CHAPTER 3
Humphrey Goode was sixty-ish, short and chunky, with a fringe ofwhite hair around a bald crown. His brow was corrugated with wrinkles,and he peered suspiciously at Rand through a pair of thick-lensed,black-ribboned glasses. His wide mouth curved downward at the cornersin an expression that was probably intended to be stern and succeededonly in being pompous. His office was dark, and smelled of dusty books.
"Mr. Rand," he began accusingly, "when your secretary called to make thisappointment, she informed me that you had been retained by Mrs. GladysFleming."
"That's correct." Rand slowly packed tobacco into his pipe and lit it."Mrs. Fleming wants me to look after some interests of hers, and asyou're executor of her late husband's estate, I thought I ought to talkto you, first of all."
Goode's eyes narrowed behind the thick glasses.
"Mr. Rand, if you're investigating the death of Lane Fleming, you'rewasting your time and Mrs. Fleming's money," he lectured. "There isnothing whatever for you to find out that is not already publicknowledge. Mr. Fleming was accidentally killed by the discharge of an oldrevolver he was cleaning. I don't know what foolish feminine impulse ledMrs. Fleming to employ you, but you'll do nobody any good in this matter,and you may do a great deal of harm."
"Did my secretary tell you I was making an investigation?" Rand demandedincredulously. "She doesn't usually make mistakes of that sort."
The wrinkles moved up Goode's brow like a battalion advancing in platoonfront. He looked even more narrowly at Rand, his suspicion compoundedwith bewilderment.
"Why should I investigate the death of Lane Fleming?" Rand continued."As far as I know, Mrs. Fleming is satisfied that it was an accident. Shenever expressed any other belief to me. Do you think it was anythingelse?"
"Why, of course not!" Goode exclaimed. "That's just what I was tellingyou. I--" He took a fresh start. "There have been rumors--utterly withoutfoundation, of course--that Mr. Fleming committed suicide. They are, Imay say, nothing but malicious fabrications, circulated for the purposeof undermining public confidence in Premix Foods, Incorporated. I hadthought that perhaps Mrs. Fleming might have heard them, and decided, onher own responsibility, to bring you in to scotch them; I was afraid thatsuch a step might, by giving these rumors fresh currency, defeat itsintended purpose."
"Oh, nothing of the sort!" Rand told him. "I'm not in the leastinterested in how Mr. Fleming was killed, and the question is simplynot involved in what Mrs. Fleming wants me to do."
He stopped there. Goode was looking at him sideways, sucking in onecorner of his mouth and pushing out the other. It was not a facialcontortion that impressed Rand favorably; it was too reminiscent ofa high-school principal under whom he had suffered, years ago, inVicksburg, Mississippi. Rand began to suspect that Goode might be justanother such self-righteous, opinionated, egotistical windbag. Such mencould be dangerous, were usually quite unscrupulous, and were almostalways unpleasant to deal with.
"Then why," the lawyer demanded, "did Mrs. Fleming employ you?"
"Well, as you know," Rand began, "the Fleming pistol-collection, now thejoint property of Mrs. Fleming and her two stepdaughters, is an extremelyvaluable asset. Mr. Fleming spent the better part of his life gatheringit. At one time or another, he must have owned between four and fivethousand different pistols and revolvers. The twenty-five hundred left tohis heirs represent the result of a systematic policy of discriminatingpurchase, replacement of inferior items, and general improvement. It'sone of the largest and most famous collections of its kind in thecountry."
"Well?" Goode was completely out of his depth by now. "Surely Mrs.Fleming doesn't think...?"
"Mrs. Fleming thinks that expert advice is urgently needed in disposingof that collection," Rand replied, carefully picking his words to fitwhat he estimated to be Goode's probable semantic reactions. "She hasthe utmost confidence in your ability and integrity, as an attorney;however, she realized that you could hardly describe yourself as anantique-arms expert. It happens that I am an expert in antique firearms,particularly pistols. I have a collection of my own, I am the author ofa number of articles on the subject, and I am recognized as somethingof an authority. I know arms-values, and understand market conditions.Furthermore, not being a dealer, or connected with any museum, I have nomercenary motive for undervaluing the collection. That's all there is toit; Mrs. Fleming has retained me as a firearms-expert, in connection withthe collection."
