg; christ only knows who all. thisdamn thing's going to turn into another hall-mills case! look, meet me at that beer joint, abouttwo miles on the new belfast side of rosemont, on route 19; the white-with-red-trimmingsplace with the big pabst sign out in front. i'll try to get there without letting a coupleof reporters hide in the luggage-trunk." "okay; see you directly." rand hung up, spent the next few minutes breakingaway from pierre and his mother, and went

out to his car. trust dave ritter, he thought,to pick some place where malt beverages were sold, for a rendezvous. dave's coupã© was parked inconspicuously besidethe red-trimmed roadhouse. opening his glove-box, rand took out the two percussion revolversand shoved them under his trench coat, one on either side, pulling up the belt to holdthem in place. as he went into the roadhouse, he felt like damon runyon's twelve-gun tweeney.he found ritter in the last booth, engaged in finishing a bottle of beer. rand orderedbourbon and plain water, and ritter ordered another beer. "i have the stuff tip left with kathie," rittersaid, taking out a couple of closely typed

sheets and handing them across the table."he said this was the whole business." rand glanced over them. tipton had neatlyand concisely summarized the provisions of lane fleming's will, and had also listed allfleming's life insurance policies, with beneficiaries, including a partnership policy on the livesof fleming, dunmore, and anton varcek, paying each of the survivors $25,000. "i see gladys and geraldine and nelda eachget a third of fleming's premix stock," rand commented. "but before they can have the certificatestransferred to them, they have to sign over their voting-power to the board of directors.evidently fleming didn't approve of the feminine touch in business."

"yeah, isn't that a dandy?" ritter asked."the directors are elected by majority vote of the stockholders. they now have the voting-powerof a majority of the stock; that makes the present board self-perpetuating, and responsibleonly to each other." "so it does, but that wasn't what i was thinkingof. according to tip, the board is one hundred per cent in favor of the merger with nationalmilling & packaging. we'll have to suppose fleming knew that; there must have been considerableintramural acrimony on the subject while he was still alive. now, since he opposed themerger, if he had intended committing suicide, he would have made some other arrangement,wouldn't he? at least, one would suppose so. well, then," rand asked, "why, since he isso worried about these suicide rumors, doesn't

goode use the one argument which would utterlydisprove them? or is there some reason why he doesn't want to call attention to the factthat fleming's death is what makes the merger possible?" "well, that would be calling attention tothe fact that the merger made fleming's death necessary," ritter pointed out. he pouredmore beer into his glass. "while we're on it, what's the angle on this butler's liveryi was supposed to bring? i brought my tux, and i borrowed a striped vest from the theatricalproperty exchange, and i brought that dago .380 of yours. but what makes you think theflemings are going to be needing a new butler? you going to poison the one they have?"

"the one they have has been exceeding hisduties," rand said. "he was supposed to clean the pistol-collection. not content with that,he's been cleaning it out. i know it was the butler." he went, at length, into his reasonsfor thinking so, and described the modus operandi of the thefts. "now, all this is just theory,so far, but when i'm able to prove it, i'm going to put the arm on this walters, if it'sright in the middle of dinner and he only has the roast half served. and i want youready to step into the vacancy thus created. i'm going to be busy as a pup in a fireplugfactory with this rivers thing, and i'll need some checking-upping done inside the fleminghousehold." he went on, in meticulous detail, to explainabout the rivers murder. "i'll have some work

for you, before you're ready to start buttling,too." disencumbering himself of the two percussion revolvers, he laid them on the table. "i wantyou to take these and show them to this barbecue man. get from him a positive statement, preferablyin writing, as to which, if either, he sold to lane fleming. you might show your agencycard and claim to be checking up on some stolen pistols that have been recovered. then, ifhe identifies the leech & rigdon, take the colt and show it to elmer umholtz. you wantto be careful how you handle him; we may want him for puncturing rivers, though i'm inclinedto doubt that, as of now. get him to tell you, yes or no, whether he reblued it andreplated the back-strap and trigger-guard, and if he did it for rivers; and if so, when.i know that's been done; the bluing is too

dark for a civil war period job; the frame,which ought to be case-hardened in colors, has been blued like the barrel and cylinder,the cylinder-engraving is almost obliterated, and you can see a few rust-pits that havebeen blued over. but i want to know if this gun was ever in rivers's shop; that's theimportant thing." "uh-huh. got the addresses?" rand furnished them, and ritter noted themdown. the waitress wandered back to see if they wanted anything else; she gave a smallsqueak of surprise when she saw the two big six-shooters on the table. rand and ritterrepeated their orders, and when she brought back the drinks, the colt and the leech & rigdonwere out of sight.

"the way i see it, everybody who's withina light-year of this rivers killing is trying to pin the medal on somebody else," ritterwas saying. "the lawrence girl was afraid young jarrett had done it; right away, shesicced you onto gillis. gillis didn't lose any time putting mckenna and farnsworth ontogresham. gresham's the only one who didn't have a pasty ready; you're supposed to digone up for him. and jarrett, the first chance he gets, introduces umholtz." he stared intohis beer, as though he thought ultimate verity might be lurking somewhere under the suds."do you think it might be possible that rivers bumped fleming off, in spite of his gettingkilled later?" he asked. "anything's possible," rand replied, "exceptwhere some structural contradiction is involved,

like scoring thirteen with one throw of apair of dice. yes, he could have. the way the flemings leave their garage open as longas any of the cars are out, anybody could have sneaked into the house from the garage,and gone up from the library to the gunroom. the only question in my mind is whether riverswould have known about that. that lawsuit and criminal action that fleming was goingto start—and that's been verified from sources independent of goode—was a good sound motive.and say he took the leech & rigdon away, after leaving the colt in fleming's hand; sellingit to some collector who'd put it in with a hundred or so other pistols would be a goodway of disposing of it. and i can understand his trying to buy the colt, to get it outof circulation." rand sipped his bourbon.

"but that leaves us with the question of whokilled rivers, and why." "well, because fleming is dead—and it doesn'tmatter whether he was murdered or died of old age—walters starts robbing the collection.he sells the pistols to rivers," ritter reconstructed. "and, as rivers doesn't want them around hisshop till they've had time to cool off, he stores them with this umholtz character, whoseems to have been in plenty of crooked deals with rivers in the past. the pistols are worthabout ten grand, and nobody knows where they are but rivers and umholtz, and if riversdrops dead all of a sudden, nobody will know where they are except umholtz, and in a coupleof years he can get them sold off and have the money all to himself."

"yes, dave; that's good sound murder, too.and rivers would sit down and drink with umholtz, and umholtz could take that mauser out ofthe rack right in front of rivers and rivers wouldn't suspect a thing till it was too late.of course, it depends upon two unverified assumptions: one, that the pistols were soldto rivers, and, two, that rivers stored them with umholtz." "and, three, that walters stole the pistolsin the first place," ritter added. "you know, it's possible that somebody else in that housemight have stolen them." "yes. as i said, anything's possible, withinstructural limits, but possibilities exist on different orders of probability. we can'ttry to consider all the possibilities in any

case, because they are indefinitely numerous;the best we can do is screen out all the low-order probabilities, list the high-order probabilities,and revise our list when and as new data comes to light. well, i've told you why i thinkwalters is a good suspect. from what i've seen of that household, i think walters waspersonally loyal to lane fleming, and i don't believe he feels any loyalty to anybody elsethere, with the exception of gladys fleming. he might keep quiet about the missing pistolsif she were the thief; if dunmore, or varcek, or either of the girls had done the stealing,he'd tell gladys, and she'd pass it on to me. she would be glad of anything that couldbe used against any of the others. and if, on the other hand, she had stolen the pistolsherself, she wouldn't have wanted me poking

around, and wouldn't have brought me in, atleast not to handle the collection." rand looked regretfully at his empty glass anddecided against ordering another. "dave, i just thought of something," he said. "howdo you think this would work?" he told ritter what he had thought of. ritterdrank beer slowly and meditatively. "it just might work," he considered. "i'veseen that gag work a hundred times: hell, i've used something like that, myself, atleast fifty times, and so have you. and i don't think walters would be familiar enoughwith dick-practice to see what you were doing. but if it turns out that walters didn't sellthe pistols to rivers at all, what then?" "well, if he sold them to umholtz, pierrejarrett's theory is still valid until disproved,"

rand said. "and if he didn't sell them eitherto rivers or umholtz, we'll have to conclude that rivers and fleming were killed by thesame person, the rivers killing being a security measure. that is, unless we find that riverswas killed by pierre jarrett, which is a sort of medium-high-order probability. jarrettand the girl left gresham's early enough for him to have killed rivers; they were bothpretty hard hit by that twenty-five-grand blockbuster rivers had dropped on them....give me back that colt, dave. all you have to do is get an identification on the leech& rigdon from the barbecue man. i'm going to let mick mckenna handle umholtz, one wayor another, after we've concluded the walters experiment. until then, we don't want to stirumholtz up, at all."

chapter 15 parking in the drive, rand entered the fleminghouse by the front door. the butler must have been busy with his pre-dinner tasks in therear; it was gladys herself who admitted him. "stay out of there," she warned him, takinghis arm and guiding him away from the parlor doorway. "nelda and geraldine are in there,ignoring each other. if you go in, they'll start talking to you, and then they'll starttalking at each other through you, and the air will be full of tomahawks in a jiffy.let's go up in the gunroom; that's out of the battle zone." "what started the hostilities this time?"rand asked, going up the stairway with her.

"oh, geraldine lost nelda's place-marker outof the kinsey report, or something." she shrugged. "mainly reaction to rivers's death. that wasa great blow to all of us; twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of blow. it was a blow to me,too, but i'm not letting it throw me.... what were you doing all afternoon?" "trying to keep the rest of our prospectsout of jail. this sixteenth-witted district attorney you have in this county had the ideahe could charge stephen gresham with the killing. i had a time talking him out of it, and i'mstill not sure how far i succeeded. and i was trying to get a line on where those pistolsgot to." "ssssh!" they reached the top of the stairs,and rand saw walters approaching down the

hall. "it was colonel rand, walters; i lethim in myself. are mr. varcek and mr. dunmore here, yet?" "mr. dunmore is in the library, ma'am, andmr. varcek is upstairs, in his laboratory. dinner will be ready in three-quarters ofan hour." "have you mixed the cocktails? you'd betterdo that. serve them in about twenty minutes. and you'd better go up and warn mr. varceknot to become involved in anything messy before dinner." walters yes-ma'am'd her and started towardthe attic stairway. rand and gladys went into the gunroom; rand turned to the left, pickeda pistol from the wall, and carried it with

him as he guided gladys toward the desk inthe corner. "you think walters stole them?" she asked. "so far, i'm inclined to. have you told anyof the others, yet?" "oh, lord, no! they'd all be sure that i stolethem myself. i'm counting on you to get them back with as little fuss as possible. do youthink that was why rivers was killed? after all, when a lot of valuable pistols disappear,and a crooked dealer is murdered, i'd expect there to be a connection." "there could be. did you ever hear any storiesabout mrs. rivers and this young fellow gillis who works in rivers's shop?"

gladys laughed. "is that rearing its uglyhead in public, now?" she asked. "well, there's nothing like a good murder to shake the skeletonsout of the closets. not that this particular skeleton was ever exactly hidden. the storiesare numerous, and somewhat repetitious; cecil and mrs. rivers would be seen together, atroadhouses and so on, at what they imagined was a safe distance from rosemont, and itwas said that when rivers was away over night, cecil was never seen to leave the rivers placein the evenings. might this be relevant to rivers's sudden demise?" "it could be." rand was keeping one eye onthe hall door and the other on the head of the spiral stairway. "don't mention outsidewhat i told you about farnsworth having this

brainstorm about stephen gresham. if it gotout, it might hurt gresham professionally. the fact is, gresham has just retained meto investigate the rivers murder for him. that won't interfere to any great extent withthe work i'm doing here; if necessary, i'll bring a couple of my men in from new belfastto help me on the rivers operation." he broke off abruptly, catching a movement at the headof the spiral, and lifted the pistol in his hand, as though showing it to gladys. "see,"he went on, "it has two hammers and two nipples, but only one barrel. it was loaded with twocharges, one on top of the other; the bullet of the rear charge acted as the breech-plugfor the front charge.... oh, walters!" he affected to catch sight of the butler forthe first time. "bring me that .36 walch revolver,

will you?" "yes, sir." walters, crossing the room, veeredto the right and went to the middle wall, bringing a revolver over to the desk. it wasa percussion weapon with an abnormally long cylinder. "the cocktails are served," he announced. "we'll be down in a moment; you can put theseback where they belong when you find time," rand told him. "now, here," he said to gladys."this is the same idea, in a revolver. six chambers, two charges in each. in theory,it was a good idea, but in actual practice walters went out the hall door, presumablyto call varcek. rand continued talking about the superposed-load principle, as used inthe lindsay pistol and the walch revolver,

until he was sure the butler was out of hearing.gladys was looking at him in appreciative if slightly punch-drunk delight. "i wondered why you brought that thing overhere with you," she said. "brother, was that a quick shift!... you're really sure he'sthe one?" "i'm not really sure of anything, except ofmy own existence and eventual extinction," rand told her. "it pretty nearly has to besomebody inside this house. i don't think anybody else here, yourself included, wouldknow enough about arms to rob this collection as selectively as it has been robbed. didyou see what just happened, here? i asked him for one of the most uncommon arms here,and he went straight and got it. he knows

this collection as well as your husband did,and i assume he knows values almost as well.... and, of course, there was a musket, too; mr.fleming didn't collect long-arms, or he'd have had one. it embodied the same principleas the pistol. the legend is that this man lindsay's brother was a soldier; he was supposedto have been killed by indians who drew the fire of the detail he was with and then chargedthem when their muskets were empty." rand shrugged. "actually, the superposed-load principleis ancient; there's a sixteenth-century wheel lock pistol in the metropolitan museum, innew york, firing two shots from the same barrel." varcek and the butler, who had entered bythe hall door, went across the gunroom and down the spiral. rand laid down the pistoland escorted gladys after them.

dunmore and geraldine were in the librarywhen they went down. geraldine, mildly potted, was reclining in a chair, sipping her drink.dunmore was still radiating his synthetic cheerfulness. "get many of the pistols listed, colonel?"he hailed rand, with jovial condescension. "no." rand poured two cocktails, handing oneto gladys. "i went to arnold rivers's place this morning, on a little unfinished business,and damn near tripped over rivers's corpse. i spent the rest of the day getting myselfdisinvolved from the ensuing uproar," he told dunmore. "you heard about it, of course." "yes, of course. horrible business. i hopeyou didn't get mixed up in it any more than

you had to. after all, you're working forus, and if the police knew that, we'd be bothered, too.... look here, you don't think some ofthese other people who were after the collection might have killed rivers, to keep him fromoutbidding them?" nelda, entering from the hallway, caught thelast part of that. "good god, fred!" she shrieked at him. "don'tsay things like that! maybe they did, but wait till they've bought the collection andpaid for it, before you start accusing them!" "i'm not accusing anybody," dunmore growledback at her. "i don't know enough about it to make any accusations. all i'm saying is—" "well, don't say it, then, if you don't knowwhat you're talking about," his wife retorted.

