o. I'd just as soon not be seen taking too much of an interest in this
right now. Fact is, I'd just as soon not have my name mentioned at 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 front door, 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.
Corporal Kavaalen was going through the dead man's pockets, and Skinner
was working on the rifle with 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 lousy with prints," Skinner
complained. "A lot of Rivers's, and everybody else's who's been fooling
with it around here, and half the _Wehrmacht_."

"Swell, swell!" McKenna enthused. "Maybe we can pass the case off on the
War Crimes Commission."

CHAPTER 11

Mick McKenna had put his finger right on the sore spot. It did hurt
Rand like hell; a nice, sensational murder and no money in it for the
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 himself by unmasking the real
villain.... For "villain," Rand mentally substituted "public benefactor."

He was running over a list of possible suspects as 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 the sidewalk, he went up the steps to the door, entering to the
jangling of a spring-mounted cowbell.

The girl dealer was inside, with a visitor, a sallow-faced,
untidy-looking man of indeterminate age who was opening
newspaper-wrapped packages on a table-top. Karen greeted Rand by name and
military rank; Rand told her he'd just look around till she was through.
She tossed him a look of comic reproach, as though she had 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 think
this-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 i