vered items and the pile of junk on the floor. "When did you
first suspect him?"

"Almost from the first moment I saw this collection." Rand explained the
reasoning which had led him to suspect Walters. "The real clincher, to my
mind, was the fact that he knew this collection almost as well as Lane
Fleming did, and wouldn't be likely to be deceived by these substitutions
any more than Fleming would. Yet he said nothing to anybody; neither to
Mrs. Fleming, nor Goode, nor myself. If he weren't guilty himself, I
wanted to know his reason for keeping silent. So I put the pressure on
him, and he cracked open."

"Well, I want you to know how grateful we all are," Dunmore said
feelingly. "I'm kicking hell out of myself, now, about the way I objected
when Gladys brought you in here. My God, suppose we'd tried to sell the
collection ourselves! Anybody who'd have been interested in buying would
have seen what you saw, and then they'd have claimed that we were trying
to hold out on them." He hesitated. "You've seen how things are here," he
continued ruefully. "And that's something else I have to thank you for; I
mean, keeping your mouth shut till you got the pistols back. There'd have
been a hell of a row; everybody would have blamed everybody else.... How
did you get him to confess, though?"

Rand told him about the subterfuge of the trumped-up murder charge.
Dunmore had evidently never thought of that hoary device; he chuckled
appreciatively.

"Say, that _was_ smart! No wonder he was so willing to admit everything
and help you get them back." He looked at the pistols on the desk and
moved one or two of them. "Did you get the one the coroner had? Goode
said something--"

"Oh, yes; I got that yesterday." Rand turned and went to the workbench,
bringing back the Leech & Rigdon, which he handed to Dunmore. "That's it.
I fired out the other five charges, and cleaned it at the State Police
substation." He watched Dunmore closely, but there seemed to be no
reaction.

"So that's it." Dunmore looked at it with a show of interest and honest
sorrow, and handed it back, then shifted his cigar across his mouth.
"Look here, Colonel; I've been wanting to ask you something. Did Gladys
just get you to come here to appraise and sell the collection, or are you
investigating Lane's death, too?"

"Well, now, you're asking me to be disloyal to my employer," Rand
objected. "Why don't you ask her that? If she wants you to know, she'll
tell you.