in spite of this start, dinner passed in relativequiet. for the most part, they talked about the remaining chances of selling the collection,about which nobody was optimistic. rand tried to build up morale with pictures of largemuseums and important dealers, all fairly slavering to get their fangs into the flemingcollection, but to little avail. a pall of gloom had settled, and he was forced to concedethat he had at last found somebody who had a valid reason to mourn the sudden and violentend of arnold rivers. dinner finished, he went up to the gunroomand began compiling his list. he found a yardstick, and thumbtacked it to the edge of the deskto get over-all and barrel lengths, and used a pair of inside calipers and a decimal-inchrule from the workbench to get calibers. sticking

a sheet of paper into the portable, he beganon the wheel locks, leaving spaces to insert the description of the stolen pistols, whenrecovered. when he had finished the wheel locks, he began on the snaphaunces, then didthe miguelet-locks. he had begun on the true flintlocks when walters, who had finishedhis own dinner, came up to help him. rand put the butler to work fetching pistols fromthe racks, and replacing those he had already listed. after a while, dunmore strolled in. "you say you found rivers's body yourself,colonel rand?" he asked. rand nodded, finished what he was typing,and looked up. "why, yes. there were a few details i wantedto clear up with him, and i called at his

shop this morning. i found him lying deadinside." he went on to describe the manner in which rivers had met his death. "the radioand newspaper accounts were accurate enough, in the main; there were a few details omitted,at the request of the police, of course." "well, you didn't get involved in it, though?"dunmore inquired anxiously. "i mean, you're not taking any part in the investigation?after all, we don't want to be mixed up in anything like this." "in that case, mr. dunmore, let me adviseyou not to discuss the matter of rivers's offer to buy this collection with anybodyoutside," rand told him. "so far, the police and the district attorney's office both seemto think that rivers was killed by somebody

whom he'd swindled in a business deal. ofcourse, they know about the collection being for sale, and rivers's offering to buy it." "they do?" dunmore asked sharply. "did youtell them that?" "naturally. i had to account for my presenceat rivers's shop, this morning," rand replied. "i don't know if the idea has occurred tothem that somebody might have killed rivers to eliminate a rival bidder for the collectionor not; i wouldn't say anything, if i were you, that might give them the idea." the extension phone rang shrilly. walterspicked it up, spoke into it, and listened for a moment.

"yes, miss lawrence; he's right here. youwish to speak to him?" he handed the phone across the desk to rand. "miss karen lawrence,for you, colonel rand." rand took the phone. before he had time tosay "hello," the antique-shop girl demanded of him: "colonel rand, you must tell me the truth.did you have anything to do with pierre jarrett's being arrested?" "what?" rand barked. then he softened hisvoice. "no; on my honor, miss lawrence. i knew nothing about it until this moment. whodid it? olsen?" "i don't know what his name was. he was astate police sergeant," she replied. "he and

another state policeman came to the jarretthouse about half an hour ago, charged pierre with the murder of arnold rivers, and tookhim away. his mother phoned me about it a few minutes ago." "that god-damned two-faced jesuitical bastard!"rand exploded. "where are you now?" "here at my shop. mrs. jarrett is coming here.she's afraid the reporters will be coming out to the house as soon as they hear aboutit, and she doesn't want to talk to them." "all right. i'll be there as soon as i can.if there's anything i can do to help you, you can count on me for it." he hung up, and turned to walters. "is mycar still out front?" he asked. "it is? good.

i'll be gone for a while; tell the othersi have something to attend to." "what's happened now?" dunmore asked sourly. "just what i was speaking about. the gestapogathered up pierre jarrett; they seem to have gotten the idea, now, that the motive mayhave been competition for the collection. next thing, farnsworth will think he has acase against carl gwinnett, and he'll land in the jug, too. i hope you realize that everytime something like this happens, it peels a thousand or so off the price i'll be ableto get for you people for these pistols." dunmore didn't try to ask how that would happen,for which rand was duly thankful; he accepted the statement uncritically. walters was staringat rand in horror, saying nothing. rand picked

up the outside phone and dialed the same numberhe had called from the rivers place that morning. "is sergeant mckenna about?... he is? fine;i'd like to speak to him.... oh, hello, mick; jeff rand." mckenna chuckled out of the receiver. "sortof slipped one over on you, didn't i?" he gloated. "why, i was checking up on thosepeople who were at gresham's, last evening, and they all agreed that young jarrett andthe lawrence girl had left the party about ten. so i had a talk with miss lawrence, andshe tried to tell me that jarrett was with her at her apartment, over the antique shop,from about ten fifteen until about twelve, when another girl she rooms with got homefrom a date. i'd of took that, too, only right

across the street from the antique shop thereis one of these old hens like you find in every neighborhood, the kind that keeps theirnose flattened on the window between the curtains, checking up on the neighbors. i spotted herwhen i came out of the antique shop, so i slipped around to see her, and she told methat young jarrett went into the apartment with the girl at about quarter past ten, stayedinside for about twenty minutes, then came out and drove away. she says jarrett cameback in about half an hour, and stayed till this girl who shares the lawrence girl's apartment—amiss dupont, who teaches sixth grade at thaddeus stevens school—got home, about twelve. sothere you are." "uh-huh. dave ritter said this was going toturn into another hall-mills case; well, now

you have your pig woman," rand said. "misslawrence shouldn't have lied to you, mick. i suppose she got worried when you startedasking questions, and there's nothing like a good murder in the neighborhood to makeliars out of people." "and damn well i know that!" mckenna agreed."but that isn't all. it seems our cruise-car crew spotted jarrett's car standing in rivers'sdrive, about eleven. just when he was away from the antique-shop, and about when them.e. figures rivers was getting the business." "did they get the number?" rand asked. "orhow did they identify the car?" "oh, they knew it; see, our boys shoot a lotwith the scott county rifle & pistol club, and they've all seen jarrett's car at therange, different times," mckenna said. "a

gray 1947 plymouth coupã©. like i say, theyknew the car, and they knew jarrett collects guns, and the lights were on inside the shopand the shades were drawn, so they didn't think anything of it, at the time. see, theywent to bed about ten this morning, and didn't get up till after five, so i didn't find outabout it till after supper." rand shrugged, and managed to get some ofthe shrug into his voice. "can be, at that," he said. "i hope you're not making a mistake,mick; if you are, his lawyer's going to crucify you. what are you using for a motive?" "rivers was outbidding this crowd jarrettand the girl were in with. they all told me about that," mckenna said. "and he and thegirl were planning to use their end of the

collection to go into the arms business, afterthey got married. rivers got in the way." mckenna, at the other end of the line, musthave shrugged, too. "after all, for about four years, they'd been training jarrett toovercome resistance with the bayonet, so he did just that." "maybe so. you find out anything about thatother matter i was interested in?" "you mean the pistols? huh-unh; we went overrivers's place with a fine-tooth comb, and questioned young gillis about it, and we didn'tget a thing. you sure those pistols went to rivers?" "i'm not sure of anything at all," rand replied,looking at his watch. "you going to be in,

say in a couple of hours? i want to have atalk with you." "sure. i'll be around all evening," mckennaassured him. "if we don't have another murder." rand hung up. he pulled the sheet out of thetypewriter, laid it face down on the other sheets he had finished, and laid a long seventeenth-centuryflemish flintlock on top for a paperweight, memorizing the position of the pistol relativeto the paper under it. "put those pistols back on the wall," he toldwalters, indicating several he had laid aside after listing. "leave the others there; i'mnot finished with them yet. i'll be back before too long. if i don't find any more bodies."chapter 16 it was raining again as rand parked his carabout a hundred yards up the street from karen

lawrence's antique-shop. the windows weredark, but karen was waiting inside the door for him. he entered quickly, mindful of theall-seeing eye across the street, and followed her to a back room, where mrs. jarrett anddorothy gresham were. all three women regarded him intently, as though trying to decide whetherhe was friend or enemy. there was a long silence before mrs. jarrett spoke, and when she did,her words were almost the same as karen's when she had spoken over the phone. "colonel rand," she began, obviously strugglingwith herself, "you must tell me the truth. did you have anything to do with my son'sbeing arrested?" rand shook his head. "absolutely nothing,mrs. jarrett," he told her, unbuckling the

belt of his raincoat and taking it off. "ihave never seriously suspected your son of the rivers murder, i had no idea that mckennawas contemplating arresting him, and if i had, i would have advised him against it.besides causing annoyance to innocent people, mckenna's made a serious tactical error. hewas misled by appearances, and he was afraid i'd break this case before he did, which iintend to do." he turned to karen lawrence. "i talked to mckenna after you called me;he as much as admitted making that arrest to get in ahead of me." "i told you," dorothy gresham flashed at theothers. "i knew jeff wouldn't stoop to anything as contemptible as pretending to be pierre'sfriend and then getting him arrested!"

rand permitted himself a wry inward smile.he hoped she would not have an opportunity to observe his stooping capabilities beforehe had finished his various operations at rosemont. "i certainly hoped not." mrs. jarrett relaxed,smiling faintly at rand. "pierre likes you, colonel. i hated the thought that you mighthave betrayed him. are you working on the rivers case, too?" rand nodded again, turning to dot gresham."your father retained me to make an investigation," he said. "after that trouble he had with riversabout that spurious north & cheney, he wanted the murderer caught before somebody got aroundto accusing him."

"you mean there's a chance dad might be suspected?"dot was scared. rand nodded. the girl was beginning to looksuspiciously at karen and mrs. jarrett. getting ready to toss pierre to the wolves if herfather were in danger, rand suspected. he hastened to reassure her. "rivers was still alive when your father reachedhome, last evening," he told her. "that's been established." she breathed her obvious relief. if greshamhad left home after rand's departure with philip cabot, she didn't know it. karen, on the other hand, was growing moreand more worried.

"look, colonel," she began. "they didn't justpull pierre's name out of a hat. they must have had something to suspect him about." "yes. you shouldn't have lied to mckenna.he checked up on your story; the woman across the street told him about seeing pierre leavehere a little before eleven and come back about half an hour later." "i was afraid of that," karen said. "i forgotall about that old hag. there's nothing that can go on around here that she doesn't knowabout; pierre calls her mrs. g2." "and then," rand continued, "mckenna claimsthat a car like pierre's was seen parked in rivers's drive about the time pierre was awayfrom here."

mrs. jarrett moaned softly; her face, alreadyhaggard, became positively ghastly. karen gasped in fright. "they only identified it as to model and make;they didn't get the license number ... where did pierre go, while he was away from here?" "he went out for cigarettes," karen said."when we came here from greshams', we made some coffee, and then sat and talked for awhile, and then we found out that we were both out of cigarettes and there weren't anyhere. so pierre said he'd go out and get some. he was gone about half an hour; when he cameback, he had a carton, and some hot pork sandwiches. he'd gotten them at the same place as thecigarettes—art igoe's lunch-stand."

"could igoe verify that?" "it wouldn't help if he did. igoe's placeisn't a five-minute drive from rivers's, farther down the road." "has pierre a lawyer?" rand asked. "no. not yet. we were just talking about that." "dad would defend him," dot suggested. "ofcourse, he's not a criminal lawyer—" "carter tipton, in new belfast," rand toldthem. "he's my lawyer; he's gotten me out of more jams than you could shake a stickat. where's the telephone? i'll call him now." "you think he'd defend pierre?"

"unless i'm badly mistaken, pierre isn't goingto need any trial defense," rand told them. "he will need somebody to look after his interests,and we'll try to get him out on a writ as soon as possible." he looked at his watch. it was ten minutesto nine. it was hard to say where carter tipton would be at the moment; his manservant wouldprobably know. karen showed him the phone and he started to put through a person-to-personcall. it was eleven o'clock before he backed hiscar into the fleming garage, and the rain had turned to a wet, sticky snow. all thefleming cars were in, but rand left the garage doors open. he also left his hat and coatin the car.

after locating and talking to tipton and arrangingfor him to meet dave ritter at the rosemont inn, he had gone to the state police substation,where he had talked at length with mick mckenna. he had been compelled to tell the state policesergeant a number of things he had intended keeping to himself. when he was through, mckennawent so far as to admit that he had been a trifle hasty in arresting pierre jarrett.rand suspected that he was mentally kicking himself with hobnailed boots for his prematureact. he also submitted, for mckenna's approval, the scheme he had outlined to dave ritter,and obtained a promise of cooperation. when he entered the fleming library, en routeto the gunroom, he found the entire family assembled there; with them was humphrey goode.as he came in, they broke off what had evidently

been an acrimonious dispute and gave him theirundivided attention. geraldine, relaxed in a chair, was smoking; for once, she didn'thave a glass in her hand. gladys occupied another chair; she was smoking, too. neldahad been pacing back and forth like a caged tiger; at rand's entrance, she turned to facehim, and rand wondered whether she thought he was clyde beatty or a side of beef. goodeand dunmore sat together on the sofa, forming what looked like a bilateral offensive anddefensive alliance, and varcek, looking more than ever like rudolf hess, stood with foldedarms in one corner. "now, see here, rand," dunmore began, as soonas the detective was inside the room, "we want to know just exactly for whom you'reworking, around here. and i demand to know

where you've been since you left here thisevening." "and i," goode piped up, "must protest moststrongly against your involvement in this local murder case. i am informed that, whilein the employ of this family, you accepted a retainer from another party to investigatethe death of arnold rivers." "that's correct," rand informed him. thenhe turned to gladys. "just for the record, mrs. fleming, do you recall any stipulationto the effect that the business of handling this pistol-collection should have the exclusiveattention of my agency? i certainly don't recall anything of the sort." "no, of course not," she replied. "as longas the collection is sold to the best advantage,

i haven't any interest in any other businessof your agency, and have no right to have." she turned to the others. "i thought i madethat clear to all of you." "you didn't answer my question!" dunmore yelledat him. "i don't intend to. you aren't my client,and i'm not answerable to you." "well, you carry my authorization," goodesupported him. "i think i have a right to know what's being done." "as far as the collection's concerned, yes.as for the rivers murder, or my armored-car service, or any other business of the tri-stateagency, no." "well, you made use of my authorization toget that revolver from kirchner—" goode

