Goode was peering at the ivory inlay on the underbelly of the stock.

“They are beautiful, and I don’t care when they were made,” he said.  “I think, if nobody else wants them, I’ll do just that....  Now, Mr. Rand, what had you intended doing about the collection?”

“Well, that’s what I came to see you about, Mr. Goode.  As I understand it, it is you who are officially responsible for selling the collection, and the proceeds would be turned over to you for distribution to Mrs. Fleming, Mrs. Dunmore and Mrs. Varcek.  Is that correct?”

“Yes.  The collection, although in the physical possession of Mrs. Fleming, is still an undistributed asset.”

“I thought so.”  Rand got out Gladys Fleming’s letter of authorization and handed it to Goode.  “As you’ll see by that, I was retained by, and only by, Mrs. Fleming,” he said.  “I am assuming that her interests are identical with those of the other heirs, but I realize that this is true only to a very limited extent.  It’s my understanding that relations between the three ladies are not the most pleasant.”

Goode produced a short, croaking laugh.  “Now there’s a cautious understatement,” he commented.  “Mr. Rand, I feel that you should know that all three hate each other poisonously.”

“That was rather my impression.  Now, I expect some trouble, from Mrs. Dunmore and/or Mrs. Varcek, either or both of whom are sure to accuse me of having been brought into this by Mrs. Fleming to help her defraud the others.  That, of course, is not the case; they will all profit equally by my participation in this.  But I’m going to have trouble convincing them of that.”

“Yes.  You will,” Goode agreed.  “Would you rather carry my authorization than Mrs. Fleming’s?”

“Yes, indeed, Mr. Goode.  To tell the truth, that was why I came here, for one reason.  You will not be obligated in any way by authorizing me to act as your agent—­I’m getting my fee from Mrs. Fleming—­but I would be obligated to represent her only as far as her interests did not improperly conflict with those of the other heirs, and that’s what I want made clear.”

Goode favored the detective with a saurian smile.  “You’re not a lawyer, too, Mr. Rand?” he asked.

“Well, I am a member of the Bar in the State of Mississippi, though I never practiced,” Rand admitted.  “Instead of opening a law-office, I went into the F.B.I., in 1935, and then opened a private agency a couple of years later.  But if I had to, which God forbid, I could go home tomorrow and hang out my shingle.”

“You seem to have had quite an eventful career,” Goode remarked, with a queer combination of envy and disapproval.  “I understand that, until recently, you were an officer in the Army Intelligence, too....  I’ll have your authorization to act for me made out immediately; to list and appraise the collection, and to negotiate with prospective purchasers.  And by the way,” he continued, “did I understand you to say that you had heard some of these silly rumors to the effect that Lane Fleming had committed suicide?”