tle angry that Rand should believe such a story, as though his
confidence in his friend's intelligence had been betrayed. "Good Lord,
Jeff, where did you ever hear a yarn like that?"

"Quote, usually well-informed sources, unquote."

"Well, they were unusually ill-informed, that time," 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 Rand in 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," Rand stated. "Now, I suppose,
I'll have to find out who's been stealing those pistols, and recover
them, and jail the thief and the fence. But I was not retained to
investigate the death of Lane Fleming. And I do not do work for which
I am not paid," he added, with mendacious literalness.

"I see. Well, the merger's going through. It won't be official until the
sixteenth of May, when the Premix stockholders meet, but that's just a
formality. It's all cut and dried and in the bag now. Better let me pick
you up a little Premix; there's still some lying around. You'll make a
little less than four-for-one on it."

"I'd had that in mind when I asked you about the merger," Rand said. "I
have about two thousand with you, haven't I?" He did a moment's mental
arithmetic, then got out his checkbook. "Pick me up about a hundred
shares," he told the 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," Cabot said. "For obvious
reasons, it's being kept pretty well under the hat."

Rand grinned. "Quote, usually well-informed sources, unquote. Not the
sources mentioned above."

"Jeff, you know, this damned thing's worrying me," Cabot told him,
writing a receipt and exchanging it for Rand's check. "I've been trying
to ignore it, but I simply can't. Do you really think Lane Fleming was
murdered by somebody who wanted to see this merger consummated and who
knew that that was an impossibility as long as Fleming was alive?"

"Philip, I don't know. And furthermore, I don't give a damn," Rand lied.
"If somebody wants me to look into it, and pays me my possibly
exaggerated idea of what constit