began. "aah!" rand cried. "so that concerns the riversmurder, does it? well! when did you find that out, now? when kirchner called you, you hadno objection to his giving me that revolver. what changed your mind for you? didn't youknow that rivers was dead, then?" rand watched goode trying to assimilate that. "or didn'tyou think i knew?" goode cleared his throat noisily, twistinghis mouth. the others were looking back and forth from him to rand, in obvious bewilderment;they realized that rand had pulled some kind of a rabbit out of a hat, but they couldn'tunderstand how he'd done it. "what i mean is that since then you have allowedyourself to become involved in this murder

case. you have let it be publicly known thatyou are a private detective, working for the fleming family," goode orated. "how long,then, will it be before it will be said, by all sorts of irresponsible persons, that youare also investigating the death of lane fleming?" "well?" rand asked patiently. "are you afraidpeople will start calling that a murder, too?" gladys was looking at him apprehensively,as though she were watching him juggle four live hand grenades. "is anybody saying that now?" varcek askedsharply. "not that i know of," rand lied. "but if goodekeeps on denying it, they will." "you know perfectly well," goode exploded,"that i am alluding to these unfounded and

mischievous rumors of suicide, which are doingthe premix company so much harm. my god, mr. rand, can't you realize—" "oh, come off it, goode," varcek broke inamusedly. "we all—colonel rand included—know that you started those rumors yourself. veryclever—to start a rumor by denying it. but scarcely original. doctor goebbels was doingit almost twenty years ago." "my god, is that true?" nelda demanded. "youmean, he's been going around starting all these stories about father committing suicide?"she turned on goode like an enraged panther. "why, you lying old son of a bitch!" she screamedat him. "of course. he wants to start a selling runon premix," varcek explained to her. "he's

buying every share he can get his hands on.we all are." he turned to rand. "i'd advise you to buy some, if you can find any, colonelrand. in a month or so, it's going to be a really good thing." "i know about the merger. i am buying," randtold him. "but are you sure of what goode's been doing?" "of course," gladys put in contemptuously."i always wondered about this suicide talk; i couldn't see why humphrey was so perturbedabout it. anything that lowered the market price of premix, at this time, would be tohis advantage." she looked at goode as though he had six legs and a hard shell. "you know,humphrey, i can't say i exactly thank you

for this." "did you know about it?" nelda demanded ofher husband. "you did! my god, fred, you are a filthy specimen!" "oh, you know; anything to turn a dishonestdollar," geraldine piped up. "like the late arnold rivers's ten-thousand offer. say! iwonder if that mightn't be what rivers died of? raising the price and leaving fred outin the cold!" dunmore simply stared at her, making a noiselike a chicken choking on a piece of string. "well, all this isn't my pidgin," rand saidto gladys. "i only work here, deo gratias, and i still have some work to do."

with that, he walked past goode and dunmoreand ascended the spiral stairway to the gunroom. even at the desk, in the far corner of theroom, he could hear them going at it, hammer-and-tongs, in the library. sometimes it would be nelda'sstrident shrieks that would dominate the bedlam below; sometimes it would be fred dunmore,roaring like a bull. now and then, humphrey goode would rumble something, and, once ina while, he could hear gladys's trained and modulated voice. usually, any remark she madewould be followed by outraged shouts from goode and dunmore, like the crash of fallingmasonry after the whip-crack of a tank-gun. at first rand eavesdropped shamelessly, butthere was nothing of more than comic interest; it was just a routine parade and guard-mountof the older and more dependable family skeletons,

with special emphasis on humphrey goode'sbusiness and professional ethics. when he was satisfied that he would hear nothing havingany bearing on the death of lane fleming, rand went back to his work. after a while, the tumult gradually died out.rand was still typing when gladys came up the spiral and perched on the corner of thedesk, picking up a long brass-barreled english flintlock and hefting it. "you know, i sometimes wonder why we don'tall come up here, break out the ammunition, pick our weapons, and settle things," shesaid. "it never was like this when lane was around. oh, nelda and geraldine would baretheir teeth at each other, once in a while,

but now this place has turned into a miniatureiwo jima. i don't know how much longer i'm going to be able to take it. i'm developingcombat fatigue." "it's snowing," rand mentioned. "let's throwthem out into the storm." "i can't. i have to give nelda and geraldinea home, as long as they live," she replied. "terms of the will. oh, well, geraldine'lldrink herself to death in a few years, and nelda will elope with a prize-fighter, sometime." "why don't you have the house haunted? thetri-state agency has an excellent house-haunting department. anything you want; poltergeists;apparitions; cold, clammy hands in the dark; footsteps in the attic; clanking chains andeldritch screams; banshees. any three for

the price of two." "it wouldn't work. geraldine is so used topolka-dotted dinosaurs and little green men from mars that she wouldn't mind an ordinaryghost, and nelda'd probably try to drag it into bed with her." she laid down the pistoland slid off the desk. "well, pleasant dreams; i'll see you in the morning." after she had left the gunroom, rand lookedat his watch. it was a very precise instrument; a swiss military watch, with a sweep secondhand, and two timing dials. it had formerly been the property of an obergruppenfã¼hrerof the s.s., and rand had appropriated it to replace his own, broken while choking theobergruppenfã¼hrer to death in an alley in

palermo. he zeroed the timing dials and pressedthe start-button. then he stood for a time over the old cobbler's bench, mentally reconstructingwhat had been done after lane fleming had been shot, after which he hurried down thespiral and along the rear hall to the garage, where he snatched his hat and coat from thecar. he threw the coat over his shoulders like a cloak, and went on outside. he madehis way across the lawn to the orchard, through the orchard to the lawn of humphrey goode'shouse, and across this to goode's side door. he stood there for a few seconds, imagininghimself opening the door and going inside. then he stopped the timing hands and returnedto the fleming house, locking the garage doors behind him. in the garage, he looked at thewatch.

it had taken exactly six minutes and twenty-twoseconds. he knew that he could move more rapidly than the dumpy lawyer, but to balance that,he had been moving over more or less unfamiliar ground. he left his hat and trench coat inthe car and went upstairs. undressing, he went into the bathroom in hisdressing-gown, spent about twenty minutes shaving and taking a shower, and then returnedto his own room. chapter 17 when he rose, the next morning, rand noticedsomething which had escaped his eye when he had gone to bed the night before. his .38-special,in its shoulder-holster, was lying on the dresser; he had not bothered putting it onwhen he had gone to see rivers the morning

before, and it had lain there all the previousday. he distinctly remembered having moved it, shortly after dinner, when he had goneto his room for some notes he had made on the collection. however, between that time and the presentit had managed to flop itself over; the holster was now lying back-up. intrigued by such aremarkable accomplishment in an inanimate object, rand crossed the room in the dress-of-naturein which he slept and looked more closely at it, receiving a second and considerablymore severe surprise. the revolver in the holster was not his own. it was, to be sure, a .38 colt detective special,and it was in his holster, but it was not

the detective special he had brought withhim from new belfast. his own gun was of the second type, with the corners rounded offthe grip; this one was of the original issue, with the square police positive grip. hisown gun had seen hard service; this one was in practically new condition. there was adiscrepancy of about thirty thousand in the serial numbers. his gun had been loaded insix chambers with the standard 158-grain loads; this one was loaded in only five, with 148-grainmid-range wad-cutter loads. rand stood for some time looking at the revolver.the worst of it was that he couldn't be exactly sure when the substitution had been made.it might have happened at any time between eight o'clock and twelve, when he had goneto bed. he rather suspected that it had been

accomplished while he had been in the bathroom,however. dumping out the five rounds in the cylinder,he inspected the changeling carefully. it was, he thought, the revolver lane fleminghad kept in the drawer of the gunroom desk. there was no obstruction in the two-inch barrel,the weapon had not been either fired or cleaned recently, the firing-pin had not been shortened,the mainspring showed the proper amount of tension, and the mechanism functioned as itshould. there was a chance that somebody had made up five special hand-loads for him, usingnitroglycerin instead of powder, but that didn't seem likely, as it would not necessitatea switch of revolvers. there were four or five other possibilities, all of them disquieting;he would have been a great deal less alarmed

if somebody had taken a shot at him. getting a box of cartridges out of his gladstone,he filled the cylinder with 158-grain loads. when he went to the bathroom, he took therevolver in his dressing-gown pocket; when he dressed, he put on the shoulder-holster,and pocketed a handful of spare rounds. anton varcek was loitering in the hall whenhe came out; he gave rand good-morning, and fell into step with him as they went towardthe stairway. "colonel rand, i wish you wouldn't mentionthis to anybody, but i would like a private talk with you," the czech said. "after freddunmore has left for the plant. would that be possible?"

"yes, mr. varcek; i'll be in the gunroom allmorning, working." they reached the bottom of the stairway, where gladys was waiting."understand," rand continued, "i never really studied biology. i was exposed to it, in school,but at that time i was preoccupied with the so-called social sciences." varcek took the conversational shift in stride."of course," he agreed. "but you are trained in the scientific method of thought. that,at least, is something. when i have opportunity to explain my ideas more fully, i believeyou will be interested in my conclusions." they greeted gladys, and walked with her tothe dining-room. as usual, geraldine was absent; dunmore and nelda were already at the table,eating in silence. both of them seemed self-conscious,

after the pitched battle of the evening before.rand broke the tension by offering humphrey goode in the role of whipping-boy; he hadno sooner made a remark in derogation of the lawyer than nelda and her husband broke intoa duet of vituperation. in the end, everybody affected to agree that the whole unpleasantscene had been entirely goode's fault, and a pleasant spirit of mutual cordiality prevailed. finally dunmore got up, wiping his mouth ona napkin. "well, it's about time to get to work," hesaid. "we might as well save gas and both use my car. coming, anton?" "i'm sorry, fred; i can't leave, yet. i havesome notes upstairs i have to get in order.

i was working on this new egg-powder, lastevening, and i want to continue the experiments at the plant laboratory. i think i know howwe'll be able to cut production costs on it, about five per cent." "and boy, can we stand that!" dunmore grunted."well, be seeing you at the plant." rand waited until dunmore had left, then wentacross to the library and up to the gunroom. as soon as he entered the room above, he sawwhat was wrong. the previous thefts had been masked by substitutions, but whoever had helpedhimself to one of the more recent metallic-cartridge specimens, the night before, hadn't botheredwith any such precaution, and a pair of vacant screwhooks disclosed the removal. a secondlook told rand what had been taken: the little

.25 webley & scott from the pollard collection,with the silencer. the pistol-trade which had been imposed onhim had disquieted him; now, he had no hesitation in admitting to himself, he was badly scared.whoever had taken that little automatic had had only one thought in mind—noiseless andstealthy murder. very probably with one colonel jefferson davis rand in mind as the prospectivecorpse. he sat down at the desk and started typing,at the same time trying to keep the hall door and the head of the spiral stairway underobservation. it was an attempt which was responsible for quite a number of typographical errors.finally, anton varcek came in from the hallway, approached the desk, and sat down in an armchair.

"colonel rand," he began, in a low voice,"i have been thinking over a remark you made, last evening. were you serious when you alludedto the possibility that lane fleming had been murdered?" "well, the idea had occurred to me," randunderstated, keeping his right hand close to his left coat lapel. "i take it you havebegun to doubt that it was an accident?" "i would doubt a theory that a skilled chemistwould accidentally poison himself in his own laboratory," varcek replied. "i would not,for instance, pour myself a drink from a bottle labeled hno3 in the belief that it containedvodka. i believe that lane fleming should be credited with equal caution about firearms."

"yet you were the first to advance the theorythat the shooting had been an accident," rand pointed out. "i have a strong dislike for firearms." varceklooked at the pistols on the desk as though they were so many rattlesnakes. "i have alwaysfeared an accident, with so many in the house. when i saw him lying dead, with a revolverin his hand, that was my first thought. first thoughts are so often illogical, emotional." "and you didn't consider the possibility ofsuicide?" "no! absolutely not!" the czech was emphatic."the idea never occurred to me, then or since. lane fleming was not the man to do that. hewas deeply religious, much interested in church

work. and, aside from that, he had no reasonto wish to die. his health was excellent; much better than that of many men twenty yearshis junior. he had no business worries. the company is doing well, we had large governmentcontracts during the war and no reconversion problems afterward, we now have more ordersthan we have plant capacity to fill, and mr. fleming was consulting with architects aboutplant expansion. we have been spared any serious labor troubles. and mr. fleming's wife wasdevoted to him, and he to her. he had no family troubles." rand raised an eyebrow over that last. "no?"he inquired. varcek flushed. "please, colonel rand, youmust not judge by what you have seen since

you came here. when lane fleming was alive,such scenes as that in the library last evening would have been unthinkable. now, this familyis like a ship without a captain." "and since you do not think that he shot himself,either deliberately or inadvertently, there remains the alternative that he was shot bysomebody else, either deliberately or, very improbably, by inadvertence," rand said. "ithink the latter can be safely disregarded. let's agree that it was murder and go on fromthere." varcek nodded. "you are investigating it assuch?" he asked. "i am appraising and selling this pistol collection,"rand told him wearily. "i am curious about who killed fleming, of course; for my ownprotection i like to know the background of

situations in which i am involved. but doyou think humphrey goode would bring me here to stir up a lot of sleeping dogs that mightawake and grab him by the pants-seat? or did you think that uproar in the library lastevening was just a prearranged act?" "i had not thought of humphrey goode. it wasmy understanding that mrs. fleming brought you here." "mrs. fleming wants her money out of the collection,as soon as possible," rand said. "to reopen the question of her husband's death and starta murder investigation wouldn't exactly expedite things. i'm just a more or less innocent bystander,who wants to know whether there is going to be any trouble or not.... now, you came hereto tell me what happened on the night of lane

fleming's death, didn't you?" "yes. we had finished dinner at about seven,"varcek said. "lane had been up here for about an hour before dinner, working on his newrevolver; he came back here immediately after he was through eating. a little later, wheni had finished my coffee, i came upstairs, by the main stairway. the door of this roomwas open, and lane was inside, sitting on that old shoemaker's-bench, working on therevolver. he had it apart, and he was cleaning a part of it. the round part, where the loadsgo; the drum, is it?" "cylinder. how was he cleaning it?" rand asked. "he was using a small brush, like a test-tubebrush; he was scrubbing out the holes. the

chambers. he was using a solvent that smelledsomething like banana-oil." rand nodded. he could visualize the progressfleming had made. if varcek was telling the truth, and he remembered what walters hadtold him, the last flicker of possibility that lane fleming's death had been accidentalvanished. "i talked with him for some ten minutes orso," varcek continued, "about some technical problems at the plant. all the while, he kepton working on this revolver, and finished cleaning out the cylinder, and also the barrel.he was beginning to put the revolver together when i left him and went up to my laboratory. "about fifteen minutes later i heard the shot.for a moment, i debated with myself as to

what i had heard, and then i decided to comedown here. but first i had to take a solution off a bunsen burner, where i had been heatingit, and take the temperature of it, and then wash my hands, because i had been workingwith poisonous materials. i should say all this took me about five minutes. "when i got down here, the door of this roomwas closed and locked. that was most unusual, and i became really worried. i pounded onthe door, and called out, but i got no answer. then fred dunmore came out of the bathroomattached to his room, with nothing on but a bathrobe. his hair was wet, and he was inhis bare feet and making wet tracks on the floor."

from there on, varcek's story tallied closelywith what rand had heard from gladys and from walters. everybody's story tallied, whereit could be checked up on. "you think the murderer locked the door behindhim, when he came out of here?" varcek asked. "i think somebody locked the door, sometime.it might have been the murderer, or it might have been fleming at the murderer's suggestion.but why couldn't the murderer have left the gunroom by that stairway?" varcek looked around furtively and loweredhis voice. now he looked like rudolf hess discussing what to do about ernst roehm. "colonel rand; don't you think that fred dunmorecould have shot lane fleming, and then have

gone to his room and waited until i came downstairs?"he asked. here we go again! rand thought. just likethe rivers case; everybody putting the finger on everybody else.... "and have undressed and taken a bath, whilehe was waiting?" he inquired. "you came down here only five minutes after the shot. inthat time, dunmore would have had to wipe his fingerprints off the revolver, leave itin fleming's hand, put that oily rag in his other hand, set the deadlatch, cross the hall,undress, get into the bathtub and start bathing. that's pretty fast work." "but who else could have done it?"