Goode was looking at Rand as though the latter had just torn off a mask,revealing another and entirely different set of features underneath. Thechange seemed to be a welcome one, but he was evidently having troubleadjusting to it. Rand grinned inwardly; now he was going to have to findhimself a new set of verbal labels and identifications.
"Well, Mr. Rand, that alters the situation considerably," he said, withnoticeably less hostility. He was still a bit resentful; people had noright to confuse him by jumping about from one category to another, likethat. "Now understand, I'm not trying to be offensive, but it seems alittle unusual for a private detective also to be an authority on antiquefirearms."
"Mr. Fleming was an authority on antique firearms, and he was amanufacturer of foodstuffs," Rand parried, carefully staying insideGoode's Aristotelian system of categories and verbal identifications. "Myown business does not occupy all my time, any more than his did, and Idoubt if an interest in the history and development of deadly weapons isany more incongruous in a criminologist than in an industrialist. But ifthere's any doubt in your mind as to my qualifications, you can checkwith Colonel Taylor, at the State Museum, or with the editor of the_American Rifleman_."
"I see." Goode nodded. "And as you point out, being a sort ofnon-professional expert, you should be free from mercenary bias." Henodded again, taking off his glasses and polishing them on an outsizewhite handkerchief. "Frankly, now that I understand your purpose, Mr.Rand, I must say that I am quite glad that Mrs. Fleming took this step.I was perplexed about how to deal with that collection. I realized thatit was worth a great deal of money, but I haven't the vaguest idea howmuch, or how it could be sold to the best advantage.... At a rough guess,Mr. Rand, how much do you think it ought to bring?"
Rand shook his head. "I only saw it twice, the last time two years ago.Ask me that after I've spent a day or so going over it, and I'll be ableto give you an estimate. I will say this, though: It's probably worth alot more than the ten thousand dollars Arnold Rivers has offered for it."
That produced an unexpected effect. Goode straightened in his chair,gobbling in surprised indignation.
"Arnold Rivers? Has he had the impudence to try to buy the collection?"he demanded. "Where did you hear that?"
"From Mrs. Fleming. I understand he made the offer to Fred Dunmore.That's his business, isn't it?"
"I believe the colloquial term is 'racket,'" Goode said. "Why, that manis a notorious swindler! Mr. Rand, do you know that only a week beforehis death, Mr. Fleming instructed me to bring suit against him, and alsoto secure his indictment on criminal charges of fraud?"
"I didn't know that, but I'm not surprised," Rand answered. "What did heburn Fleming with?"
"Here; I'll show you." Goode rose from his seat and went to a rank ofsteel filing-cabinets behind the desk. In a moment, he was back, with alarge manila envelope under his arm, and a huge pistol in either hand."Here, Mr. Rand," he chuckled. "We'll just test your firearms knowledge.What do you make of these?"
Rand took the pistols and looked at them. They were wheel locks,apparently sixteenth-century South German; they were a good two feet inover-all length, with ball-pommels the size of oranges, and long steelbelt-hooks. The stocks were so covered with ivory inlay that the woodshowed only in tiny interstices; the metal-work was lavishly engraved andgold-inlaid. To the trigger-guards were attached tags marked _Fleming vs.Rivers_.
Rand examined each pistol separately, then compared them. Finally, hetook a six-inch rule from his pocket and made measurements, first withone edge and then with the other.
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"Well, I'm damned," he said, laying them on the desk. "These things arethe most complete fakes I ever saw--locks, stocks, barrels and mountings.They're supposed to be late sixteenth-century; I doubt if they were madebefore 1920. As far as I can see or measure, there isn't the slightestdifference between them, except on some of the decorative inlay. Thewhole job must have been miked in ten-thousandths, and what's more,whoever made them used metric measurements. You'll find pairs of Englishdueling pistols as early as 1775 that are almost indistinguishable, butin 1575, when these things were supposed to have been made, a gunsmithwas working fine when he was working in sixteenth-inches. They justdidn't have the measuring instruments, at that time, to do closer work.I won't bother taking these things apart, but if I did, I'd bet allWall Street to Junior's piggy-bank that I'd find that the screws weremachine-threaded and the working-parts interchanged. I've heard aboutfakes like these,"--he named a famous, recently liquidated West Coastcollection--"but I'd never hoped to see an example like this."
