ffice desk, with a box of
ammunition and 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 Fleming estate.
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 be seeing you in a couple of
hours."

He parted from Gresham, going out and getting in his car. As Gresham got
his own car out of the garage and drove off toward Pierre Jarrett's
house, Rand started in the opposite direction, toward Rosemont.

About a half-mile from Gresham's he caught an advancing gleam of white on
the highway ahead of him and pulled to the side of the road, waiting
until the State Police car drew up and stopped. In it were Mick McKenna,
Aarvo Kavaalen, and a third man, a Nordic type, in an untidy brown suit.

"Hi, Jeff," McKenna greeted him, as Rand got out of his car and came
across the road. "This is Gus Olsen, investigator for the D.A.'s office.
Jeff Rand; Tri-State Agency," he introduced.

"Hey!" Olsen yelled. "We been lookin' for you! Where you been?"

Rand raised an eyebrow at McKenna.

"You just came from where we're going," the State Police sergeant
surmised. "Was Gresham at home?"

"He was; he's gone now," Rand said. "He and another 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's he screaming about,
Mick?"

"Like he don't know!" Olsen vociferated. "He tipped off Gresham so's he
could skip out; I'll bet he's in it with Gresham!"

"Pay no attention," McKenna advised. "He doesn't know what the score is;
hell, he doesn't even know what teams are playing."

"Now you look here!" Olsen bawled. "We'll see what Mr. Farnsworth has to
say about this. You're supposed to cooperate with us, not go fraternizin'
with a lot of suspects. Why, it's plain as anything; him and Gresham's
in it together. I bet that was why he come around, the first thing in the
morning, to find the body!"

Kavaalen, behind the wheel, turned around and 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's remarks ran to about a paragraph, and must have been downright
incendiary. At l