"well, you, for one. you could have come downfrom your lab, shot fleming, faked the suicide, and then gone out, locking the door behindyou, and made a demonstration in the hall until you were joined by dunmore and the ladies.then, with your innocence well established, you could have waited until your wife promptedyou, as she or somebody else was sure to, and then have gone down to the library andup the spiral," rand said. "that's about as convincing, no more and no less, as your theoryabout dunmore." varcek agreed sadly. "and i cannot prove otherwise,can i?" "you can advance your dunmore theory to establishreasonable doubt," rand told him. "and if dunmore's accused, he can do the same withthe theory i've just outlined. and as long

as reasonable doubt exists, neither of youcould be convicted. this isn't the third reich or the soviet union; they wouldn't executeboth of you to make sure of getting the right one. both of you had a motive in this mill-packmerger that couldn't have been negotiated while fleming lived. one or the other of youmay be guilty; on the other hand, both of you may be innocent." "then who...?" varcek had evidently bet hisroll on dunmore. "there is no one else who could have done it." "the garage doors were open, if i recall,"rand pointed out. "anybody could have slipped in that way, come through the rear hall tothe library and up the spiral, and have gone

out the same way. some of the french maquisi worked with, during the war, could have wiped out the whole family, one after theother, that way." a look of intense concentration settled uponvarcek's face. he nodded several times. "yes. of course," he said, his thought-chaincomplete. "and you spoke of motive. from what you must have heard, last evening, humphreygoode was no less interested in the merger than fred dunmore or myself. and then thereis your friend gresham; he is quite familiar with the interior of this house, and who knowswhat terms national milling & packaging may have made with him, contingent upon his successin negotiating the merger?" "i'm not forgetting either of them," randsaid. "or fred dunmore, or you. if you did

it, i'd advise you to confess now; it'll saveeverybody, yourself included, a lot of trouble." varcek looked at him, fascinated. "why, ibelieve you regard all of us just as i do my fruit flies!" he said at length. "you know,colonel rand, you are not a comfortable sort of man to have around." he rose slowly. "naturally,i'll not mention this interview. i suppose you won't want to, either?" "i'd advise you not to talk about it, at that,"rand said. "the situation here seems to be very delicate, and rather explosive.... oh,as you go out, i'd be obliged to you for sending walters up here. i still have this work here,and i'll need his help." after varcek had left him, rand looked inthe desk drawer, verifying his assumption

that the .38 he had seen there was gone. hewondered where his own was, at the moment. when the butler arrived, he was put to workbringing pistols to the desk, carrying them back to the racks, taking measurements, andthe like. all the while, rand kept his eye on the head of the spiral stairway. finally he caught a movement, and saw whatlooked like the top of a peak-crowned gray felt hat between the spindles of the railing.he eased the detective special out of its holster and got to his feet. "all right!" he sang out. "come on up!" walters looked, obviously startled, at therevolver that had materialized in rand's hand,

and at the two men who were emerging fromthe spiral. he was even more startled, it seemed, when he realized that they wore theuniform of the state police. "what.... what's the meaning of this, sir?"he demanded of rand. "you're being arrested," rand told him. "juststand still, now." he stepped around the desk and frisked thebutler quickly, wondering if he were going to find a .25 webley & scott automatic orhis own .38-special. when he found neither, he holstered his temporary weapon. "if this is your idea of a joke, sir, permitme to say that it isn't...." "it's no joke, son," sergeant mckenna toldhim. "in this country, a police-officer doesn't

have to recite any incantation before he makesan arrest, any more than he needs to read any riot act before he can start shooting,but it won't hurt to warn you that anything you say can be used against you." "at least, i must insist upon knowing whyi am being arrested," walters said icily. "oh! don't you know?" mckenna asked. "why,you're being arrested for the murder of arnold rivers." for a moment the butler retained his professionalglacial disdain, and then the bottom seemed to drop suddenly out of him. rand suppresseda smile at this minor verification of his theory. walters had been expecting to be accusedof larceny, and was prepared to treat the

charge with contempt. then he had realized,after a second or so, what the state police sergeant had really said. "good god, gentlemen!" he looked from mickmckenna to corporal kavaalen to rand and back again in bewilderment. "you surely can't meanthat!" "we can and we do," rand told him. "you stoleabout twenty-five pistols from this collection, after mr. fleming died, and sold them to arnoldrivers. then, when i came here and started checking up on the collection, you knew thegame was up. so, last evening, you took out the station-wagon and went to see rivers,and you killed him to keep him from turning state's evidence and incriminating you. ormaybe you killed him in a quarrel over the

division of the loot. i hope, for your sake,that it was the latter; if it was, you may get off with second degree murder. but ifyou can't prove that there was no premeditation, you're tagged for the electric chair." "but ... but i didn't kill mr. rivers," waltersstammered. "i barely knew the gentleman. i saw him, once or twice, when he was here tosee mr. fleming, but outside of that...." "outside of that, you sold him about twenty-fiveof these pistols, and got a like number of junk pistols from him, for replacements."he took the list pierre jarrett and stephen gresham had compiled out of his pocket andbegan reading: "italian wheel lock pistol, late sixteenth- or early seventeenth-century;pair italian snaphaunce pistols, by lazarino

cominazo...." he finished the list and putit away. "i think we've missed one or two, but that'll do, for the time." "but i didn't sell those pistols to mr. rivers,"walters expostulated. "i sold them to mr. carl gwinnett. i can prove it!" that rand had not expected. "go on!" he jeered."i suppose you have receipts for all of them. fences always do that, of course." "but i did sell them to mr. gwinnett. i cantake you to his house, if you get a search warrant, and show you where he has them hiddenin the garret. he was afraid to offer them for sale until after this collection had beenbroken up and sold; he still has every one

of them." mckenna spat out an obscenity. "aren't weever going to have any luck?" he demanded. "jarrett out on a writ this morning, and nowthis!" "but he ain't in the clear," kavaalen argued."maybe he didn't sell rivers the pistols, but maybe he did kill him." "dope!" mckenna abused his subordinate. "ifhe didn't sell rivers the pistols, why would he kill him?" "he's only said he sold them to gwinnett,"rand pointed out. then he turned to walters. "look here; if we find those pistols in gwinnett'spossession, you're clear on this murder charge.

there's still a slight matter of larceny,but that doesn't involve the electric chair. you take my advice and make a confession now,and then accompany these officers to gwinnett's place and show them the pistols. if you dothat, you may expect clemency on the theft charge, too." "oh, i will, sir! i'll sign a full confession,and take these police-officers and show them every one of the pistols...." rand put paper and carbon sheets in the typewriter.as walters dictated, he typed; the butler listed every pistol which gresham and pierrejarrett had found missing, and a cased presentation pair of .44 colt 1860's that nobody had missed.he signed the triplicate copies willingly;

he didn't seem to mind signing himself intojail, as long as he thought he was signing himself out of the electric chair. the book in which fleming had recorded hispistols he still had; he had removed it from the gunroom and was keeping it in his room.he said he would get it, along with the things he would need to take to jail with him. whenit was finished, they all went down the spiral stairway into the library. nelda was standing at the foot of it. evidentlyshe had been listening to what had been going on upstairs. "you dirty sneak!" she yelled, catching sightof walters. "after all we've done for you,

you turn around and rob us! i hope they giveyou twenty years!" walters turned to mckenna. "sergeant, i amwilling to accept the penalty of the law for what i have done, but i don't believe, sir,that it includes being yapped at by this vulgar bitch." nelda let out an inarticulate howl of furyand sprang at him, nails raking. corporal kavaalen caught her wrist before she couldclaw the prisoner. "that's enough, you!" he told her. "you stopthat, or you'll spend a night in jail yourself." she jerked her arm loose from his grasp andflung out of the library. as she went out, gladys entered; rand, who had been bringingup in the rear, stepped down from the stairway.

"he confessed," he said softly. "we had tobluff it out of him, but he came across. sold the pistols to carl gwinnett. we're going,now, to pick up gwinnett and the pistols." "i'm glad you found the pistols," she toldhim. "but what're we going to do, over the week-end, for a butler...." rand snapped his fingers. "dammit, i neverthought of that!" he allowed his brow to furrow with thought. "i won't promise anything, buti may be able to dig up somebody for you, for a day or so. some of my friends are visitingtheir son, in a naval hospital on the west coast, and their butler may be glad for achance to pick up a little extra money. shall i call him and find out?"

"oh, colonel rand, would you? i'd be eternallygrateful!" it was just as easy as that.chapter 18 dave ritter, driving his small coupã©, kepthis eye on the white state police car ahead. rand, who had come away from the fleming homein the white car, had called ritter from the office of the justice of the peace while waitingfor walters to put up bail, after his hearing. now, en route to gwinnett's, he was briefinghis assistant on what had happened. "so everything's set," he concluded. "mrs.fleming jumped at it; she knows you're coming in your own car, which you may keep in thegarage there. you've left new belfast about now; if you show up around three, you'll besafe on the driving time. your name is davies;

i decided on that in case i suffer a lapsuslingu㦠and call you dave in front of somebody." "yeah. i'll have to watch and not call youjeff, colonel rand, sir." he nodded toward the glove-box. "that leech & rigdon's in there;you'd better get it out before i go to the flemings'. the guy at the drive-in made apositive identification; it's the one he sold fleming. i saw the rest of the pistols hehas there; don't waste time looking him up about them. they stink. and i saw tip thismorning. he got young jarrett sprung on a writ." he thought for a moment. "what doesthis do to the rivers and fleming murders?" "we can look for one man for both jobs, now,"rand said. "probably the motive for fleming was that merger he was so violently opposedto, and the rivers killing must have been

a security measure of some sort. there; thatmust be gwinnett's, now." the state police car had pulled up in frontof a large three-story frame house with faded and discolored paint and jigsaw scrollworkaround the cornices, standing among a clump of trees beside the road. mckenna and kavaalengot out, with walters between them, and started up the path to the front steps. ritter stoppedbehind the white sedan, and he and rand got out. by that time, walters and the two policemenwere on the front porch. suddenly ritter turned and sprinted aroundthe right side of the house. rand stood looking after him for a moment, then started to followmore slowly; as he did, a shot slammed in the rear. jerking out the changeling .38-special,he whirled and ran around the left side of

the house, arriving at the rear in time tosee gwinnett standing on a boardwalk between the house and the stable-garage behind, withhis hands raised. there was a fresh bullet-scar on the boardwalk at his feet. ritter was coveringhim from the corner of the house with the .380 beretta. rand strolled over to gwinnett, frisked him,and told him to put his hands down. "nice, dave," he complimented. "i thoughtof that, too, about a minute too late. as soon as he saw walters coming up the walkwith the police, he knew what had happened. come on, gwinnett; we'll go through the houseand let them in." gwinnett's eyes darted from side to side,like the eyes of a trapped animal. "i don't

know what you're talking about," he said,stiff-lipped. "what is this, a stick-up?" nobody bothered to tell him to stop kidding.they marched him through the kitchen, where a negro girl, her arms white with flour, wasdithering in fright, and into the front hall. a woman in a faded housedress had just admittedthe two officers and the former fleming butler. "you goddam rat!" gwinnett yelled at walters,as soon as he saw him. "for god's sake, carl," the woman begged."don't make things any worse than they are. keep quiet!" "all right, gwinnett," mckenna said. "we'rearresting you: receiving stolen goods, and accessory to larceny. we have a search warrant.want to see it?"

"so you have a search warrant," gwinnett said."so go ahead and search; if you don't find anything, you'll plant something. i want tocall my lawyer." "that's your right," mckenna told him. "aarvo,take him to a phone; let him call the white house if he wants to." he turned to walters."now, where would he have this stuff stashed?" "in the garret, sir. i know the way." as kavaalen accompanied gwinnett to the phone,walters started upstairs. rand and mckenna followed, with mrs. gwinnett bringing up therear. during the search of the attic, she stood to one side, watching the ex-butlerdig into a pile of pistols. "this is one, gentlemen," walters said, producinga springfield 1818 model flintlock. "and here

is the walker colt, and the .40-caliber coltpaterson, and the hall...." eventually, he had them all assembled, includingthe five cased sets. rand found a couple of empty bushel baskets and laid the pistolsin them, between layers of old newspapers. he picked up one, and mckenna took the other,while walters piled the five flat hardwood cases into his arms like cordwood. still sayingnothing, her eyes stony with hatred, the woman followed them downstairs. the rest of the afternoon was consumed withformalities. gwinnett was given a hearing, at which he was represented by a lawyer straightout of a b-grade gangster picture. rand had a heated argument with an over-zealous justiceof the peace, who wanted to impound the pistols

and jackknife-mark them for identification,but after hurling bloodthirsty threats of a damage suit for an astronomical figure,he managed to retain possession of the recovered weapons. ritter left at a little past three, to reportfor duty in the fleming household. rand rode with mckenna and kavaalen to the state policesubstation, where the pistols were transferred to mckenna's personal car, in which they andrand were to be transported back to the fleming place. it was five o'clock before rand had finishedtelling the sergeant and the corporal everything he felt they ought to know.

