at it
may still be lying around somewhere."

"Well, have you thought that it might just be suicide?" Kathie asked.

"I have, very briefly; I dismissed the thought, almost at once," Rand
told her. "For two reasons. One, that if it had been suicide, Mrs.
Fleming wouldn't want it poked into; she'd be more than willing to let it
ride as an accident. And, two, I doubt if a man who prided himself on his
gun-knowledge, as Fleming did, would want his self-shooting to be taken
for an accident. I'm damn sure I wouldn't want my friends to go around
saying: 'What a dope; didn't know it was loaded!' I doubt if he'd even
expect people to believe that it had been an accident." He shook his
head. "No, the only inference I can draw is that somebody murdered
Fleming, and then faked evidence intended to indicate an accident." He
rose. "I'll be back, in a little; think it over, while I'm gone."

* * * * *

Carter Tipton had his law-office on the floor above the Tri-State
Detective Agency. He handled all Rand's not infrequent legal
involvements, and Rand did all his investigating and witness-chasing;
annually, they compared books to see who owed whom how much. Tipton was
about five years Rand's junior, and had been in the Navy during the war.
He was frequently described as New Belfast's leading younger attorney and
most eligible bachelor. His dark, conservatively cut clothes fitted him
as though they had been sprayed on, he wore gold-rimmed glasses, and he
was so freshly barbered, manicured, valeted and scrubbed as to give the
impression that he had been born in cellophane and just unwrapped. He
leaned back in his chair and waved his visitor to a seat.

"Tip, do you know anything about this Fleming family, out at Rosemont?"
Rand began, getting out his pipe and tobacco.

"The Premix-Foods Flemings?" Tipton asked. "Yes, a little. Which one of
them wants you to frame what on which other one?"

"That'll do for a good, simplified description, to start with," Rand
commented. "Why, my client is Mrs. Gladys Fleming. As to what she
wants...."

He told the young lawyer about his recent interview and subsequent
conclusions.

"So you see," he finished, "she won't commit herself, even with me. Maybe
she thinks I have more official status, and more obligations to the
police, than I have. Maybe she isn't sure in her own mind, and wants me
to see, independently, if there's any smell of something dead in the
woodpil