Murder in the Gunroom

  CHAPTER 8

  Pre-dinner cocktails in the library seemed to be a sort of householdrite--a self-imposed Truce of Bacchus before the resumption ofhostilities in the dining-room. It lasted from six forty-five to seven;everybody sipped Manhattans and kept quiet and listened to the radionewscast. The only new face, to Rand, was Fred Dunmore's.

  It was a smooth, pinkly-shaven face, decorated with octagonal rimlessglasses; an entirely unremarkable face; the face of the type that used tobe labeled "Babbitt." The corner of Rand's mind that handled such datasubconsciously filed his description: forty-five to fifty, one-eighty,five feet eight, hair brown and thinning, eyes blue. To this he added theRotarian button on the lapel, and the small gold globule on the watchchain that testified that, when his age and weight had been considerablyless, Dunmore had played on somebody's basketball team. At that time hehad probably belonged to the Y.M.C.A., and had thought that Mussolini wasdoing a splendid job in Italy, that H. L. Mencken ought to be deported toRussia, and that Prohibition was here to stay. At company sales meetings,he probably radiated an aura of synthetic good-fellowship.

  As Rand followed Walters down the spiral from the gunroom, the radiocommercial was just starting, and Geraldine was asking Dunmore whereAnton was.

  "Oh, you know," Dunmore told her, impatiently. "He had to go toLouisburg, to that Medical Association meeting; he's reading a paperabout the new diabetic ration."

  He broke off as Rand approached and was introduced by Gladys, who handedboth men their cocktails. Then the news commentator greeted them out ofthe radio, and everybody absorbed the day's news along with theirManhattans. After the broadcast, they all crossed the hall to thedining-room, where hostilities began almost before the soup was coolenough to taste.

  "I don't see why you women had to do this," Dunmore huffed. "Rivers hasmade us a fair offer. Bringing in an outsider will only give him theimpression that we lack confidence in him."

  "Well, won't that be just too, too bad!" Geraldine slashed at him. "Wemustn't ever hurt dear Mr. Rivers's feelings like that. Let him have thecollection for half what it's worth, but never, never let him think weknow what a God-damned crook he is!"

  Dunmore evidently didn't think that worth dignifying with an answer.Doubtless he expected Nelda to launch a counter-offensive, as a matter ofprinciple. If he did, he was disappointed.

  "Well?" Nelda demanded. "What did you want us to do; give the collectionaway?"

  "You don't understand," Dunmore told her. "You've probably heard somebodysay what the collection's worth, and you never stopped to realize thatit's only worth that to a dealer, who can sell it item by item. You can'texpect ..."

  "We can expect a lot more than ten thousand dollars," Nelda retorted. "Infact, we can expect more than that from Rivers. Colonel Rand was talkingto Rivers, this afternoon. Colonel Rand doesn't have any confidence inRivers at all, and he doesn't care who knows it."

  "You were talking to Arnold Rivers, this afternoon, about thecollection?" Dunmore demanded of Rand.

  "That's right," Rand confirmed. "I told him his ten thousand dollar offerwas a joke. Stephen Gresham and his friends can top that out of onepocket. Finally, he got around to admitting that he's willing to pay upto twenty-five thousand."

  "I don't believe it!" Dunmore exclaimed angrily. "Rivers told mepersonally, that neither he nor any other dealer could hope to handlethat collection profitably at more than ten thousand."

  "And you believed that?" Nelda demanded. "And you're a business man? _MyGod!_"

  "He's probably a good one, as long as he sticks to pancake flour,"Geraldine was generous enough to concede. "But about guns, he barelyknows which end the bullet comes out at. Ten thousand was probably hisidea of what we'd think the pistols were worth."

  Dunmore ignored that and turned to Rand. "Did Arnold Rivers actually tellyou he'd pay twenty-five thousand dollars for the collection?" he asked."I can't believe that he'd raise his own offer like that."

  "He didn't raise his offer; I threw it out and told him to make one thatcould be taken seriously." Rand repeated, as closely as he could, hisconversation with the arms-dealer. When he had finished, Dunmore wasfrowning in puzzled displeasure.

  "And you think he's actually willing to pay that much?"

  "Yes, I do. If he handles them right, he can double his money on thepistols inside of five years. I doubt if you realize how valuable thosepistols are. You probably defined Mr. Fleming's collection as a 'hobby'and therefore something not to be taken seriously. And, aside from theactual profit, the prestige of handling this collection would be wortha good deal to Rivers, as advertising. I haven't the least doubt that hecan raise the money, or that he's willing to pay it."