"when we get to the flemings', i'll give youthat revolver i got from the coroner," he finished. "one of your boys can take it tothis fellow umholtz, and get him to identify it. you might also show it to young gillis,and see what he knows about it. gillis might even give you a name for who got it from rivers.i'm not building any hopes on that, and the reason i'm not is that gillis is still alive.if he knew, i don't think he would be." "yeah. i can see that," mckenna nodded. "factis, i can see everything, now, except one thing. this pistol-switch somebody gave you;what's the idea of that?" "why, that's because i'm on the spot," randtold him. "i'm to be killed, and somebody else is to be killed along with me. the .25automatic will be used on me, and the .38

will be used on the other fellow, and we'llbe found dead about five feet apart, and i'll be holding my own gun, and the other fellowwill be holding the .25, and it will look as though we shot it out and scored a doubleknockout. that way, my mouth will be shut about what i've learned since i came here,and the man who's supposed to have killed me will take the rap for fleming and riversboth. nothing to stop an investigation like a couple of corpses who can't tell their ownstory and can take the blame for everything." "zhee-zus!" kavaalen's eyes widened. "thatmust be just it!" "well, you got your nerve about you, i'llsay that," mckenna commented. "you sit there and talk about it like it was something thatwas going to happen to joe doakes and oscar

zilch." he looked at rand intently. "you wantus to keep an eye on you?" rand leaned over and spat into the brass cuspidor,a gesture of braggadocio he had picked up among the french maquis. "hell, no! that's the last thing i do want!"he said. "i want him to try it. you realize, don't you, that all this is pure assumptionand theory? we don't have a single fact, as it stands, that proves anything. we couldgo and pick this fellow up, and he's one of three men, so we could grab all three of them,and even if we found the .25 webley & scott and my .38 in his pockets, we couldn't chargehim with anything. fact is, right now we can't even prove that lane fleming's death was anythingbut the accident it's on the books as being.

but let him take a shot at me...." "and then you'll have another nice, clearcase of self-defense." mckenna frowned. "goddammit, jeff, you've had to defend yourself too manytimes, already. this'll be—well, how many will it be?" "counting germans?" rand grinned. "hell, idon't know; i can't remember all of them." "one thing," kavaalen said solemnly, "younever hear of any lawyers springing people out of cemeteries on writs." "look, jeff," mckenna said, at length. "ifit's the way you think, this guy won't dare kill you instantly, will he? seems to me,the way the script reads, this other guy shoots

you, and you shoot back and kill him, andthen you die. isn't that it?" rand nodded. "i'm banking on that. he'll tryto give me a fatal but not instantly fatal wound, and that means he'll have to take timeto pick his spot. the reason i've managed to survive these people against whom i'vehad to defend myself has been that i just don't give a damn where i shoot a man. a lotof good police officers have gotten themselves killed because they tried to wing somebodyand took a second or so longer about shooting than they should have." "something in that, too," mckenna agreed."but what i'm getting at is this: i think i know a way to give you a little more percentage."he rose. "wait a minute; i'll be right back."

chapter 19 there was less feuding at dinner that eveningthan at any previous meal rand had eaten in the fleming home. in the first place, everybodyseemed a little awed in the presence of the new butler, who flitted in and out of theroom like a ghost and, when spoken to, answered in a heavy b.b.c. accent. then, the women,who carried on most of the hostilities, had re-erected their front populaire and weresharing a common pleasure in the recovery of the stolen pistols. and finally, therewas a distinct possibility that the swift and dramatic justice that had overtaken waltersand gwinnett at rand's hands was having a sobering effect upon somebody at that table.

dunmore, nelda, varcek, geraldine and gladyshad been intending to go to a party that evening, but at the last minute gladys had pleadedindisposition and telephoned regrets. the meal over, rand had gone up to the gunroom,gladys drifted into the small drawing-room off the dining-room, and the others had goneto their rooms to dress. rand was taking down the junk with which waltershad infiltrated the collection and was listing and hanging up the recovered items when freddunmore, wearing a dressing-gown, strolled in. "i can't get over the idea of walters beinga thief," he sorrowed. "i wouldn't have believed it if i hadn't seen his signed confession....well, it just goes to show you...."

"he took his medicine standing up," rand said."and he helped us recover the pistols. if i were you, i'd go easy with him." dunmore shook his head. "i'm not a revengefulman, colonel rand," he said, "but if there's one thing i can't forgive, it's a disloyalemployee." his mouth closed sternly around his cigar. "he'll have to take what's comingto him." he stood by the desk for a moment, looking down at the recovered items and thepile of junk on the floor. "when did you first suspect him?" "almost from the first moment i saw this collection."rand explained the reasoning which had led him to suspect walters. "the real clincher,to my mind, was the fact that he knew this

collection almost as well as lane flemingdid, and wouldn't be likely to be deceived by these substitutions any more than flemingwould. yet he said nothing to anybody; neither to mrs. fleming, nor goode, nor myself. ifhe weren't guilty himself, i wanted to know his reason for keeping silent. so i put thepressure on him, and he cracked open." "well, i want you to know how grateful weall are," dunmore said feelingly. "i'm kicking hell out of myself, now, about the way i objectedwhen gladys brought you in here. my god, suppose we'd tried to sell the collection ourselves!anybody who'd have been interested in buying would have seen what you saw, and then they'dhave claimed that we were trying to hold out on them." he hesitated. "you've seen how thingsare here," he continued ruefully. "and that's

something else i have to thank you for; imean, keeping your mouth shut till you got the pistols back. there'd have been a hellof a row; everybody would have blamed everybody else.... how did you get him to confess, though?" rand told him about the subterfuge of thetrumped-up murder charge. dunmore had evidently never thought of that hoary device; he chuckledappreciatively. "say, that was smart! no wonder he was sowilling to admit everything and help you get them back." he looked at the pistols on thedesk and moved one or two of them. "did you get the one the coroner had? goode said something—" "oh, yes; i got that yesterday." rand turnedand went to the workbench, bringing back the

leech & rigdon, which he handed to dunmore."that's it. i fired out the other five charges, and cleaned it at the state police substation."he watched dunmore closely, but there seemed to be no reaction. "so that's it." dunmore looked at it witha show of interest and honest sorrow, and handed it back, then shifted his cigar acrosshis mouth. "look here, colonel; i've been wanting to ask you something. did gladys justget you to come here to appraise and sell the collection, or are you investigating lane'sdeath, too?" "well, now, you're asking me to be disloyalto my employer," rand objected. "why don't you ask her that? if she wants you to know,she'll tell you."

"dammit, i can't! suppose she's satisfiedthat it really was an accident; would i want to start her worrying and imagining things?" "no, i suppose you wouldn't," rand conceded."you're not at all satisfied on that point yourself, are you?" "well, are you?" dunmore parried. that sort of fencing could go on indefinitely.rand determined to stop it. after all, if dunmore was the murderer of lane fleming,he would already know how little rand was deceived by the fake accident; the leech & rigdonhad told him that already. if he weren't, telling him would do no harm at this point,and might even do some good.

"why, i think fleming was murdered," randtold him, as casually as though he were expressing an opinion on tomorrow's weather. "and i furtherbelieve that whoever killed fleming also killed arnold rivers. that, by the way, is wherei come in. stephen gresham has retained me to find the rivers murderer; to do that, imust first learn who killed lane fleming. however, i was not retained to investigatethe fleming murder, and as far as i know from anything she has told me, gladys fleming isquite satisfied that her husband shot himself accidentally." in a universe of ordered abstractionsand multiordinal meanings, the literal truth, on one order of abstraction, was often a blacklie on another. "does that answer your question?" he asked, with open-faced innocence.

dunmore nodded. "yes, i get it, now. lookhere, do you think anton varcek could have done it? i know it's a horrible idea, andi want you to understand that i'm not making any accusations, but we always took it forgranted that he'd been up in his lab, and had come downstairs when he heard the shot.but suppose he came down and shot fleming, and then went out in the hall, and made thatrumpus outside after locking the door behind him?" "that's possible," rand agreed. "you weretaking a bath when you heard the shot, weren't dunmore shook his head. "i suppose so. i didn'thear any shot, to tell the truth. all i heard was anton pounding on the door and yelling.i suppose i had my head under the shower,

and the noise of the water kept me from hearingthe shot." he stopped short, taking his cigar from his mouth and pointing it at rand. "and,by god, that would have been about five minutes before he started hammering on the door!"he exclaimed. "time enough for him to have fixed things to look like an accident, setthe deadlatch, and have gone out in the hall, and started making a noise. and another thing.you say that whoever killed lane also killed this fellow rivers. well, on thursday night,when rivers was killed, anton didn't get home till around twelve." "yes, i'd thought of that. you know, though,that the murderer doesn't have to be varcek, or anybody else who was in the house at thetime. the garage doors were open—i'm told

that your wife was out at the time—and anybodycould have sneaked in the back way, up through the library, and out the same way. there areone or two possibilities besides you and anton varcek." dunmore's eyes widened. "yes, and i can thinkof one, without half trying, too!" he nodded once or twice. "for instance, the man whowas afraid you were investigating fleming's death; the man who started that suicide story!"he looked at rand interrogatively. "well, i got to go; nelda'll be out of the bathroomby now. i want to talk to you about this some more, colonel." after dunmore had gone out, rand mopped hisface. the room seemed insufferably hot. he

found an electric fan over the workbench andplugged it in, but it made enough noise to cover any sounds of stealthy approach, andhe shut it off. he had finished revising his list to include the recovered pistols foras far as it was completed, and was hanging them back on the wall when ritter came in. "house is clear, now," his assistant said,stepping out of his p. g. wodehouse character. "both pairs left in the packard, dunmore driving.man, what a cat-and-dog show this place is! it's a wonder our client isn't nuts." "you haven't seen anything; you ought to havebeen here last night ... where is our client, by the way?"

"downstairs." ritter fished a cigarette outof his livery and appropriated rand's lighter. "if we hear her coming, you can grab this."he brushed a couple of paterson colts to one side and sat down on the edge of the desk,taking a deep drag on the cigarette. "what's the regular law doing, now that young jarrettis out?" "i had a long talk with mick mckenna," randsaid. "fortunately, mick and i have worked together before. i was able to tell him thefacts of life, and he'll be a good boy now. when last heard from, farnsworth was beginningto blow his hot breath on the back of cecil gillis's neck." ritter picked up the big .44 colt walker andtried the balance. "man, this even makes that

colt magnum of mine feel light!" he said."say, jeff, if farnsworth's going after gillis, it's probably on account of those storiesabout him and mrs. rivers. at least, all that stuff would come out if he arrested him. maybewe could get a fee out of mrs. rivers." "i'd thought of that. unfortunately, mrs.rivers had a very convenient breakdown, when she heard the news; she is now in a hospitalin new york, and won't be back until after the funeral. prostrated with grief. or something.and this case is due to blow up like hiroshima before then. well, we can't get fees fromeverybody." that, of course, was one of the sad things of life to which one must reconcileoneself. "i got a call from pierre jarrett; tip's staying at the jarrett place tonight.i thought it would be a good idea to have

him within reach for a while." the private outside phone rang shrilly. ritterlet it go for several rings, then picked it up. "this is the fleming residence," he stated,putting on his character again. "oh, yes indeed, sir. colonel rand is right here, sir; i'lltell him you're calling." he put a hand over the mouthpiece. "humphrey goode." rand took the phone and named himself intoit. "i would like to talk to you privately, colonelrand," the lawyer said. "on a subject of considerable importance to our, shall i say, mutual clients.could you find time to drop over, sometime

this evening?" "well, i'm very busy, at the moment, mr. goode,"rand regretted. "there have been some rather deplorable developments here, lately. thebutler, walters, has been arrested for larceny. it seems that since mr. fleming's death, hehas been systematically looting the pistol-collection. i'm trying to get things straightened out,now." "good heavens!" goode was considerably shaken."when did you discover this, colonel rand? and why wasn't i notified before? and arethere many valuable items missing?" "i discovered it as soon as i saw the collection,"rand began answering his questions in order. "neither you, nor anybody else was notified,because i wanted to get evidence to justify

an arrest first. and nothing is missing; everythinghas been recovered," he finished. "that's what i'm so busy about, now; getting my listrevised, and straightening out the collection." "oh, fine!" goode was delighted. "i hope everythingwas handled quietly, without any unnecessary publicity? but this other matter; i don'tcare to go into it over the phone, and it's imperative that we discuss it privately, atonce." "well, suppose you come over here, mr. goode,"rand suggested. "that way, i won't have to interrupt my work so much. there's nobodyat home now but mrs. fleming, and as she's indisposed, we'll be quite alone." "oh; very well. i think that's really a goodidea; much better than your coming over here.

i'll see you directly." ritter was grinning as rand hung up. "that'sthe stuff," he approved. "the old hitler technique; make them come to you, and then you can poundthe table and yell at them all you want to." "you go let him in," rand directed. "showhim up here, and then take a plant on that spiral stairway out of the library, just outof sight. i don't think this it, but there's no use taking chances." he mopped his faceagain. "damn, it's hot in here!" ten minutes later, ritter ushered in humphreygoode, and inquired if there would be anything further, sir? when rand said there wouldn't,he went down the spiral. just as rand had expected, goode began peddling the same lineas varcek and dunmore before him. they all

came to see him in the gunroom with a commonpurpose. after easing himself into a chair, and going through some prefatory huffing andpuffing, goode came out with it. did rand believe that lane fleming had really beenmurdered, and was he investigating fleming's death, after all? "i have always believed that lane flemingwas murdered," rand replied. "i also believe that his murderer killed arnold rivers, aswell. i am investigating the rivers murder, and the fleming murder may be considered asa part thereof. but what brings you around to discuss that, now? did you learn something,since last evening, that leads you to suspect the same thing?"

"well, not exactly. but this afternoon, freddunmore and anton varcek came to my office, separately, of course, and each of them wantedto know if i had any reason to suspect that the, uh, tragedy, was actually a case of murder.both had the impression that you were conducting an investigation under cover of your workon the pistol collection, and wanted to know whether mrs. fleming or i had employed youto do so." "and you denied it, giving them the impressionthat mrs. fleming had?" rand asked. "i hope you haven't put her in any more danger thanshe is now, by doing so." goode looked startled. "colonel rand! do youactually mean that...?" he began. "you were lane fleming's attorney, and boardchairman of his company," rand said. "you

can probably imagine why he was killed. youcan ask yourself just how safe his principal heir is now." without giving goode a chanceto gather his wits, he pressed on: "well, what's your opinion about fleming's death?after all, you did go out of your way to create a false impression that he had committed suicide." goode, still bewildered by rand's deliberatelycryptic hints and a little frightened, had the grace to blush at that. "i admit it; it was entirely unethical, andi'll admit that, too," he said. "but.... well, i'm buying all the premix stock that's outin small blocks, and so are mr. dunmore and mr. varcek. we all felt that such rumors wouldreduce the market quotation, to our advantage."

rand nodded. "i picked up a hundred shares,the other day, myself. your shenanigans probably chipped a little off the price i had to pay,so i ought to be grateful to you. but we're talking about murder, not market manipulation.did either varcek or dunmore express any opinion as to who might have killed fleming?" the outside telephone rang before goode couldanswer. rand scooped it up at the end of the first ring and named himself into it. it wasmick mckenna calling. "well, we checked up on that cap-and-ballsix-shooter you left with me," he said. "this gunsmith, umholtz, refinished it for riverslast summer. he showed the man who was to see him the entry in his job-book: make, model,serials and all."

