out in the hall, and started making a noise.
And another thing. You say that whoever killed Lane also killed this
fellow Rivers. Well, on Thursday night, when Rivers was killed, Anton
didn't get home till around twelve."

"Yes, I'd thought of that. You know, though, that the murderer doesn't
have to be Varcek, or anybody else who was in the house at the time. The
garage doors were open--I'm told that your wife was out at the time--and
anybody could have sneaked in the back way, up through the library, and
out the same way. There are one or two possibilities besides you and
Anton Varcek."

Dunmore's eyes widened. "Yes, and I can think of one, without half
trying, too!" He nodded once or twice. "For instance, the man who was
afraid you were investigating Fleming's death; the man who started that
suicide story!" He looked at Rand interrogatively. "Well, I got to go;
Nelda'll be out of the bathroom by now. I want to talk to you about this
some more, Colonel."

After Dunmore had gone out, Rand mopped his face. The room seemed
insufferably hot. He found an electric fan over the workbench and plugged
it in, but it made enough noise to cover any sounds of stealthy approach,
and he shut it off. He had finished revising his list to include the
recovered pistols for as far as it was completed, and was hanging them
back on the wall when Ritter came in.

"House is clear, now," his assistant said, stepping out of his P. G.
Wodehouse character. "Both pairs left in the Packard, Dunmore driving.
Man, what a cat-and-dog show this place is! It's a wonder our client
isn't nuts."

"You haven't seen anything; you ought to have been here last
night ... Where is our client, by the way?"

"Downstairs." Ritter fished a cigarette out of his livery and
appropriated Rand's lighter. "If we hear her coming, you can grab this."
He brushed a couple of Paterson Colts to one side and sat down on the
edge of the desk, taking a deep drag on the cigarette. "What's the
regular law doing, now that young Jarrett is out?"

"I had a long talk with Mick McKenna," Rand said. "Fortunately, Mick and
I have worked together before. I was able to tell him the facts of life,
and he'll be a good boy now. When last heard from, Farnsworth was
beginning to blow his hot breath on the back of Cecil Gillis's neck."

Ritter picked up the big .44 Colt Walker and tried the balance. "Man,
this even makes that Colt Magnum of mine feel light!" he said. "Say,
Jeff, if Farns