"Or a smoke screen, to cover the defects in camouflaging a murder as an
accident," Rand added.

Tipton nodded. "That could be so, too," he agreed. "Say somebody dislikes
the looks of that accident, and starts investigating. Then he runs into
all this miasma of suicide rumors, and promptly shrugs the whole thing
off. Fleming killed himself, and the family made a few alterations and
are passing it off as an accident. The families of suicides have been
known to do that."

"Yes. Regular defense-in-depth system; if the accident line is
penetrated, the suicide line is back of it," Rand said. "Well, in the
last few years, we've seen defenses in depth penetrated with monotonous
regularity. I've jeeped through a couple, myself, to interrogate the
surviving ex-defenders. It's all in having the guns and armor to smash
through with."




CHAPTER 3


Humphrey Goode was sixty-ish, short and chunky, with a fringe of
white hair around a bald crown. His brow was corrugated with wrinkles,
and he peered suspiciously at Rand through a pair of thick-lensed,
black-ribboned glasses. His wide mouth curved downward at the corners
in an expression that was probably intended to be stern and succeeded
only in being pompous. His office was dark, and smelled of dusty books.