mforting to know your lawyer's so handy," he commented. "And
what do you think, Walters? Are you satisfied, in your own 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, and I 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 fact is, when I came up
here at quarter of seven, to call him for cocktails, he had the whole
thing apart and spread out in front of him." The butler thought for a
moment. "I believe Mr. Dunmore had something like that in mind when he
called Mr. Goode."

"Well, what happened?" Rand asked. "Did the coroner or the doctor choke
on calling it an accident?"

"Oh no, sir; there was no trouble of any sort about that. You see, Dr.
Yardman called the coroner, as soon as he arrived, but Mr. Goode was here
already. He'd come over by that path you saw, to the rear of the house,
and in through the garage, which was open, since Mrs. Dunmore was out
with the coupe. They all talked it over for a while, and the coroner
decided that there would be no need for any inquest, and the doctor wrote
out the certificate. That was all there was to it."

Rand looked at the section of pistol-rack devoted 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 has no business keeping it. It's
part of the collection, and belongs to the estate."

"Yes, sir. If I may say so, I thought it was a bit high-handed of him,
taking it away, myself, but it wasn't my place to say anything about it."

"Well, I'll make it mine. If that revolver's what I'm told it is, it's
too valuable to let some damned county-seat politician walk off with." A
thought occurred to him. "And if I find that he's disposed of it, this
county's going to need a new coroner, at least till the present incumbent
gets out of jail."

The buzzer of the extension phone went off like 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-dealer I told you about is
here," Gladys told him. "Do you