"Why, that story's been absolutely disproved," Rand said. "There never
was any such revolver."

"Not till Umholtz made one," Gresham replied. "Rivers sold it to,"--he
named a moving-picture bigshot--"for twenty-five hundred dollars. His
story was that he picked it up in Mexico, in 1938; traded a .38-special
to some halfbreed goat-herder for it."

"This fellow who bought it, now; did he see Belden and Haven's Colt book,
when it came out in 1940?"

"Yes, and he was plenty burned up, but what could he do? Rivers was dug
in behind this innocent-purchase-and-sale-in-good-faith Maginot Line of
his. You know, that bastard took me, once, just one-tenth as badly, with
a fake U.S. North & Cheney Navy flintlock 1799 Model that had been made
out of a French 1777 Model." The lawyer muttered obscenely.

"Why didn't you sue hell out of him?" Rand asked. "You might not have
gotten anything, but you'd have given him a lot of dirty publicity.
That's all Fleming was expecting to do about those wheel locks."

"I'm not Fleming. He could afford litigation like that; I can't. I want
my money, and if I don't get it in cash, I'm going to beat it out of that
dirty little swindler's hide," Gresham replied, an ugly look appearing on
his face.

"I wouldn't blame you. You could find plenty of other collectors who'd
hold your coat while you were doing it," Rand told him. Then he inquired,
idly: "What sort of a pistol was it that Lane Fleming is supposed to have
shot himself with?"