om what you must have heard, last evening, Humphrey Goode was
no less interested in the merger than Fred Dunmore or myself. And then
there is your friend Gresham; he is quite familiar with the interior of
this house, and who knows what terms National Milling & Packaging may
have made with him, contingent upon his success in negotiating the
merger?"

"I'm not forgetting either of them," Rand said. "Or Fred Dunmore, or you.
If you did it, I'd advise you to confess now; it'll save everybody,
yourself included, a lot of trouble."

Varcek looked at him, fascinated. "Why, I believe you regard all of us
just as I do my fruit flies!" he said at length. "You know, Colonel Rand,
you are not a comfortable sort of man to have around." He rose slowly.
"Naturally, I'll not mention this interview. I suppose you won't want to,
either?"

"I'd advise you not to talk about it, at that," Rand said. "The situation
here seems to be very delicate, and rather explosive.... Oh, as you go
out, I'd be obliged to you for sending Walters up here. I still have this
work here, and I'll need his help."

After Varcek had left him, Rand looked in the desk drawer, verifying his
assumption that the .38 he had seen there was gone. He wondered where his
own was, at the moment.

When the butler arrived, he was put to work bringing pistols to the desk,
carrying them back to the racks, taking measurements, and the like. All
the while, Rand kept his eye on the head of the spiral stairway.

Finally he caught a movement, and saw what looked like the top of a
peak-crowned gray felt hat between the spindles of the railing. He eased
the Detective Special out of its holster and got to his feet.

"All right!" he sang out. "Come on up!"

Walters looked, obviously startled, at the revolver that had materialized
in Rand's hand, and at the two men who were emerging from the spiral. He
was even more startled, it seemed, when he realized that they wore the
uniform of the State Police.

"What.... What's the meaning of this, sir?" he demanded of Rand.

"You're being arrested," Rand told him. "Just stand still, now."

He stepped around the desk and frisked the butler quickly, wondering
if he were going to find a .25 Webley & Scott automatic or his own
.38-Special. When he found neither, he holstered his temporary weapon.

"If this is your idea of a joke, sir, permit me to say that it isn't...."

"It's no joke, son," Sergeant McKenna told him. "In this country, a