she says he started working on it as soon as he got home--presumably
around five--and then took time out for dinner, and then went back to
work on it, and more than half an hour later, there was a shot and he was
killed." Rand blew a Bronx cheer. "If that accident had been the McCoy,
it would have happened in the first five minutes after he started working
on that pistol. No, in the first thirty seconds. And then, when they
found him, he had the revolver in his right hand, and an oily rag in his
left. I hope both of you noticed that little touch."

"Yeah. When I clean a gat, I generally have it in my left hand, and clean
with my right," Ritter said.

"Exactly. And why do you use an oily rag?" Rand inquired.

Ritter looked at him blankly for a half-second, then grinned ruefully.

"Damn, I never thought of that," he admitted. "Okay, he was bumped off,
all right."

"But you use oily rags on guns," Kathie objected. "I've seen both of you,
often enough."

"When we're all through, honey," Ritter told her.

"Yes. When he brought home that revolver, it was in neglected condition,"
Rand said. "Either surface-rusted, or filthy with gummed oil and dirt.
Even if Mrs. Fleming hadn't mentioned that point, the length of time he
spent cleaning it would justify such an inference. He would have taken it
apart, down to the smallest screw, and cleaned everything carefully, and
then put it together again, and then, when he had finished, he would have