Rand gave them a general good afternoon, then turned to Gladys. “I had a talk with Goode, yesterday afternoon,” he said. “I have his authorization to handle all the details. As soon as I get an itemized list, I’ll circularize dealers and other possible buyers and ask for offers.”
“Is that all?” Nelda demanded angrily of Gladys. “Why Fred’s done all that already!”
“Is that correct, Mrs. Fleming?” Rand asked, for the record.
“I told you, yesterday, what’s been done,” Gladys replied. “Fred has talked to one dealer, Arnold Rivers. There has been no inventory of any sort made.”
“Mr. Rivers is offering us ten thousand dollars,” Nelda retorted. “I don’t see why you had to bring this Colonel What’s-his-name into it, at all. You think he can get us a better offer? If you do, you’re crazy!”
“Ten thousand dollars, for a collection that ought to sell for five times that, in Macy’s basement!” Geraldine hooted. “How much is Rivers slipping Fred, on the side?”
“Oh, go back to your bottle!” Nelda cried. “You’re too drunk to know what you’re talking about!”
“They tell me Colonel Rand is a detective, too,” Geraldine continued. “Maybe he can find out why Fred never talked to Stephen Gresham, or Carl Gwinnett, or anybody else except this Rivers. How much is Fred getting out of Rivers, anyhow?”
“My God, Geraldine, shut up!” Nelda howled. Then she decided to take direct notice of Rand’s presence. “Colonel Rand, I’m sorry to say that, in her present condition, my sister doesn’t know what she’s saying. It’s bad enough for my stepmother to bring an outsider into what’s obviously a family matter, but when my sister begins making these ridiculous accusations …”
“What’s ridiculous about them?” Geraldine demanded, dumping another two ounces of whiskey into her glass and freshening it with the siphon. “I think Rivers’s offering ten thousand dollars for the collection, and Fred’s thinking we’d accept it, are the only ridiculous things about it.”
“That’s rather what I told Rivers, this afternoon,” Rand put in. “He seemed a bit upset about my being brought into this, too, but he finally admitted that he was willing to pay up to twenty-five thousand dollars for the collection, and if he buys it, that’s exactly what it’s going to cost him.”
“What?” Nelda fairly screamed. Her hands opened and closed spasmodically: she was using a dark-red nail-tint that made Rand think of blood-dripping talons.
“Mr. Arnold Rivers told me, this afternoon, and I quote: I’m willing to pay up to twenty-five thousand dollars for that collection, unquote,” Rand said. “And I can tell you now that twenty-five thousand dollars is just what he will pay for it, unless I can find somebody who’s willing to pay more, which is not at all improbable.”
“H’ray!” Geraldine waved her glass and toasted Rand with it. “And twenty-five G ain’t hay, brother!”
Gladys smiled quickly at Rand, then turned to Nelda. “Now I hope you see why I thought it wise to bring in somebody who knows something about old arms,” she said.
Nelda evidently saw; there was apparently nothing stupid about her. “And Fred was going to take a miserable ten thousand dollars!” The way she said it, ten thousand sounded like a fairly generous headwaiter’s tip. “Did Rivers actually tell you he’d pay twenty-five?”
Rand gave, as nearly verbatim as possible, his conversation with the dealer. “And he can afford it, too,” he finished. “He can make a nice profit on the collection, at that figure.”
“My God, do you mean the pistols are worth more than that, even?” she wanted to know, aghast.
“Certainly, if you’re a dealer with an established business, and customers all over the country, and want to take five or six years to make your profit,” Rand replied. “If you aren’t, and want your money in a hurry, no.”
“That’s why I was against turning the collection over to Gwinnett on a commission basis,” Gladys said. “It would take him five years to get everything sold.”
Nelda left the fireplace and advanced toward Rand. “Colonel, I owe you an apology,” she said. “I had no idea Father’s pistols were worth anywhere near that much. I don’t suppose Fred did, either.” She frowned. Wait till she gets Fred alone, Rand thought; I’d hate to be in his spot. … “You say you’re acting on Humphrey Goode’s authority?”
“That’s right. I’ll negotiate the sale, but the money will be paid directly to him, for distribution according to the terms of your father’s will.” Rand got out Goode’s letter and handed it to Nelda.
She read it carefully. “I see.” She seemed greatly relieved; she was looking at Rand, now, as she was accustomed to look at men, particularly handsome six-footers who were broad across the shoulders and narrow at the hips and resembled King Charles II. She was probably wondering if Rand was equal to Old Rowley in another important respect. “I didn’t understand … I thought. …” A dirty look, aimed at Gladys, explained what she had thought. Then her glance fell on the bottle and siphon on the table beside Geraldine’s chair, and she changed the subject by inquiring if Colonel Rand mightn’t like a drink.
“Well, let’s go up to the gunroom,” Gladys suggested. “We can have our drink up there, while Colonel Rand’s looking at the pistols. … Coming with us, Geraldine?”
Geraldine rose, not too steadily, her glass still in her hand, and took Rand’s left arm. Gladys, seeing Nelda moving in on the detective’s right, took his other arm. Nelda was barely successful in suppressing a look of murderous anger. The double doorway into the hall was just wide enough for Rand and his two flankers to pass through; Nelda had to fall in a couple of paces rear of center, and wasn’t able to come up into line until they were in the hall upstairs.
“There’s the gunroom.” Gladys pointed. “And that’s your room, over there.” As she spoke, Walters came out of the doorway she had indicated.
“Your bags are unpacked, sir,” he reported. Then he told Rand where he would find his
