"Is that correct, Mrs. Fleming?" Rand asked, for the record.

"I told you, yesterday, what's been done," Gladys replied. "Fred has
talked to one dealer, Arnold Rivers. There has been no inventory of any
sort made."

"Mr. Rivers is offering us ten thousand dollars," Nelda retorted. "I
don't see why you had to bring this Colonel What's-his-name into it, at
all. You think he can get us a better offer? If you do, you're crazy!"

"Ten thousand dollars, for a collection that ought to sell for five times
that, in Macy's basement!" Geraldine hooted. "How much is Rivers slipping
Fred, on the side?"

"Oh, go back to your bottle!" Nelda cried. "You're too drunk to know what
you're talking about!"

"They tell me Colonel Rand is a detective, too," Geraldine continued.
"Maybe he can find out why Fred never talked to Stephen Gresham, or Carl
Gwinnett, or anybody else except this Rivers. How much _is_ Fred getting
out of Rivers, anyhow?"

"My God, Geraldine, shut up!" Nelda howled. Then she decided to take
direct notice of Rand's presence. "Colonel Rand, I'm sorry to say that,
in her present condition, my sister doesn't know what she's saying. It's
bad enough for my stepmother to bring an outsider into what's obviously
a family matter, but when my sister begins making these ridiculous
accusations ..."

"What's ridiculous about them?" Geraldine demanded, dumping another two