h-loader, either, but there was a dilapidated old
Ketland. There were many such interlopers among the U.S. Martials: an
English ounce-ball cavalry pistol, a French 1777 and a French 1773, a
couple more $6.95 bargain-counter specials, a miserable altered S. North
1816. Among the Colts, there was some awful junk, including a big Spanish
hinge-frame .44 and a Belgian imitation of a Webley R.I.C. Model. There
weren't as many Paterson Colts as Gresham had spoken of, and the
Whitneyville Walker was absent. It went on like that; about a dozen of
the best pistols which Rand remembered having seen from two years ago
were gone, and he spotted at least twenty items which the late Lane
Fleming wouldn't have hung in his backyard privy, if he'd had one.

Well, that was to be expected. The way these pistols were arranged, the
absence of one from its hooks would have been instantly obvious. So, as
the good stuff had moved out, these disreputable changelings had moved
in.

"You had rather a shocking experience here, in Mr. Fleming's death," Rand
said, over his shoulder, to the butler.

"Oh, yes indeed, sir!" Walters seemed relieved that Rand had broken the
silence. "A great loss to all of us, sir. And so unexpected."

He didn't seem averse to talking about it, and went on at some length.
His story closely paralleled that of Gladys Fleming.

"Mr. Varcek called the doctor immediately," he said. "Then Mr. Dunmore
pointed out that the doctor would be obliged to notify either the coroner
or the police, so he called Mr. Goode, the family solicitor. That was
about twenty minutes after the shot. Mr. Goode arrived directly; he was
here in about ten minutes. I must say, sir, I was glad to see him; to
tell the truth, I had been afraid that the authorities might claim that
Mr. Fleming had shot himself deliberately."

Somebody else doesn't like the smell of that accident, Rand thought.
Aloud, he said:

"Mr. Goode lives nearby, then, I take it?"

"Oh, yes, sir. You can see his house from these windows. Over here, sir."

Rand looked out the window. The rain-soaked lawn of the Fleming residence
ended about a hundred yards to the west; beyond it, an orchard was
beginning to break into leaf, and beyond the orchard and another lawn
stood a half-timbered Tudor-style house, somewhat smaller than the
Fleming place. A path led down from it to the orchard, and another led
from the orchard to the rear of the house from which Rand looked.

"Must be co