r later, they were still arguing about a multidimensional
universe when Rand remembered Dave Ritter, who should be at the Rosemont
Inn by now. He looked at his watch, saw that it was five forty-five, and
inquired about a telephone.

"Yes, of course; out here." Pierre took him back 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 to Ritter.

"Jeff, for Gawdsake, don't come here," Ritter advised. "This place is
six-deep with reporters; the bar sounds like the second act of _The Front
Page_. Tony Ashe and Steve Drake from the _Dispatch_ and _Express_;
Harry Bentz, from the _Mercury_; Joe Rawlings, the AP man from Louisburg;
Christ only knows who all. This damn thing's going to turn into another
Hall-Mills case! Look, meet me at that beer joint, about two miles on the
New Belfast side of Rosemont, on Route 19; the white-with-red-trimmings
place with the big Pabst sign out in front. I'll try to get there without
letting a couple of reporters hide in the luggage-trunk."

"Okay; see you directly."

Rand hung up, spent the next few minutes breaking away 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 coupe was parked inconspicuously beside the red-trimmed roadhouse.
Opening his glove-box, Rand took out the two percussion revolvers and
shoved them under his trench coat, one on either side, pulling up the
belt to hold them 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 ordered Bourbon and plain
water, and Ritter ordered another beer.

"I have the stuff Tip left with Kathie," Ritter said, 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 neatly and concisely summarized the
provisions of Lane Fleming's will, and had also listed all Fleming's life
insurance policies, with beneficiaries, including a partnership policy on
the lives of Fleming, Dunmore, and Anton Varcek, paying each of the
survivors $25,000.

"I see Gladys and Geraldine and Nelda each get a third of Fleming's
Premix stock," Rand commented. "But before they can have the certificates
transferred to them, they have to sign over