The Wrong Gun

“At dinner. Burdett going on and on telling your expert not to tell you.”

“Of course,” Timberlaine said.

“But a gun’s a gun,” Tracy said. “I mean, your expert’s going to tell you the same thing he tells Burdett.”

“Of course.”

“So what’s the point?”

“It makes a big difference to know what someone’s going to bid on in advance. We’re all relatively rich, but it’s not as if anyone had unlimited funds. We’re auctioning off close to two hundred guns tomorrow. No one is going to buy them all. You save your money and bid on what you really want.”

“So?” Tracy said.

“So,” Timberlaine said irritably, “if you know what a person’s going to bid on, and if you’re a pain in the ass who wants to make it tough on them, you save your money to bid against them on that item.

“Well, here we are.”

Timberlaine stood aside and ushered them through a wide double door to the left. Steve and Tracy stepped in and found themselves in a room nearly as large as the dining room. The walls were lined with bookshelves and display cases. The cases were glass-enclosed and held gun racks, filled with rifles and pistols. In addition to the cases on the walls, there were numerous glass-topped table display cases scattered throughout the room. It was hard to estimate at a single glance, but there were literally hundreds of guns in the room. The effect was overwhelming.

“Good lord,” Steve said.

Timberlaine grinned. “Yes. Pretty impressive, isn’t it?”

“I’ll say,” Tracy said. “Are these guns all valuable?”

“That depends what you mean by valuable. They’re all worth money, some more than others.” Timberlaine pointed to one of the cases on the wall. “Now this is what you might call valuable. Flintlock, supposedly once owned by Alexander Hamilton. I paid twenty thousand dollars for it. That was ten years ago. I couldn’t tell you what it’s worth now. But I’ve been offered fifty.”

“Fifty thousand dollars?” Tracy said.

“That’s right,” Timberlaine said. “Naturally, I wouldn’t touch it.”

“Where’s our gun?” Steve asked. “The Pistol Pete imitation.”

“Oh,” Timberlaine said. “That would be over here.”

He led the way to one of the table-top display cases in the middle of the room. “There you are,” he said, pointing to it.

Steve and Tracy looked. The gun was lying in a little rack in the display case. It was lying so the R in the handle was facing up. A small typed card in front of it identified it as Pistol Pete Robbins’s gun, just as if it had been an exhibit in a museum.

“Is this where the gun was stolen from?” Steve said.

Timberlaine nodded. “Far as I know. I mean, the substitution could have been made some time when I had it out and was showing it around and I simply didn’t notice and returned it to the case myself. That’s possible. But the odds are it was taken from this case.”

“These cases locked?”

“Absolutely.”

“Who has the key?”

“I do, of course.”

“Where are the keys kept?”

“In my office.”

“Your office?”

“Yes, my office off the front hall.”

“Who has access to your office?”

“That, of course, is the problem. Practically anyone. The office is unlocked, most of the day no one’s there, anyone could go in and out as they pleased.”

“What about at night?”

“At night the office is locked. But anyone could have taken the keys during the day. And they’d have to have taken the gun during the day too.”

“Why is that?”

“ ’Cause there’s an electronic burglar alarm system activated at night.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. So the substitution must have been done during the day.”

“Unless someone knew how to switch it off,” Steve said.

“Yes, except the switch is in the office and the office is locked.”

“Who would have a key?”

“I do. Martin does. But what’s the big deal?” Timberlaine said. “Anyone who could have stolen the key to the cases, could have stolen the key to the office. So maybe the gun could have been stolen at night, but it would be a damn sight easier to have stolen it during the day. At any rate, the fact is it was. And I want to take every precaution to see somebody doesn’t use that fact to get me into trouble.”

Steve took a breath. “By shooting someone with your gun,” he said dryly.

Timberlaine looked at him sharply. “I get the feeling you’re not really taking this seriously.”

“Of course we’re taking it seriously,” Tracy said quickly. “I assure you, Mr. Winslow will take every precaution to see that you are protected.”

Timberlaine took a breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just this whole thing is getting on my nerves. And then that goddamn Burdett!” Timberlaine’s face reddened as he said the name. He took another breath, blew it out. “Well,” he said, “feel free to look around. I’ve got to join the other guests.”

Timberlaine nodded and went out.

Tracy turned on Steve. “See?” she said. “It’s not just me. He can tell you’re not taking this seriously too.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Steve said. “Isn’t it enough I’m here?”

“No, it’s not enough you’re here. This man is counting on you. You’ve accepted a big retainer. You’re here, yes, but you think the whole thing’s a big joke. So you’re basically goofing off for the weekend and not acting on any of the things you should be acting on.”

“What do you mean?”

“If there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that this man is obsessed with Melvin Burdett. And having seen Burdett, it’s easy to tell why. Burdett’s going out of his way to be a pain in the ass and needle Timberlaine every chance he gets. Timberlaine hates him, and what’s more, everybody knows it. If Melvin Burdett were to die, I bet you couldn’t find a person here who wouldn’t think Timberlaine had done it.”

Steve looked at Tracy. “Yeah? So?”

“And,” Tracy said “Melvin Burdett and Timberlaine’s daughter’s fiance have switched rooms. Well, not exactly switched rooms. But the fiance is sleeping in Burdett’s room. Burdett isn’t sleeping in the fiance’s room. We don’t know where Burdett’s sleeping. We know he’s not sleeping where he usually sleeps, and we know he’s not sleeping where he was originally assigned.”

Steve looked at her. “So?”

“So, on the one hand, you haven’t found out where Burdett is sleeping, and on the other, you haven’t found out if Timberlaine knows.”

“Good lord.”

“Which you would do, if you were taking this thing seriously.”

Steve thought that over. “All right, if those are your criteria, I’m guilty as charged.”

“I rest my case,” Tracy said.

Steve sighed. “All right. Come on.”

They found Martin still in the dining room, supervising the dinner cleanup. He seemed somewhat surprised by the request, but stated that Mr. Timberlaine had instructed him to give them whatever help was needed, and proceeded to check his chart.