"oh, fine! and did you get anything out ofyoung gillis?" rand asked. "the gun was in rivers's shop from the timeumholtz rejuvenated it till around the first of november. then it was sold, but he doesn'tknow who to. he didn't sell it himself; rivers must have." "i assumed that; that's why he's still alive.well, thanks, mick. the case is getting tighter every minute." "you haven't had any trouble yet?" mckennaasked anxiously. "how's the whoozis doing?" "about as you might expect," rand told him,mopping his face again. "thanks for that, too."

he hung up and turned back to goode. "pardonthe interruption," he said. "sergeant mckenna, of the state police. the officer who madethe arrest on walters and gwinnett. well, i suppose dunmore and varcek are each tryingto blame the other," he said. "well, yes; i rather got that impression,"goode admitted. "and which one do you like for the murderer?or haven't you picked yours, yet?" "you mean.... yes, of course," goode saidslowly. "it must have been one or the other. but i can't think.... it's horrible to haveto suspect either of them." for a moment, he stared unseeingly at the litter of high-pricedpistols on the desk. then: "colonel rand, lane fleming is dead, and nothingeither of us can do will bring him back. to

expose his murderer certainly won't. but itwould cause a scandal that would rock the premix company to its very foundations. itmight even disastrously affect the market as a whole." "oh, come!" rand reproved. "that's like talkingabout starting a hurricane with a palm-leaf fan." "but you will admit that it would have a dreadfuleffect on premix foods," goode argued. "it would probably prevent this merger from beingconsummated. look here," he said urgently. "i don't know how much gladys fleming is payingyou to rake all this up, but i'll gladly double her fee if you drop it and confine yourselfto the matter of the collection."

even in his colossal avarice, that was onekind of money jeff rand had never been tempted to take. an offer of that sort invariablymade him furious. at the moment, he managed to choke down his anger, but he rejected goode'soffer in a manner which left no room for further discussion. goode rose, shaking his head sadly. "i suppose you realize," he said, sorrowfully,"that you're wrecking a ten-million-dollar corporation. one in which you, yourself, area stockholder." rand brightened. "and the biggest wreckingjobs i ever did before were a couple of petrol dumps and a railroad bridge." he got to hisfeet along with the lawyer. "no need to call the butler; i'll let you out myself."

he accompanied goode down the front stairwayto the door. goode was still gloomy. "i made a mistake in trying to bribe you,"he said. "but can't i appeal to your sense of fairness? do you want to inflict seriouslosses on innocent investors merely to avenge one crime?" "i don't approve of murder," rand told him."least of all, to paraphrase clausewitz, as an extension of business by other means. youknow, if we let lane fleming's killer get away with it, somebody might take that asa precedent and bump you off to win a lawsuit, sometime. ever think of that?" when he returned to the gunroom, he foundgladys fleming occupying the chair lately

vacated by the family attorney. she blew asmoke-ring at him in greeting as he entered. "now what was hump goode up to?" she wantedto know. "i'm taking too much on myself," rand evaded."maybe i should have turned walters over for trial by family court-martial. how do youlike davies, by the way?" "oh, he's cute," gladys told him. "one ofyour operatives, isn't he?" "now what in the world gave you an idea likethat?" he asked, as though humoring the vagaries of a child. "well, i suspected something of the sort fromthe alacrity with which you produced him, before walters was out of the house," shesaid. "and nobody could be as perfect a stage

butler as he is. but what really convincedme was coming into the library, a little while ago, and finding him squatting on the topof the spiral, covering humphrey goode with a small but particularly evil-looking automatic." rand chuckled. "what did you do?" "oh, i climbed up and squatted beside him,"she replied. "i got there just as you were telling goode what he could do with his bribe.you know, with one thing and another, goode's beginning to become unamusing." she smokedin silence for a moment. "i ought to be indignant with you, filling my house with spies," shesaid. "but under the circumstances, i'm afraid i'm thankful, instead. your op's a good egg,by the way; he's on his way to bring us some

drinks." "i ought to be sore at you, retaining me intoa mess like this and telling me nothing," rand told her. "what was the idea, anyhow?you wanted me to investigate your husband's murder, all along, didn't you?" "i—i hadn't a thing to go on," she replied."i was afraid, if i came out and told you what i suspected, that you'd think it wasjust another case of feminine dam-foolishness, and dismiss it as such. i knew it wasn't anaccident; lane didn't have accidents with guns. and if he'd wanted to kill himself,he'd have done it and left a note explaining why he had to. but i didn't have a singlefact to give you. i thought that if you came

here and started working on the collection,you'd find something." "you should have taken a chance and told mewhat you suspected," rand said. "i've taken a lot of cases on flimsier grounds than this.the fact is, you practically told me it was murder, when you were talking to me in myoffice." "jeff, i never was what the soap-operas callbeing 'in love' with lane," she continued. "but he was wonderful to me. he gave me everythinga girl who grew up in a sixteen-dollar apartment over a fruit store could want. and then somebodykilled him, just as you'd step on a cockroach, because he got in the way of a business deal.i'm glad to be able to spend money to help catch whoever did it. it won't help him, butit'll make me feel a lot better.... you will

catch him, won't you?" rand nodded. "i don't know whether he'll evergo to trial and be convicted," he said. "i don't think he will. but you can take my wordfor it; he won't get away with it. tomorrow, i think the lid's going to blow off. maybeyou'd better be away from home when it does. take nelda and geraldine with you, and gosomewhere. there's likely to be some uproar." "well, nelda and geraldine and i are goingto church, in the morning," gladys said. "it's a question of face. we have a rented pew—lanewas quite active in church work—and none of us are willing to let ourselves get squeezedout of it. we all go; even geraldine manages to drag herself to the lord's house throughan alcoholic fog. and we'll have to be back

in time for dinner. it would look funny ifwe weren't." "well, if nothing's happened by the time youget back, i want you to talk the girls into going somewhere with you in the afternoon,and stay away till evening. and don't get the idea that you could help me here," headded, stopping an objection. "i know what i'm talking about. the presence of any ofyou here would only delay matters and make it harder for me." then ritter came in, a cigarette in one cornerof his mouth, carrying a tray on which were a bottle of bourbon, a bottle of scotch, asiphon and a couple of bottles of beer. chapter 20

the dining-room was empty, when rand camedown to breakfast the next morning. taking the seat he had occupied the evening before,he waited until ritter came out of the kitchen through the pantry. "good morning, colonel rand," the perfectbutler greeted him unctuously. "if i may say so, sir, you're a bit of an early riser. noneof the family is up yet, sir." rand jerked a thumb toward the kitchen. "who'sout there?" he hissed. "just the cook; frying sausage and flippingpancakes. premix pancakes, of course. the maid sleeps out; she hasn't gotten here yet.how'd it go last night? you put a dummy under the covers and sleep on the floor?"

"no, last night i was safe. the blow-off isn'tdue till this morning, when the women are at church, and he'll have to catch me andthe fall-guy together." "what do you want me to do?" ritter asked,giving an un-butler-like hitch at his shoulder-holster. "i can stand on my official dignity, and getout of any cleaning-up work till after dinner, and i won't have any buttling to do till thewomen get home from church." "case varcek and dunmore, when they come in;see if either of them is rod-heavy. find anything, last night?" ritter shook his head. "i searched varcek'slab, after everybody was in bed, and i searched the cars in the garage, and a lot of otherplaces. i didn't find them. whoever he is,

the chances are he has them in his room." "did you look back of the books in the library?"rand asked. when ritter shook his head, he continued: "that's probably where they are.not that it makes a whole lot of difference." "if i'd found them, it'd of given me somethingto watch; then i'd know when the fun was going to start." ritter broke off suddenly. "yes,sir. will you have your coffee now, or later, sir?" gladys entered, wearing the blue tailoredoutfit she had worn to rand's office, on wednesday. "at ease, at ease," she laughed, droppinginto her chair. "anything new?" rand shook his head. "we'll have to wait.i'm expecting some action this morning; i

hope it'll be over before you're home fromchurch." she looked at him seriously. "jeff, you'reusing yourself as murder-bait," she said. "aren't you?" "more or less. he knows i'm onto him. he'spretty sure i haven't any real proof, yet, but he doesn't know how soon i will have.he realizes that i'm cat-and-mousing him, the way i did walters. so he'll try to killme before i pounce, and when he does, he'll convict himself. what he doesn't realize isthat as long as he sits tight, he's perfectly safe." neither of them mentioned the obvious corollary,that conviction and execution would be almost

simultaneous. it must have been uppermostin gladys's mind; she leaned over and put her hand on rand's arm. "jeff, would it help any if i stayed home,instead of going to church?" she asked. "i'm a pretty fair pistol-shot. lane taught me.i can stay over ninety at slow fire, and in the eighties at timed-and-rapid. if i hidsomewhere with a target pistol—" "absolutely not!" rand vetoed emphatically."i'm not saying that because i'm afraid you might stop a slug yourself. you're a big girl,now; you can take your own chances. but if you stayed home, he wouldn't make a move.you and geraldine and nelda have to be out of the house before he'll feel safe comingout of the grass."

"watch it!" ritter warned. "yes, ma'am; atonce, ma'am." nelda came in and sat down. ritter held herchair and fussed over her, finding out what she wanted to eat. he was bringing in herfruit when varcek and geraldine entered. nelda was inquiring if rand wanted to come to churchwith them. "no; i'm one of the boys the chaplain couldn'tfind in the foxholes," rand said. "i'm going to put in a quiet morning on the collection.if nobody gets murdered or arrested in the meantime, that is." geraldine looked woebegone; her hands weretrembling. "my god, do i have a hangover!" she moaned. "walters, for heaven's sake, fixme up something, quick!" then she saw ritter.

"who the devil are you?" she demanded. "where'swalters?" "out on bail," rand told her. "don't you remember?" "oh, you did this to me!" she accused. "walterscould always fix me up, in the morning. now what am i going to do?" "you might stop drinking," her husband suggestedmildly. "oh, just stop breathing; that would be betterall around," nelda interposed. ritter coughed delicately. "begging your pardon,ma'am, but i've always rawther fawncied myself for an expert on morning-awfter tonics. ifyou'll wait a moment—" he departed on his errand of mercy, returningshortly with a highball glass filled with

some dark, evil-looking potion. he set iton the table in front of the sufferer and poured her a cup of coffee. "now, ma'am; just try this. take it gradually,if i may suggest. don't attempt to gulp it; it's quite strong, ma'am." geraldine tasted it and pulled a gorgon-face.encouraged by ritter, she managed to down about half of the mixture. "splendid, ma'am; splendid!" he cheered heron. "now, drink your coffee, ma'am, and then finish it. that's right, ma'am. and now, morecoffee." geraldine struggled through with the blackdraft and drank the second cup of coffee.

as she set down the empty cup, she even managedto smile. "why, that's wonderful!" she lit a cigarette."what is it? i feel as though i might live, after all." "a recipe of my own, a variant on the oldprairie oyster, but without the raw egg, which i consider a needless embellishment, ma'am.i learned it in the household of a former employer, a new york stockbroker. poor man:he did himself in in the autumn of 1929." "well, it's too bad you won't be with us permanently,davies," nelda said. "your recipe seems to be just what geraldine needs. with a dashof prussic acid added, of course." that got the bush-fighting off to a good start.when dunmore came in, a few minutes later,

the two sisters were stalking one anotherthrough the jungle, blow-gunning poison darts back and forth. the newcomer sat down withouta word; throughout the meal, he and varcek treated one another with silent and hostilesuspicion. finally gladys looked at her watch and called a truce to the skirmishing by announcingthat it was time to start for church. rand left the room with the ladies; in the hall,gladys brushed against him quickly and gripped his left arm. "do be careful, jeff," she whispered. "don't worry; i will," rand assured her. thenhe turned into the library and went up the spiral to the gunroom, while the three womenwent down to the garage.

he was standing at the window as the big packardmoved out onto the drive. nelda was at the wheel, and gladys, beside her on the frontseat, raised a white-gloved hand in the thumbs-up salute. rand gave it back, and watched thecar swing around the house. then he mopped his face with a wad of kleenex and went overto the room-temperature thermostat, turning it down to sixty. sitting down at the desk, he dialed humphreygoode's number on the private outside line. a maid answered; a moment later he was talkingto the fleming lawyer. "rand, here," he identified himself. "mr.goode, i've been thinking over our conversation of last evening. there is a great deal tobe said for the position you're taking in

the matter. as you reminded me, i'm a small,if purely speculative, stockholder in premix, myself, and even if i weren't, i should hateto be responsible for undeserved losses by innocent investors." "yes?" goode's voice fairly shook. "then you'regoing to drop the investigation?" "no, mr. goode; i can't do that. but i believea formula could be evolved which would keep the premix company and its affairs out ofit. in fact, i think that the whole question of the death of lane fleming might possiblybe kept in the background. would that satisfy you? it would require some very careful manipulationon my part, and your cooperation." "but.... see here, if you're investigatingthe death of mr. fleming, how can that be

kept in the background?" goode wanted to know. "the murderer of lane fleming is also guiltyof the murder of arnold rivers," rand stated. "i know that positively, now. murder is punishedcapitally, and one of the peculiarities of capital punishment is that it can be inflictedonly once, on no matter how many counts. if our man goes to the chair for the death ofrivers, the death of fleming might even remain an accident. i can hardly guarantee that;i have my agency license to think of, among other things. but i feel reasonably safe insaying that i could keep the premix company from figuring in the case. would that satisfyyou?" "it most certainly would, colonel rand!" goode'svoice shook even more. "are you sure?"

"i'm not sure of anything. it'll cost thepremix company some money to get this done—i'll have certain expenses, for one thing, whichcould not very gracefully be itemized—and i will have to have your cooperation. now,i want you to remain at home, where i can reach you at any moment, for the rest of theday. i'll call you later." he listened to goode babble his gratitudefor a while, then terminated the call and hung up. then he transferred the colt .38to the side pocket of his coat, picked up one of the sheets on which he had been listingthe collection, and sat for almost fifteen minutes pretending to study it, keeping hiseyes shifting from the hall door to the spiral stairway and back again.

finally, the hall door opened, and anton varcekcame in. rand half rose, covering the czech from his side pocket; varcek came over andsat down in an armchair near the desk. he was looking more than ever like rudolf hess.rudolf hess on the morning of the beer hall putsch. "colonel rand," he began. "there has, withinthe last half hour, been a most important development. i am at a loss to define itssignificance, but its importance is inescapable." rand nodded. he had been expecting somebodyto give birth to an important development; the steps toward gunfire were progressingin logical series. "well?" he smiled encouragingly. "what happened?"

