uldn't say anything, if I were you, that might
give them the idea."

The extension phone rang shrilly. Walters picked it up, spoke into it,
and listened for a moment.

"Yes, Miss Lawrence; he's right here. You wish to speak to him?" He
handed the phone across the desk to Rand. "Miss Karen Lawrence, for you,
Colonel Rand."

Rand took the phone. Before he had time to say "hello," the antique-shop
girl demanded of him:

"Colonel Rand, you must tell me the truth. Did you have anything to do
with Pierre Jarrett's being arrested?"

"_What?_" Rand barked. Then he softened his voice. "No; on my honor, Miss
Lawrence. I knew nothing about it until this moment. Who did it? Olsen?"

"I don't know what his name was. He was a State Police sergeant," she
replied. "He and another State Policeman came to the Jarrett house about
half an hour ago, charged Pierre with the murder of Arnold Rivers, and
took him away. His mother phoned me about it a few minutes ago."

"That God-damned two-faced Jesuitical bastard!" Rand exploded. "Where are
you now?"

"Here at my shop. Mrs. Jarrett is coming here. She's afraid the reporters
will be coming out to the house as soon as they hear about it, and she
doesn't want to talk to them."

"All right. I'll be there as soon as I can. If there's anything I can do
to help you, you can count on me for it."

He hung up, and turned to Walters. "Is my car still out front?" he asked.
"It is? Good. I'll be gone for a while; tell the others I have something
to attend to."

"What's happened now?" Dunmore asked sourly.

"Just what I was speaking about. The Gestapo gathered up Pierre Jarrett;
they seem to have gotten the idea, now, that the motive may have been
competition for the collection. Next thing, Farnsworth will think he has
a case against Carl Gwinnett, and he'll land in the jug, too. I hope you
realize that every time something like this happens, it peels a thousand
or so off the price I'll be able to get for you people for these
pistols."

Dunmore didn't try to ask how that would happen, for which Rand was duly
thankful; he accepted the statement uncritically. Walters was staring at
Rand in horror, saying nothing. Rand picked up the outside phone and
dialed the same number he had called from the Rivers place that morning.

"Is Sergeant McKenna about?... He is? Fine; I'd like to speak to
him.... Oh, hello, Mick; Jeff Rand."

McKenna chuckled out of the receiver. "Sort of slipped one over on