Murder in the Gunroom Page 6

  CHAPTER 6

  The Fleming butler--Walters, Rand remembered Gladys Fleming having calledhim--became apologetic upon learning who the visitor was.

  "Forgive me, Colonel Rand, but I'm afraid I must put you to someinconvenience, sir," he said. "You see, we have no chauffeur, at present,and I don't drive very well, myself. Would you object to putting up yourown car, sir? The garage is under the house, at the rear; just follow thedriveway around. I'll go through the house and meet you there for theluggage. I'm dreadfully sorry to put you to the trouble, but...."

  "Oh, that's all right," Rand comforted him. "Just as soon do it, myself,now, anyhow. I expect to be in and out with the car while I'm here, andI'd better learn the layout of the garage now."

  "You may back in, sir, or drive straight in and back out," the butlertold him. "One way's about as easy as the other."

  Rand returned to his car, driving around the house. A row of doors openedout of the basement garage; Walters, who must have gone through the houseon the double, was waiting for him. Having what amounted to a conditionedreflex to park his car so that he could get it out as fast as possible,he cut over to the right, jockeyed a little, and backed in. There werealready two cars in the garage; a big maroon Packard sedan, and asand-colored Packard station-wagon, standing side by side. Rand puthis Lincoln in on the left of the sedan.

  "Bags in the luggage-compartment; it isn't locked," he told the butler,making sure that the glove-compartment, where he had placed the Leech &Rigdon revolver, was locked. As he got out, the servant went to the rearof the car and took out the Gladstone and the B-4 bag Rand had broughtwith him.

  "If you don't mind entering the house from the rear, sir, we can go upthose steps, there, and through the rear hall," the butler suggested,almost as though he were making some indecent and criminal proposal.

  Rand told him to forget the protocol and lead the way. The butler pickedup the bags and conducted him up a short flight of concrete steps to alanding and a door opening into a short hall above. An open door fromthis gave access to a longer hall, stretching to the front of the house,and there was a third door, closed, which probably led to the servants'domain.

  Rand followed his guide through the open door and into the long hall,which passed under an arch to extend to the front door. There was a dooron either side, about midway to the arch under the front stairway; theone on the right was the dining-room, Walters explained, and the one onthe left was the library. He seemed to be still suffering from theignominy of admitting a house-guest through any but the main portal.

  Emerging into the front hallway, he put down the bags, took Rand's hatand coat and laid them on top of the luggage, and then went to an opendoorway on the right, standing in it and coughing delicately, beforeannouncing that Colonel Rand was here.

  Gladys Fleming, wearing a pale blue frock, came forward as Rand enteredthe parlor, her hand extended. The two other women in the big parlorremained motionless. They would be the sisters, Geraldine Varcek andNelda Dunmore. Rand didn't wonder that they resented Gladys so bitterly;economic considerations aside, girls seldom enthuse over a stepmother sonear their own age who is so much more beautiful.

  "Good afternoon, Colonel Rand," Gladys said. "This is Mrs. Varcek." Sheindicated a very pale blonde who sat slumped in a deep chair beside a lowcocktail-table, a highball in her hand. "And Mrs. Dunmore." She was thebrunette with the full bust and hips, in the short black skirt and thetight white sweater, who was standing by the fireplace.

  "H'lo." The blonde--Geraldine--smiled shyly at him. She had big blueeyes, and delicately tinted rose-petal lips that seemed to be trying notto laugh at some private joke. She wasn't exactly blotto, but she hadevidently laid a good foundation for a first-class jag. After all, it wasonly two thirty in the afternoon.

  The other sister--Nelda--didn't say anything. She merely stood and staredat Rand distrustfully. Rand doubted that she ordinarily gave men thehostile eye. The full, dark-red lips; the lush figure; the way she drapedit against the side of the fireplace, to catch the ruddy light on hermore interesting curves and bulges--there was a bimbo just made to beleered at, and she probably resented it like hell if she weren't.