Goode gave a hacking chuckle. "You'll do as an arms-expert, Mr. Rand," hesaid. "And you'd win the piggy-bank. It seems that after Mr. Flemingbought them, he took them apart, and found, just as you say, that thescrew-threads had been machine-cut, and that the working-parts wereinterchangeable from one pistol to the other. There were a lot of papersaccompanying them--I have them here--purporting to show that they hadbeen sold by some Austrian nobleman, an anti-Nazi refugee, in whosefamily they had been since the reign of Maximilian II. They are, ofcourse, fabrications. I looked up the family in the _Almanach de Gotha_;it simply never existed. At first, Mr. Fleming had been inclined to takethe view that Rivers had been equally victimized with himself. However,when Rivers refused to take back the pistols and refund the purchaseprice, he altered his opinion. He placed them in my hands, instructing meto bring suit and also start criminal action; he was in a fearful rageabout it, and swore that he'd drive Rivers out of business. However,before I could start action, Mr. Fleming was killed in that accident, andas he was the sole witness to the fact of the sale, and as none of theheirs was interested, I did nothing about it. In fact, I advised themthat action against Rivers would cost the estate more than they couldhope to recover in damages." He picked up one of the pistols and examinedit. "Now, I don't know what to do about these."
"Take them home and hang them over the mantel," Rand advised. "If I'mgoing to have anything to do with selling the collection, I don't wantanything to do with them."
Goode was peering at the ivory inlay on the underbelly of the stock.
"They are beautiful, and I don't care when they were made," he said. "Ithink, if nobody else wants them, I'll do just that.... Now, Mr. Rand,what had you intended doing about the collection?"
"Well, that's what I came to see you about, Mr. Goode. As I understandit, it is you who are officially responsible for selling the collection,and the proceeds would be turned over to you for distribution to Mrs.Fleming, Mrs. Dunmore and Mrs. Varcek. Is that correct?"
"Yes. The collection, although in the physical possession of Mrs.Fleming, is still an undistributed asset."
"I thought so." Rand got out Gladys Fleming's letter of authorization andhanded it to Goode. "As you'll see by that, I was retained by, and onlyby, Mrs. Fleming," he said. "I am assuming that her interests areidentical with those of the other heirs, but I realize that this is trueonly to a very limited extent. It's my understanding that relationsbetween the three ladies are not the most pleasant."
Goode produced a short, croaking laugh. "Now there's a cautiousunderstatement," he commented. "Mr. Rand, I feel that you should knowthat 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 meof having been brought into this by Mrs. Fleming to help her defraud theothers. That, of course, is not the case; they will all profit equally bymy participation in this. But I'm going to have trouble convincing themof that."
"Yes. You will," Goode agreed. "Would you rather carry my authorizationthan 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 meto act as your agent--I'm getting my fee from Mrs. Fleming--but I wouldbe obligated to represent her only as far as her interests did notimproperly conflict with those of the other heirs, and that's what Iwant 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 Inever practiced," Rand admitted. "Instead of opening a law-office, I wentinto the F.B.I., in 1935, and then opened a private agency a couple ofyears later. But if I had to, which God forbid, I could go home tomorrowand hang out my shingle."
"You seem to have had quite an eventful career," Goode remarked, with aqueer combination of envy and disapproval. "I understand that, untilrecently, you were an officer in the Army Intelligence, too.... I'll haveyour authorization to act for me made out immediately; to list andappraise the collection, and to negotiate with prospective purchasers.And by the way," he continued, "did I understand you to say that you hadheard some of these silly rumors to the effect that Lane Fleming hadcommitted 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 scurrilousstories!" Goode declared, pumping up a fine show of indignation. "ThePremix Company is in the best possible financial condition; a glance atits books, or at its last financial statement, would show that. I oughtto know, I'm chairman of the board of directors. Just because there wassome talk of retrenchment, shortly before Mr. Fleming's death ..."
"Oh, no responsible person pays any attention to that sort of talk," Randcomforted him. "My armed-guard and armored-car service brings me intocontact with a lot of the local financial crowd. None of them is takingthese rumors seriously."
"Well, of course, nobody wants the responsibility of starting a panic,even a minor one, but people are talking, and it's hurting Premix on themarket," Goode gloomed. "And now, people will hear of Mrs. Fleming'shaving retained you, and will assume, just as I did at first, that youare making some kind of an investigation. I hope you will make a promptdenial, if you hear any talk like that." He pressed a button on his desk."And now, I'll get a letter of authorization made out for you, Mr.Rand ..."