e that this is true
only to a very limited extent. It's my understanding that relations
between the three ladies are not the most pleasant."

Goode produced a short, croaking laugh. "Now there's a cautious
understatement," he commented. "Mr. Rand, I feel that you should know
that all three hate each other poisonously."

"That was rather my impression. Now, I expect some trouble, from Mrs.
Dunmore and/or Mrs. Varcek, either or both of whom are sure to accuse me
of having been brought into this by Mrs. Fleming to help her defraud the
others. That, of course, is not the case; they will all profit equally by
my participation in this. But I'm going to have trouble convincing them
of that."

"Yes. You will," Goode agreed. "Would you rather carry my authorization
than Mrs. Fleming's?"

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Goode. To tell the truth, that was why I came here,
for one reason. You will not be obligated in any way by authorizing me
to act as your agent--I'm getting my fee from Mrs. Fleming--but I would
be obligated to represent her only as far as her interests did not
improperly conflict with those of the other heirs, and that's what I
want made clear."

Goode favored the detective with a saurian smile. "You're not a lawyer,
too, Mr. Rand?" he asked.

"Well, I am a member of the Bar in the State of Mississippi, though I
never practiced," Rand admitted. "Instead of opening a law-office, I went
into the F.B.I., in 1935, and then opened a private agency a couple of
years later. But if I had to, which God forbid, I could go home tomorrow
and hang out my shingle."

"You seem to have had quite an eventful career," Goode remarked, with a
queer combination of envy and disapproval. "I understand that, until
recently, you were an officer in the Army Intelligence, too.... I'll have
your authorization to act for me made out immediately; to list and
appraise the collection, and to negotiate with prospective purchasers.
And by the way," he continued, "did I understand you to say that you had
heard some of these silly rumors to the effect that Lane Fleming had
committed suicide?"

"Oh, that's what's always heard, under the circumstances," Rand shrugged.
"A certain type of sensation-loving mind..."

"Mr. Rand, there is not one scintilla of truth in any of these scurrilous
stories!" Goode declared, pumping up a fine show of indignation. "The
Premix Company is in the best possible financial condition; a glance at
its books, or at its last f