"after you and the ladies left the dining-room,"varcek said, "fred dunmore turned to me and apologized for harboring unjust suspicionsof me in the matter of lane fleming's death. he said that he had been unable to understandwho else could have murdered lane, until you had pointed out to him that the house couldhave been entered from the garage, and the gunroom from the library. then, he said, hehad had a conversation with some unnamed gentleman at the party last evening, and had learnedthat lane had discovered that humphrey goode was deceiving him, and had been about to havehim dismissed from his position with the company, and to sever his personal connections withhim." "the devil, now!" rand gave a good imitationof surprise. "what sort of jiggery-pokery

was goode up to?" "fred said that his informant told him thatlane had proof that goode had accepted a bribe from arnold rivers, to misconduct the suitwhich lane was bringing against rivers about a pair of pistols he had bought from rivers.it seems that goode was rivers's attorney, also, and had been involved with him in anumber of dishonest transactions, although the connection had been kept secret." "that's a new angle, now," rand said. "i supposethat he killed rivers in order to prevent the latter from incriminating him. why didn'tfred come to me with this?" he asked. "eh?" evidently varcek hadn't thought of that."why, i suppose he was concerned about the

possibility of repercussions in the businessworld. after all, goode is our board chairman, and maybe he thought that people might beginthinking that the murder had some connection with the affairs of the company." "that's possible, of course," rand agreed."and what's your own attitude?" "colonel rand, i cannot allow these factsto be suppressed," the czech said. "my own position is too vulnerable; you've showedme that. except for the fact that somebody could have entered the house through the garage,the burden of suspicion would lie on me and fred dunmore." "well, do you want me to help you with it?"rand asked.

"yes, if you will. it would be helping yourself,also, i believe," varcek replied. "fred is downstairs, now, in the library; i suggestthat you and i go down and have a talk with him. maybe you could show him the folly oftrying to suppress any facts concerning lane's death." "yes, that would be both foolish and dangerous."rand got to his feet, keeping his hand on the .38 colt. "let's go down and talk to himnow." they walked side by side toward the spiral,rand keeping on the right and lagging behind a little, lifting the stubby revolver clearof his pocket. yet, in spite of his vigilance, it happened before he could prevent it.

a lance of yellow fire jumped out of the shadowsof the stairway, and there was a soft cough of a silenced pistol, almost lost in the click-clickof the breech-action. rand felt something sledge-hammer him in the chest, almost knockinghim down. he staggered, then swung up the colt he had drawn from his pocket and blazedtwo shots into the stairway. there was a clatter, and the sound of feet descending into thelibrary. he rushed forward, revolver poised, and then a shot boomed from below, followedby three more in quick succession. "okay, jeff!" ritter's voice called out. "war'sover!" he managed, somehow, to get down the steepspiral. the little .25 webley & scott was lying on the bottom step; he pushed it asidewith his foot, and cautioned varcek, who was

following, to avoid it. ritter, still lookinglike the perfect butler in spite of the .380 beretta in his hand, was standing in the halldoorway. on the floor, midway between the stairway and the door, lay fred dunmore. histan coat and vest were turning dark in several places, and rand's own detective special waslying a few inches from his left hand. "he came in here and shut the door," ritterreported. "i couldn't follow him in, so i took a plant in the hall. when i heard youblasting upstairs, i came in, just in time to see him coming down. you winged him inthe right shoulder; he'd dropped the .25, and he had your gat in his left hand. whenhe saw mine, he threw one at me and missed; i gave him three back for it. see result onfloor."

"uh-uh; he'd have gotten away, if you hadn'tbeen on the job," he told ritter. then he picked up his own revolver and holstered it.after a glance which assured him that fred dunmore was beyond any further action of anysort, he laid the square-butt detective special on the floor beside him. "you did all right,dave," he said. "now, nobody's going to have a chance to bamboozle a jury into acquittinghim." he thought of his recent conversation with humphrey goode. "you did just all right,"he repeated. "so it was fred, then," he heard varcek, behindhim, say. "then he was lying about this evidence against goode." the czech came over and stoodbeside rand, looking down at the body of his late brother-in-law. "but why did he tellme that story, and why did he shoot at us

when we were together?" "both for the same general reason." rand explainedabout the two pistols and the planned double-killing. "with both of us dead, you'd be the murderer,and i'd be a martyr to law-and-order, and he'd be in the clear." varcek regarded the dead man with more distastethan surprise. evidently his experiences in hitler's europe had left him with few illusionsabout the sanctity of human life or the extent of human perfidy. ritter holstered the berettaand got out a cigarette. "i hope you didn't leave your lighter upstairs,"he told rand. rand produced and snapped it, holding theflame out to his assistant. "dave," he lectured,

"the perfect butler always has a lighter ingood working order; lighting up the mawster is part of his duties. remember that, thenext time you have a buttling job." ritter leaned forward for the light. "dunmorewas a better shot with his right hand than he was with his left," he commented. "he didn'tcome within a yard of me, and he scored a twelve-o'clock center on you. right throughthe necktie." rand glanced down. then he burst into a roarof obscene blasphemy. "seven dollars and fifty cents i paid forthat tie, not three weeks ago," he concluded. "does your grandmother make patchwork quilts?if she does, she can have it." "my god!" varcek stared at rand unbelievingly."why, he hit you! you're wounded!"

"only in the necktie," rand reassured him."i have a hole in my shirt, too." he reached under the latter garment and rummaged, asthough to evict a small trespasser. when he brought out his hand, he was holding a battered.25-caliber bullet. he held it out to show to varcek and ritter. "sure," ritter grinned at varcek. "didn'tyou know? superman." "i'm wearing a bulletproof vest; mick mckennaloaned it to me yesterday," rand enlightened varcek. "i never wore one of the damn thingsbefore, and if i can help it, i'll never wear one again. i'm damn near stewed alive in it." "think how hot you'd be, right now, if youhadn't been wearing it," ritter reminded him.

"then you knew, since yesterday, that he woulddo this?" varcek asked. "i knew one or the other of you would," randreplied. "i had quite a few reasons for thinking it might be dunmore, and one good one fornot suspecting you." "you mean my dislike for firearms?" "that could have been feigned, or it couldhave been overcome," rand replied. "i mean your knowledge of biology and biochemistry.if you'd killed lane fleming, there'd have been no clumsy business of fake accidents;not as long as both of you ate at the same table. he'd have just died, an unimpeachablynatural death." he turned to ritter. "dave, i'm going upstairs; i want to get out of thisdamned coat of mail i'm wearing. while i'm

doing it, i want you to call carter tipton,at the jarrett place, and humphrey goode, and mick mckenna, in that order. tell goodeto get over here as fast as he can, and come up to my room; tell him we have to considerways and means of implementing my suggestion to him."chapter 21 in the month which followed, events transpiredthrough a thickening miasma of rumors, official communiques, journalistic conjectures, andoutright fabrications, fitfully lit by the glare of newsmen's photo-bulbs, bulking withstrange shapes, and emitting stranger noises. there were the portentous rumblings of preparedstatements, and the hollow thumps of denials. there were soft murmurs of, "now, this isstrictly off the record ..." followed by sibilant

whispers. the unseen screws of political pressurecreaked, and whitewash brushes slurped suavely. and there was an insistent yammering of bewilderedand unanswered questions. fred dunmore really had killed arnold rivers, hadn't he? or hadhe? arnold rivers had been double-crossing dunmore ... or had dunmore been double-crossingrivers? somebody had stolen ten—or was it twenty-five—thousand dollars' worth of oldpistols? or was it just twenty-five thousand dollars? or what, if anything, had been stolen?was somebody being framed for something ... or was somebody covering up for somebody ... orwhat? and wasn't there something funny about the way lane fleming got killed, last december? the surviving members of the fleming familyissued a few noncommittal statements through

their attorney, humphrey goode, and then theiron curtain slammed down. mick mckenna gave an outraged squawk or so, then subsided. therewas a series of pronunciamentos from the office of district attorney charles p. farnsworth,all full of high-order abstractions and empty of meaning. the reporters, converging on thefleming house, found it occupied by the state police, who kept them at bay. harry bentz,of the new belfast evening mercury, using a 30-power spotting-'scope from the road,observed dave ritter, whom he recognized, wearing a suit of butler's livery and standingin the doorway of the garage, talking to sergeant mckenna, carter tipton and farnsworth; themercury exploited this scoop for all it was worth.

on the whole, the rosemont bayonet murderwas, from a journalistic standpoint, an almost complete bust. there had been no arrest, nohearing, no protracted trial, no sensational revelations. only one monolithic fact, officiallyattested and indisputable, loomed out of the murk: "... and the said frederick parker dunmore,deceased, did receive the aforesaid gunshot-wounds, hereinbefore enumerated, at the hands of thesaid jefferson davis rand and at the hands of the said david abercrombie ritter ..." and"... the said jefferson davis rand and the said david abercrombie ritter, being in mortalfear for their several lives, did so act in defense of their several persons..." and,finally, "... the said frederick parker dunmore did die."

the evening mercury, which sheet the saidjefferson davis rand had once cost the loss of an expensive libel-suit and exposed incertain journalistic malpractices verging upon blackmail, promptly burst into printwith an indignant editorial entitled trial by pistol. the terms: "legalized slaughter,"and "flagrant whitewash," were used, and mention was made of "the well known preference ofa certain notorious private detective for the procedure of habeas cadaver." the principalresult of this outcry was to persuade an important new belfast manufacturer, who had hithertoresisted rand's sales pressure, to contract with the tri-state agency for the protectionof his payroll deliveries. then, at the other end of the state, the professorof moral science at a small theological seminary

caught his wife in flagrante delicto withone of the fourth-year students and opened fire upon them, at a range of ten feet, witha 12-gauge pump-gun. the rosemont bayonet murder, already pretty well withered on thevine, passed quietly into limbo. summer, almost a month before its officialopening, was already a fait accompli. the trees were in full leaf and invaded by nestingbirds, the air was fragrant with flower scents, and the mercury column of the thermometerwas stretching itself up toward the ninety mark. they were all outside, where the long shadowof the fleming house fell across the lawn and driveway, gathered about the five parkedcars. the new fleming butler, a short and

somewhat globular negro with a gingerbread-crustcomplexion and an air of affable dignity, was helping pierre jarrett and karen lawrenceput a couple of cartons and a tall peach-basket into pierre's plymouth. colin macbride, astreamer of pipe-smoke floating back over his shoulder, was peering into his luggage-compartmentto check the stowage of his own cargo, while his twelve-year-old son, malcolm, anotherblack highlander like his father, was helping philip cabot carry a big laundry hamper fullof newspaper-wrapped pistols to his cadillac. pierre's mother, and the stylish-stout mrs.trehearne, and gladys fleming, obviously detached from the bustle of pre-departure preparations,were standing to one side, talking. and rand had finished helping adam trehearne pack thelast container of his share of the fleming

collection into his car. "i see colin's about ready to leave, and i'min his way," trehearne said. he extended his hand to rand. "no need hashing over how weall feel about this. if it hadn't been for you, that offer of kendall's would have hadus stopped as dead as rivers's had. five hundred dollars deader, in fact." stephen gresham, carrying a package-filledorange crate, joined him, setting down his burden. his wife and daughter, with anothercrate between them, halted beside him. "haven't you got your stuff packed yet, jeff?"gresham asked. "jeff's been helping everybody else," irenegresham burst out. "come on, everybody; let's

go help jeff pack! you're going to have dinnerwith us, aren't you, jeff?" "oh, sorry. i have some more details to clearup; i'm having dinner here, with mrs. fleming," rand regretted. "i'll pack my stuff later." mrs. jarrett, mrs. trehearne, and gladys cameover; one by one the rest of the group converged upon them. then, when the good-by's had beensaid, and the promises to meet again had been given, they parted. one by one the cars movedslowly down the driveway to the road. only gladys and rand, standing at the foot of thefront steps, and the gingerbread-brown butler were left. "my, my; that was some party!" the negro chuckled,gathering up three empty pasteboard cartons

and telescoping them together. "dinner'llbe ready in about half an hour, mrs. fleming. shall i go mix the cocktails now?" "yes; do that, reuben. in the drawing-room."she watched the servant carry the discarded containers around the house, then turned torand. "you know, not the least of your capabilities is your knack of finding servant-replacementson short notice," she told him. "my general factotum, buck pendexter, is aprominent personage in new belfast colored lodge circles," rand said. "when your cookand maid quit on you, the day of the blow-up, all i had to do was phone him, and he didthe rest." he got out his cigarettes, offered them, and snapped his lighter. "i notice you'rehaving cocktails in the drawing-room now."

"yes. i suppose, in time, i'll stop imaginingi see fred dunmore's blood on the library floor. i got used to what had happened inthe gunroom last december. shall we go in?" she asked, taking rand's arm. the cocktails were waiting when they enteredthe drawing-room, off the dining-room. the butler poured for them and put the glassesand the shaker on a low table by a lounge. "i'm afraid dinner's going to be a littlelater than i said, mrs. fleming," he apologized. "things were kind of stirred up, today, withall those people here." "that's all right; we can wait," she replied."we won't need anything more, reuben." motioning rand down on the lounge beside her,she handed him a glass and lifted her own.

"now," she began. "just what sort of skulduggeryhas been going on? as of friday, the top offer for the collection was twenty-five thousandfive hundred, from some dealer up in massachusetts. and then, on saturday, you came bounding inwith stephen gresham's certified check for twenty-six thousand. and i seem to recallthat the late unlamented rivers's offer of twenty-five thousand straight had them stopped.not that i'm inclined to look askance at an extra five hundred—i can buy a new hat withmy share of that, even after taxes—but i would like to know what happened. and i mightadd, that's only one of many things i'd like to know." "the client is entitled to a full report,"rand said, tasting his cocktail. it was a

vodka martini, and very good. "you know, noneof that crowd are millionaires. adam trehearne, who's the plutocrat of the bunch, isn't sofilthy rich he doesn't know what to do with all his money—what the tax-collectors leaveof it—and the rest of them have to figure pretty closely. the most they could possiblyscratch together was twenty-two thousand. so i put four thousand into the pot, myself,bringing the total to five hundred over the kendall offer, and hastily declared the collectionsold. of course, my getting into it meant that much less for everybody else, but five-sixthsof a collection is better than no pistols at all. i imagine colin macbride is honingup his sgian-dhu for me because i got that big whitneyville walker colt, but what thehell; he got the cased pair of paterson .34's,

and the texas .40 with the ramming-lever." "why, i think the division was fair enough,"gladys said. "they'd agreed to take your valuation, hadn't they? and all that slide-rule and comptometerbusiness.... but jeff—four thousand dollars?" she queried. "you only got five from me, andyou can't run a detective agency on old pistols." rand grinned as he set down his empty glass.gladys refilled it from the shaker. "my dear lady, that five thousand i unblushinglyaccepted from you was only part of it," he confessed. "there was also a fee of three thousand fromstephen gresham, for pulling the bloodhounds of the d.a.'s office off his back in the matterof arnold rivers, and there was five thousand

from humphrey goode, which i suppose he'llget the premix company to repay him, for engineering the suppression of a lot of facts he wantedsuppressed. and, finally, my connection with this business brought that merger to my attention,and i picked up a hundred shares of premix at 73-1/4, and now i have two hundred sharesof mill-pack, worth about twenty-nine thousand, which i can report for my income tax as capitalgains. i'd say i could afford to treat myself to a few old pistols for my collection." "well!" she raised both eyebrows over that."don't anybody tell me crime doesn't pay." "yes. in my ghoulish way, i generally manageto bear myself in mind, on an operation like this. i make no secret of my affection formoney." he lifted his glass and sipped slowly.

