"If that makes sense, now ..."

"Ah, don't you get it, Kathleen Mavourneen?" Ritter asked. "She doesn't
care about the pistols; she wants Jeff to find out who fixed up that
accident for Fleming. You heard that big, long shaggy-dog story about
exactly what happened and where everybody was supposed to have been at
the time. I hope you got all that recorded; it was all told for a
purpose."

Rand had picked up the outside phone and was dialing. In a moment, a
girl's voice answered.

"Carter Tipton's law-office; good afternoon."

"Hello, Rheba; is Tip available?"

"Oh, hello, Jeff. Just a sec; I'll see." She buzzed another phone. "Jeff
Rand on the line," she announced.

A clear, slightly Harvard-accented male voice took over.

"Hello, Jeff. Now what sort of malfeasance have you committed?"

"Nothing, so far--cross my fingers," Rand replied. "I just want a little
information. Are you busy?... Okay, I'll be up directly."

He replaced the phone and turned to his disciples.

"Our client," he said, "wants two jobs done on one fee. Getting the
pistol-collection sold is one job. Exploring the whys and wherefores of