“But ...  But I didn’t kill Mr. Rivers,” Walters stammered.  “I barely knew the gentleman.  I saw him, once or twice, when he was here to see Mr. Fleming, but outside of that....”

“Outside of that, you sold him about twenty-five of these pistols, and got a like number of junk pistols from him, for replacements.”  He took the list Pierre Jarrett and Stephen Gresham had compiled out of his pocket and began reading:  “Italian wheel lock pistol, late sixteenth- or early seventeenth-century; pair Italian snaphaunce pistols, by Lazarino Cominazo....”  He finished the list and put it away.  “I think we’ve missed one or two, but that’ll do, for the time.”

“But I didn’t sell those pistols to Mr. Rivers,” Walters expostulated.  “I sold them to Mr. Carl Gwinnett.  I can prove it!”

That Rand had not expected.  “Go on!” he jeered.  “I suppose you have receipts for all of them.  Fences always do that, of course.”

“But I did sell them to Mr. Gwinnett.  I can take you to his house, if you get a search warrant, and show you where he has them hidden in the garret.  He was afraid to offer them for sale until after this collection had been broken up and sold; he still has every one of them.”

McKenna spat out an obscenity.  “Aren’t we ever going to have any luck?” he demanded.  “Jarrett out on a writ this morning, and now this!”

“But he ain’t in the clear,” Kavaalen argued.  “Maybe he didn’t sell Rivers the pistols, but maybe he did kill him.”

“Dope!” McKenna abused his subordinate.  “If he didn’t sell Rivers the pistols, why would he kill him?”

“He’s only said he sold them to Gwinnett,” Rand pointed out.  Then he turned to Walters.  “Look here; if we find those pistols in Gwinnett’s possession, you’re clear on this murder charge.  There’s still a slight matter of larceny, but that doesn’t involve the electric chair.  You take my advice and make a confession now, and then accompany these officers to Gwinnett’s place and show them the pistols.  If you do that, you may expect clemency on the theft charge, too.”

“Oh, I will, sir!  I’ll sign a full confession, and take these police-officers and show them every one of the pistols....”

Rand put paper and carbon sheets in the typewriter.  As Walters dictated, he typed; the butler listed every pistol which Gresham and Pierre Jarrett had found missing, and a cased presentation pair of .44 Colt 1860’s that nobody had missed.  He signed the triplicate copies willingly; he didn’t seem to mind signing himself into jail, as long as he thought he was signing himself out of the electric chair.

The book in which Fleming had recorded his pistols he still had; he had removed it from the gunroom and was keeping it in his room.  He said he would get it, along with the things he would need to take to jail with him.  When it was finished, they all went down the spiral stairway into the library.

Nelda was standing at the foot of it.  Evidently she had been listening to what had been going on upstairs.