  Rand gave them a general good-afternoon, then turned to Gladys. "I had atalk with Goode, yesterday afternoon," he said. "I have his authorizationto handle all the details. As soon as I get an itemized list, I'llcircularize dealers and other possible buyers and ask for offers."

  "Is that all?" Nelda demanded angrily of Gladys. "Why Fred's done allthat already!"

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

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

  "Mr. Rivers is offering us ten thousand dollars," Nelda retorted. "Idon't see why you had to bring this Colonel What's-his-name into it, atall. 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 timesthat, in Macy's basement!" Geraldine hooted. "How much is Rivers slippingFred, on the side?"

  "Oh, go back to your bottle!" Nelda cried. "You're too drunk to know whatyou'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 CarlGwinnett, or anybody else except this Rivers. How much _is_ Fred gettingout of Rivers, anyhow?"

  "My God, Geraldine, shut up!" Nelda howled. Then she decided to takedirect 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'sbad enough for my stepmother to bring an outsider into what's obviouslya family matter, but when my sister begins making these ridiculousaccusations ..."

  "What's ridiculous about them?" Geraldine demanded, dumping another twoounces of whiskey into her glass and freshening it with the siphon. "Ithink Rivers's offering ten thousand dollars for the collection, andFred's thinking we'd accept it, are the only ridiculous things about it."

  "That's rather what I told Rivers, this afternoon," Rand put in. "Heseemed a bit upset about my being brought into this, too, but he finallyadmitted that he was willing to pay up to twenty-five thousand dollarsfor the collection, and if he buys it, that's exactly what it's going tocost him."

  "_What?_" Nelda fairly screamed. Her hands opened and closedspasmodically: she was using a dark-red nail-tint that made Rand thinkof blood-dripping talons.

  "Mr. Arnold Rivers told me, this afternoon, and I quote: I'm willing topay up to twenty-five thousand dollars for that collection, unquote,"Rand said. "And I can tell you now that twenty-five thousand dollars isjust what he will pay for it, unless I can find somebody who's willing topay more, which is not at all improbable."

  "H'ray!" Geraldine waved her glass and toasted Rand with it. "Andtwenty-five G ain't hay, brother!"

  Gladys smiled quickly at Rand, then turned to Nelda. "Now I hope you seewhy I thought it wise to bring in somebody who knows something about oldarms," she said.

  Nelda evidently saw; there was apparently nothing stupid about her. "AndFred was going to take a miserable ten thousand dollars!" The way shesaid it, ten thousand sounded like a fairly generous headwaiter's tip."Did Rivers actually tell you he'd pay twenty-five?"

  Rand gave, as nearly verbatim as possible, his conversation with thedealer. "And he can afford it, too," he finished. "He can make a niceprofit on the collection, at that figure."

  "My God, do you mean the pistols are worth more than that, even?" shewanted to know, aghast.

  "Certainly, if you're a dealer with an established business, andcustomers all over the country, and want to take five or six years tomake your profit," Rand replied. "If you aren't, and want your money ina hurry, no."

  "That's why I was against turning the collection over to Gwinnett on acommission basis," Gladys said. "It would take him five years to geteverything sold."

  Nelda left the fireplace and ad
vanced toward Rand. "Colonel, I owe you anapology," she said. "I had no idea Father's pistols were worth anywherenear that much. I don't suppose Fred did, either." She frowned. Wait tillshe gets Fred alone, Rand thought; I'd hate to be in his spot.... "Yousay you're acting on Humphrey Goode's authority?"

  "That's right. I'll negotiate the sale, but the money will be paiddirectly to him, for distribution according to the terms of your father'swill." Rand got out Goode's letter and handed it to Nelda.

