“Well, yes; I rather got that impression,” Goode admitted.

“And which one do you like for the murderer?  Or haven’t you picked yours, yet?”

“You mean....  Yes, of course,” Goode said slowly.  “It must have been one or the other.  But I can’t think....  It’s horrible to have to suspect either of them.”  For a moment, he stared unseeingly at the litter of high-priced pistols on the desk.  Then: 

“Colonel Rand, Lane Fleming is dead, and nothing either of us can do will bring him back.  To expose his murderer certainly won’t.  But it would cause a scandal that would rock the Premix Company to its very foundations.  It might even disastrously affect the market as a whole.”

“Oh, come!” Rand reproved.  “That’s like talking about starting a hurricane with a palm-leaf fan.”

“But you will admit that it would have a dreadful effect on Premix Foods,” Goode argued.  “It would probably prevent this merger from being consummated.  Look here,” he said urgently.  “I don’t know how much Gladys Fleming is paying you to rake all this up, but I’ll gladly double her fee if you drop it and confine yourself to the matter of the collection.”

Even in his colossal avarice, that was one kind of money Jeff Rand had never been tempted to take.  An offer of that sort invariably made him furious.  At the moment, he managed to choke down his anger, but he rejected Goode’s offer in a manner which left no room for further discussion.  Goode rose, shaking his head sadly.

“I suppose you realize,” he said, sorrowfully, “that you’re wrecking a ten-million-dollar corporation.  One in which you, yourself, are a stockholder.”

Rand brightened.  “And the biggest wrecking jobs I ever did before were a couple of petrol dumps and a railroad bridge.”  He got to his feet along with the lawyer.  “No need to call the butler; I’ll let you out myself.”

He accompanied Goode down the front stairway to the door.  Goode was still gloomy.

“I made a mistake in trying to bribe you,” he said.  “But can’t I appeal to your sense of fairness?  Do you want to inflict serious losses on innocent investors merely to avenge one crime?”

“I don’t approve of murder,” Rand told him.  “Least of all, to paraphrase Clausewitz, as an extension of business by other means.  You know, if we let Lane Fleming’s killer get away with it, somebody might take that as a precedent and bump you off to win a lawsuit, sometime.  Ever think of that?”

When he returned to the gunroom, he found Gladys Fleming occupying the chair lately vacated by the family attorney.  She blew a smoke-ring at him in greeting as he entered.

“Now what was Hump Goode up to?” she wanted to know.

“I’m taking too much on myself,” Rand evaded.  “Maybe I should have turned Walters over for trial by family court-martial.  How do you like Davies, by the way?”

“Oh, he’s cute,” Gladys told him.  “One of your operatives, isn’t he?”