"look here, gladys; are you satisfied withthe way this was handled?" she shrugged. "i should be. when i startedout as lane's blood-avenger, i suppose i expected things to end somewhere out of sight, in anice, antiseptic death-chamber at the state penitentiary. you must admit that that businessin the library was really bringing it home. there's no question that you got the man whokilled lane, and if you hadn't, i'd never have been at peace with myself. and i supposeall that chicanery afterward was necessary, "it was, if you wanted that merger to go through,and unless you wanted to see the bottom drop out of your premix stock," rand assured her."if the true facts of mr. fleming's death had gotten out, there'd have been a simplyhideous stink. the mill-pack people would

have backed out of that merger like a bearout of an active bee-tree.... you know what the situation really was, don't you?" she shook her head. "i know mill-pack wantedto get control of the premix company, and lane refused to go in with them. i don't fullyunderstand his reasons, though." "they weren't important; they were mainlyverbal, and unrelated to actuality," rand said. "the important thing is that he didrefuse, and mill-pack wanted that merger so badly that it could be tasted in every ounceof food they sold. they got stephen gresham to negotiate it for them, and he was juston the point of reporting it to be an impossibility when fred dunmore came to him with a proposition.dunmore said he thought he could persuade

or force mr. fleming to consent, and he wanteda contract guaranteeing him a vice-presidency with mill-pack, at forty thousand a year,if and when the merger was accomplished. the contract was duly signed about the first oflast november." "well, good lord!" gladys fleming's eyes widened."when did you hear about that?" "i got that out of gresham, a couple of daysafter the blow-up, when it was too late to be of any use to me," rand said. "if i'd knownit from the beginning, it might have saved me some work. not much, though. gresham wasjust as badly scared about the facts coming out as goode was. i can't prove collusionbetween him and goode, but gresham was helping spread the suicide story, too."

"nice friends lane had! but didn't anybodythink there was something odd about that accident, immediately after that contract was signed?" "of course they did, but try and get themto admit it, even to themselves. nobody likes to think that the new vice president of thecompany murdered his way into the position. so everybody assumed the attitudes of thethree japanese monkeys, and made respectable noises about what a great loss mr. flemingwas to the business world, and how lucky dunmore was that he had that contract." she looked at him inquiringly for a moment."jeff, i want you to tell me exactly how everything happened," she said. "i think i have a rightto know."

"yes, you have," he agreed. "i'll tell youthe whole thing, what i actually know, and what i was forced to guess at: "when this merger idea first took shape, lastsummer, dunmore saw how unalterably opposed to it mr. fleming was, and he began wishinghim out of the way. some time later, he decided to do something about it. i suppose antonvarcek gave him the idea, in the first place, with his jabber about the danger of a firearmsaccident. dunmore decided he'd fix one up for mr. fleming. first of all, he'd need afirearm, collector's type and in good working order. it couldn't be one of the guns in thecollection. he'd have to keep it loaded all the time, waiting for an opportunity to useit; he couldn't take a weapon out of the collection,

because it would be missed, and he couldn'tload one and hang it up again, because that would be discovered. so he had to get oneof his own, and he got it from arnold rivers." "you know that? i mean, that's not just aguess?" "i know it. the gun he got from rivers wasa .36 colt, 1860 navy-model, serial number 2444," rand told her. "rivers had that gunlast summer. he had it refinished by a gunsmith named umholtz. after umholtz refinished it,the gun was in rivers's shop until november of last year, when it was sold by rivers personally.and that was the revolver that was found in lane fleming's hand, and the one i got fromthe coroner, with a letter vouching for the fact that it had been so found."

he finished his cocktail. gladys picked upthe shaker mechanically and refilled his glass. "now we have dunmore with this .36 colt, loadedwith powder, caps and bullets from the ammunition supply in the gunroom, waiting for a chanceto use it. and also, he has this mill-pack contract in his safe deposit box at the bank.that takes care of the weapon and the motive; only the opportunity is needed, and that cameon the 22nd of december, when mr. fleming brought home that confederate leech & rigdon.36 he had just bought. it was just a piece of luck that both revolvers were alike incaliber and general type, but it wouldn't have made a lot of difference. nobody waspaying much attention to details, and dunmore was on the scene to misdirect any attentionanybody would pay to anything.

"now, we come to the mechanics of the thing;the modus operandi, or, as it is professionally known, the m.o. you remember what happenedthat evening. nelda had gone out. you and geraldine were listening to the radio in theparlor, over there. varcek had gone up to his lab. mr. fleming was alone in the gunroom,working on his new revolver. and fred dunmore said he was going to take a bath. what hedid, of course, was to draw a tub full of water, undress, put on his bathrobe and slippers,hide the .36 colt under the bathrobe, and then go across the hall to the gunroom, wherehe found mr. fleming sitting on that cobbler's bench, putting the finishing touches on theleech & rigdon. so he fired at close range, wiped the prints off the colt with an oilyrag, put it in lane fleming's right hand,

put the rag in his left, grabbed up the leech& rigdon, and scuttled back to his bathroom, deadlatching and shutting the gunroom dooras he went out. this last, of course, was a delaying tactic, to give him time to establishhis bathtub alibi." he lifted the cocktail glass to his lips.these vodka martinis were strong, and three of them before dinner was leaning way overbackward maintaining the tradition of the hard-drinking private eye, but gladys wasworking on her third, and no client was going to drink him under. "so, in the privacy of his bathroom, he kickedout of his slippers, threw off his robe, hid the leech & rigdon, probably in a space betweenthe tub and the wall that i found while we

were searching the house, the night beforethe shooting of dunmore, and jumped into the tub, there to await developments. as soonas he heard varcek's uproar in the hall, he could emerge, dripping bathwater and innocence,to find out what the fuss was all about.... do you know anything about something calledgeneral semantics?" he asked suddenly. "yes. before i married lane, i went aroundwith a radio ad-writer," she told him. "he was a nice boy, but he'd get drunker thana boiled owl about once a month, and weep about his crimes against sanity and meaning.he'd recite long excerpts from his professional creations, and show how he had been deliberatelyobjectifying words and identifying them with the things for which they stood, and confusingorders of abstraction, and juggling multiordinal

meanings. he was going to lend me his koran,a book called science and sanity, and then he took a job with an ad agency in chicago,and i got married, and—" rand nodded. "then you realize that the wordis not the thing spoken of, and that the inference is not the description, and that we cannotknow 'all' about anything. etcetera," he added hastily, like a papist signing himself withthe cross. "well, some considerable disregard of these principles seems to have existedin this case. dunmore is seen in a bathrobe, his feet bare and making wet tracks on thefloor, his hair wet, etcetera. straightaway, one and all appear to have assumed that hewas in the tub, splashing soapsuds around, while lane fleming was being shot. and antonvarcek, who can be taken as an example of

what s. i. hayakawa was talking about whenhe spoke of people behaving like scientists inside but not outside their laboratories,saw lane fleming dead, with an object labeled 'revolver' in his hand, and, because of hisverbal identifications and semantic reactions, immediately included the inference of an accidentin his description of what he had seen. that was just an extra dividend of luck for dunmore;it got the whole crowd of you thinking in terms of accidental shooting. "well, from there out, everything would havebeen a wonderful success for dunmore, except for one thing. arnold rivers must have heard,somehow, that lane fleming had been shot with a confederate .36 that he'd bought somewherethat day, and that the revolver was in the

hands of this coroner of yours. so arnold,with his big chisel well ground, went to see if he could manage to get it out of the coronerfor a few dollars. and when he saw it, lo! it was the .36 colt that he'd sold to dunmoreabout a month before." gladys set down her glass. "so!" she said."things begin to explain themselves!" "you may say so, indeed," rand told her. "andwhat do you suppose rivers did with this little item of information? why, as nearly as i canreconstruct it, he did a very foolish thing. he tried to blackmail a man who had committeda murder. he told fred dunmore he'd keep his mouth shut about the .36 colt, if dunmorewould get him the fleming collection. he wanted that instead of cash, because he could getmore out of it, in a few years, than dunmore

could ever scrape, and in the meantime, theprestige of handling that collection would go a long way toward repairing his ratherdilapidated reputation. fred should have bumped him off, right then; it would have been thecheapest and easiest way out, and he'd probably be alive and uncaught today if he had. buthe was willing to pay ten thousand dollars to save himself the trouble, and that's whathe told you rivers had offered for the collection. the ten thousand dunmore told you rivers waswilling to pay was really the ten thousand he was willing to pay, himself, to keep riversquiet. "then i was introduced into the picture, and,as you know, one of my first acts was to go to rivers's shop and sneer scornfully at rivers'ssupposed offer of ten thousand. and, right

away, rivers upped it to twenty-five thousand.you'll recall, no doubt, that mr. fleming had a life-insurance policy, one of thesepartnership mutual policies, which gave both dunmore and varcek exactly twenty-five thousandapiece. i assume that rivers had found out about that. "i thought, at the time, that it was peculiarthat rivers would jump his own offer up, without knowing what anybody else was offering forthe collection. i see, now, that it wasn't his own money he was being so generous with.and there was another incident, while i was at rivers's shop, that piqued my curiosity.rivers had in his shop a .36 leech & rigdon revolver, and i had been informed that itwas a revolver of that type that mr. fleming

had brought home the evening he was killed.i thought at the time that it was curious that two confederate arms of the same typeand make should show up this far north, but my main idea in buying it was the possibilitythat i might use it, in some way as circumstances would permit, to throw a scare into somebody.rivers was quite willing to let me have it until he found out that i would be stayingat this house, and then he tried to back out of the sale and offered me seventy-five dollars'credit on anything else in the shop, if i'd return it to him. well, i'd known that mr.fleming had been about to start suit against rivers over a crooked deal rivers had putover on him, and i knew that if mr. fleming's death had been murder, there had been a substitutionof revolvers. so i showed the gun i'd bought

from rivers to philip cabot, who had seenthe revolver mr. fleming had bought, and he recognized it. it hasn't been establishedjust how rivers got the leech & rigdon, and never will be; the only people who knew wererivers and dunmore, and both are in the proverbial class of non-talebearers. i assume that dunmoregave it to rivers as a sort of down payment on rivers's silence, and to get rid of it. "well, you remember dunmore's angry incredulitywhen i told him that rivers was offering twenty-five thousand instead of ten thousand. one wouldhave thought, on the face of it, that he would have been glad; as nelda's husband, he wouldshare in the higher price being paid for the collection. but when you realize that riverswas buying the collection out of dunmore's

pocket, his reaction becomes quite understandable.i daresay i signed arnold rivers's death-warrant, right there." "i'll bet your conscience bothers you aboutthat," gladys remarked. "oh, sure; it's been gnawing hell out of me,ever since," rand told her cheerfully. "but, right away, dunmore decided to kill rivers.he called him on the phone as soon as he left the table—here i'm speaking by the book;i walked in on him, in the gunroom, as he was completing the call, though i didn't knowit at the time—and arranged to see him that evening. probably to devise ways and meansof dealing with the jeff rand menace, for an ostensible reason.

"so that night, dunmore killed rivers, witha bayonet. and here we have some more aristotelian confusion of orders of abstraction. the bayonetis defined, verbally, as a 'soldier's weapon,' so farnsworth and mick mckenna and the restof them bemused themselves with suspects like stephen gresham and pierre jarrett, and ignoreddunmore, who'd never had an hour's military training in his life. i'd like to check upon what picture-shows dunmore had been seeing in the week or so before the killing. i'llbet anything he'd been to one of these south-pacific banzai-operas. and speaking of confusing ordersof abstraction, mick mckenna and his merry men pulled a classic in that line. they sawdunmore's automobile, verbally defined as a 'gray plymouth coupã©' in rivers's driveat the estimated time of the murder. pierre

jarrett has a car of that sort, so they includedthe inferential idea of pierre jarrett's ownership of the car so described. "well, that's about all there is to it. ofcourse, i showed fred dunmore the leech & rigdon, and told him it was the gun i'd gotten fromthe coroner. that was all he needed to tell him that i was onto the murder, and probablyonto him as the murderer. but he had evidently assumed that already; that was after he'dassembled my .38 and that .25 automatic, and was planning to double-kill me and anton varcek.at that, he'd have probably killed me, if i hadn't been wearing that bulletproof vestof mckenna's. i owe mick for my life; i'll have to buy him a drink, sometime, to squarethat."

"well, how about walters, and the pistolshe stole?" gladys asked. "didn't that have anything to do with it?" "no. it was a result of mr. fleming's death,of course. i understand that the situation here had deteriorated rather abruptly aftermr. fleming's death. walters was about fed up on the way things were here, and he wasgoing to hand in his notice. then he decided that he ought to have a stake to tide himover till he could get another buttling job, so he started higrading the collection." gladys nodded. "i suppose he decided, afterlane's death, that he didn't owe anybody here anything. too bad he didn't wait, though.the situation has remedied itself, and that's

something else i owe you." "yes? i noticed that there was nobody herebut you," rand mentioned. "oh, anton's gone to new york. the rockefellerfoundation is financing the major part of his research work, and he's well enough offto finance the rest himself. geraldine went with him. nelda is still recuperating fromthe shock of her sudden bereavement at a high-priced sanatorium—i understand there's a very good-lookingyoung doctor there. and she's been talking about going to new york herself, in order,as she puts it, to lead her own life. i don't know whether she was afraid i'd be a restraininginfluence, or a dangerous competitor, but she feels that her own life could be bestled away from here." she set down her glass

and leaned back comfortably. "peace, it'swonderful!" reuben, the gingerbread butler, appeared inthe dining-room doorway. "dinner's served now, mrs. fleming," he announced. rand rose, and gladys took his arm; together,they went into the dining-room.

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