  Dunmore was still frowning. Maybe he hated being proved wrong in front ofthe women of the family.

  "And you think Gresham and his friends will offer enough to force him topay the full amount?"

  Rand laughed and told him to stop being naive. "He's done that, himself,and what's more, he knows it. When he told me he was willing to go ashigh as twenty-five thousand, he fixed the price. Unless somebody offersmore, which isn't impossible."

  "But maybe he's just bluffing." Dunmore seemed to be following Gwinnett'sline of thought. "After he's bluffed Gresham's crowd out, maybe he'll goback to his original ten thousand offer."

  "Fred, please stop talking about that ten thousand dollars!" Geraldineinterrupted. "How much did Rivers actually tell you he'd pay? Twenty-fivethousand, like he did Colonel Rand?"

  Dunmore turned in his chair angrily. "Now, look here!" he shouted."There's a limit to what I've got to take from you...."

  He stopped short, as Nelda, beside him, moved slightly, and his wordsended in something that sounded like a smothered moan. Rand suspectedthat she had kicked her husband painfully under the table. Then Walterscame in with the meat course, and firing ceased until the butler hadretired.

  "By the way," Rand tossed into the conversational vacuum that followedhis exit, "does anybody know anything about a record Mr. Fleming kept ofhis collection?"

  "Why, no; can't say I do," Dunmore replied promptly, evidently gratefulfor the change of subject. "You mean, like an inventory?"

  "Oh, Fred, you do!" Nelda told him impatiently. "You know that big graybook Father kept all his pistols entered in."

  "It was a gray ledger, with a black leather back," Gladys said. "He keptit in the little bookcase over the workbench in the gunroom."

  "I'll look for it," Rand said. "Sure it's still there? It would be a bighelp to me."

  The rest of the dinner passed in relative tranquillity. The conversationproceeded in fairly safe channels. Dunmore was anxious to avoid anyfurther reference to the sum of ten thousand dollars; when Gladys inducedRand to talk about his military experiences, he lapsed into preoccupiedsilence. Several times, Geraldine and Nelda aimed halfhearted felineswipes at one another, more out of custom than present and activerancor. The women seemed to have erected a temporary tri-partite_Entente_-more-or-less-_Cordiale_.

  Finally, the meal ended, and the diners drifted away from the table. Randwent to his room for a few moments, then went to the gunroom to get thenotes he had made. Fred Dunmore was using the private phone as heentered.

  "Well, never mind about that, now," he was saying. "We'll talk aboutit when I see you.... Yes, of course; so am I.... Well, say abouteleven.... Be seeing you."

  He hung up and turned to Rand. "More God-damned union trouble," he said."It's enough to make a saint lose his religion! Our factory-hands areorganized in the C.I.O., and our warehouse, sales, and shipping personnelare in the A.F. of L., and if they aren't fighting the company, they'refighting each other. Now they have some damn kind of a jurisdictionaldispute.... I don't know what this country's coming to!" He glaredangrily through his octagonal glasses for a moment. Then his voice tookon an ingratiating note. "Look here, Colonel; I just didn't understandthe situation, until you explained it. I hope you aren't taking anythingthat sister-in-law of mine said seriously. She just blurts out
the firstthing that comes into her so-called mind; why, only yesterday she wasaccusing Gladys of bringing you into this to help her gyp the rest of us.And before that ..."

  "Oh, forget it." Rand dismissed Geraldine with a shrug. "I know she wastalking through a highball glass. As far as selling the collection isconcerned, you just let Rivers sell you a bill of something you hadn'tgotten a good look at. He's a smart operator, and he's crooked as awagon-load of blacksnakes. Maybe you never realized just how much moneyFleming put into this collection; naturally you wouldn't realize how muchcould be gotten out of it again. A lot of this stuff has been here forquite a while, and antiques of any kind tend to increase in value."

  "Well, I want you to know that I'm just as glad as anybody if you can geta better price out of him than I could." Dunmore smiled ruefully. "Iguess he's just a better poker player than I am."

  "Not necessarily. He could see your hand, and you couldn't see his," Randtold him.

  "You going to see Gresham and his friends, this evening?" Dunmore asked."Well, when you get back, if you find four cars in the garage, countingthe station-wagon, lock up after you've put your own car away. If youfind only three, then you'll know that Anton Varcek's still out, so leaveit open for him. That's the way we do here; last one in locks up."