the plant."

Rand waited until Dunmore had left, then went across to the library and
up to the gunroom. As soon as he entered the room above, he saw what was
wrong. The previous thefts had been masked by substitutions, but whoever
had helped himself to one of the more recent metallic-cartridge
specimens, the night before, hadn't bothered with any such precaution,
and a pair of vacant screwhooks disclosed the removal. A second look told
Rand what had been taken: the little .25 Webley & Scott from the Pollard
collection, with the silencer.

The pistol-trade which had been imposed on him had disquieted him; now,
he had no hesitation in admitting to himself, he was badly scared.
Whoever had taken that little automatic had had only one thought in
mind--noiseless and stealthy murder. Very probably with one Colonel
Jefferson Davis Rand in mind as the prospective corpse.

He sat down at the desk and started typing, at the same time trying to
keep the hall door and the head of the spiral stairway under observation.
It was an attempt which was responsible for quite a number of
typographical errors. Finally, Anton Varcek came in from the hallway,
approached the desk, and sat down in an armchair.

"Colonel Rand," he began, in a low voice, "I have been thinking over a
remark you made, last evening. Were you serious when you alluded to the
possibility that Lane Fleming had been murdered?"

"Well, the idea had occurred to me," Rand understated, keeping his right
hand close to his left coat lapel. "I take it you have begun to doubt
that it was an accident?"

"I would doubt a theory that a skilled chemist would accidentally poison
himself in his own laboratory," Varcek replied. "I would not, for
instance, pour myself a drink from a bottle labeled HNO_3 in the belief
that it contained vodka. I believe that Lane Fleming should be credited
with equal caution about firearms."

"Yet you were the first to advance the theory that the shooting had been
an accident," Rand pointed out.

"I have a strong dislike for firearms." Varcek looked at the pistols on
the desk as though they were so many rattlesnakes. "I have always feared
an accident, with so many in the house. When I saw him lying dead, with a
revolver in his hand, that was my first thought. First thoughts are so
often illogical, emotional."

"And you didn't consider the possibility of suicide?"

"No! Absolutely not!" The Czech was emphatic. "The idea never occurred to
me, the