Carter Tipton had his law-office on the floor above the Tri-State
Detective Agency. He handled all Rand's not infrequent legal
involvements, and Rand did all his investigating and witness-chasing;
annually, they compared books to see who owed whom how much. Tipton was
about five years Rand's junior, and had been in the Navy during the war.
He was frequently described as New Belfast's leading younger attorney and
most eligible bachelor. His dark, conservatively cut clothes fitted him
as though they had been sprayed on, he wore gold-rimmed glasses, and he
was so freshly barbered, manicured, valeted and scrubbed as to give the
impression that he had been born in cellophane and just unwrapped. He
leaned back in his chair and waved his visitor to a seat.

"Tip, do you know anything about this Fleming family, out at Rosemont?"
Rand began, getting out his pipe and tobacco.

"The Premix-Foods Flemings?" Tipton asked. "Yes, a little. Which one of
them wants you to frame what on which other one?"

"That'll do for a good, simplified description, to start with," Rand
commented. "Why, my client is Mrs. Gladys Fleming. As to what she
wants...."

He told the young lawyer about his recent interview and subsequent
conclusions.

"So you see," he finished, "she won't commit herself, even with me. Maybe
she thinks I have more official status, and more obligations to the
police, than I have. Maybe she isn't sure in her own mind, and wants me
to see, independently, if there's any smell of something dead in the