want made clear."

Goode favored the detective with a saurian smile. "You're not a lawyer,
too, Mr. Rand?" he asked.

"Well, I am a member of the Bar in the State of Mississippi, though I
never practiced," Rand admitted. "Instead of opening a law-office, I went
into the F.B.I., in 1935, and then opened a private agency a couple of
years later. But if I had to, which God forbid, I could go home tomorrow
and hang out my shingle."

"You seem to have had quite an eventful career," Goode remarked, with a
queer combination of envy and disapproval. "I understand that, until
recently, you were an officer in the Army Intelligence, too.... I'll have
your authorization to act for me made out immediately; to list and
appraise the collection, and to negotiate with prospective purchasers.
And by the way," he continued, "did I understand you to say that you had
heard some of these silly rumors to the effect that Lane Fleming had
committed suicide?"

"Oh, that's what's always heard, under the circumstances," Rand shrugged.
"A certain type of sensation-loving mind..."

"Mr. Rand, there is not one scintilla of truth in any of these scurrilous
stories!" Goode declared, pumping up a fine show of indignation. "The
Premix Company is in the best possible financial condition; a glance at
its books, or at its last financial statement, would show that. I ought
to know, I'm chairman of the board of directors. Just because there was
some talk of retrenchment, shortly before Mr. Fleming's death ..."