  She read it carefully. "I see." She seemed greatly relieved; she waslooking at Rand, now, as she was accustomed to look at men, particularlyhandsome six-footers who were broad across the shoulders and narrow atthe hips and resembled King Charles II. She was probably wondering ifRand was equal to Old Rowley in another important respect. "I didn'tunderstand ... I thought...." A dirty look, aimed at Gladys, explainedwhat she had thought. Then her glance fell on the bottle and siphon onthe table beside Geraldine's chair, and she changed the subject byinquiring if Colonel Rand mightn't like a drink.

  "Well, let's go up to the gunroom," Gladys suggested. "We can have ourdrink up there, while Colonel Rand's looking at the pistols.... Comingwith us, Geraldine?"

  Geraldine rose, not too steadily, her glass still in her hand, and tookRand's left arm. Gladys, seeing Nelda moving in on the detective's right,took his other arm. Nelda was barely successful in suppressing a look ofmurderous anger. The double doorway into the hall was just wide enoughfor Rand and his two flankers to pass through; Nelda had to fall in acouple of paces rear of center, and wasn't able to come up into lineuntil they were in the hall upstairs.

  "There's the gunroom." Gladys pointed. "And that's your room, overthere." As she spoke, Walters came out of the doorway she had indicated.

  "Your bags are unpacked, sir," he reported. Then he told Rand where hewould find his things, and where the bath was.

  There was a brief discussion of drinks. The butler received hisinstructions and went down the stairway; Rand broke up the feminineformation around him and ushered the ladies ahead of him into thegunroom.

  It was much as he remembered it from his visit of two years before.There was a desk in one corner, and back of it a short workbench andtool-cabinet. There was a long table in the middle of the room, its topcovered with green baize, upon which many flat rectangular boxes ofhardwood rested--some walnut, some rosewood, some quartered oak. Eachwould contain a pistol or pair of pistols, with cleaning and loadingtools. In the corner farthest from the desk, he saw the head of thespiral stairway from the library below, mentioned by Gladys Fleming.There were ashstands and a couple of cocktail-tables, and a number ofchairs, and the old maple cobbler's bench on which Lane Fleming had died.The only books in the room were in a small case over the workbench; theywere all arms-books.

  Then he looked at the walls. On both ends, and on the long inside wall,the pistols hung, hundreds and hundreds of them, the cream of alifetime's collecting. Horizontal white-painted boards had been fixed tothe walls about four feet from the floor, and similar boards had beenplaced five feet above them. Between, narrow vertical strips, as wideas a lath but twice as thick, were set. Rows of pistols were hung, thebarrels horizontal, on pairs of these strips, with screwhooks at gripand muzzle. There were about a hundred such vertical rows of pistols.

  Rand was still looking at them when the butler brought in the drinks;when Gladys told the servant that that would be all, he went out, ratherreluctantly, by the spiral stairs to the library.

  "Well, what do you think of them, Colonel Rand?" Gladys asked.

  Rand tasted his whiskey and looked around. "It's one of the finestcollections in the country," he said. "I may even be able to findsomebody who'll top Rivers's offer, but don't be disappointed if Idon't.... By the way, did anybody help Mr. Fleming keep this stuff clean?The room seems dry, but even so, they'd need an occasional wiping-off."

  "Oh, Walters was always in here, going over the pistols," Nelda said."He's been in here every day, lately."

  "I wonder if you could spare him to help me a little? I'll need somebodywho knows his way around here, at first."

  "Why, of course," Gladys agreed. "He isn't very busy in the mornings, orin the afternoons till close to dinner-time. Are you going to start worktoday?"

  "I'll have to. I'm going to see Stephen Gresham and his associates thisevening, and I'll want to know what I'm talking about."

  They spent about fifteen minutes over their drinks, talking about thecollection. Rand and Gladys did most of the talking, in spite of Nelda'sbest efforts to monopolize the conversation. Geraldine, after a fewminutes, retired into her private world and only roused herself when hersister and stepmother were about to leave. When they went out, Gladyspromised to send Walters up directly; Rand heard her speaking to him atthe foot of the main stairway.