Rand shook his head.  “Worst thing they could do; a collection like that would go for peanuts at auction.  Remember the big sales in the twenties?...  Why, here; I’m going to be in Rosemont, staying at the Fleming place, working on the collection, for the next week or so.  I suppose your crowd wouldn’t want to make an offer until I have everything listed, but I’d like to talk to your associates, in a group, as soon as possible.”

“Well, we all know pretty much what’s in the collection,” Gresham said.  “We were neighbors of his, and collectors are a gregarious lot.  But we aren’t anxious to make any premature offers.  We don’t want to offer more than we have to, and at the same time, we don’t want to underbid and see the collection sold elsewhere.”

“No, of course not.”  Rand thought for a moment.  “Tell you what; I’ll give you and your friends the best break I can in fairness to my clients.  I’m not obliged to call for sealed bids, or anything like that, so when I’ve heard from everybody, I’ll give you a chance to bid against the highest offer in hand.  If you want to top it, you can have the collection for any kind of an overbid that doesn’t look too suspiciously nominal.”

“Why, Jeff, I appreciate that,” Gresham said.  “I think you’re entirely within your rights, but naturally, we won’t mention this outside.  I can imagine Arnold Rivers, for instance, taking a very righteous view of such an arrangement.”

“Yes, so can I. Of course, if he’d call me a crook, I’d take that as a compliment,” Rand said.  “I wonder if I could meet your group, say tomorrow evening?  I want to be in a position to assure the Fleming family and Humphrey Goode that you’re all serious and responsible.”

“Well, we’re very serious about it,” Gresham replied, “and I think we’re all responsible.  You can look us up, if you wish.  Besides myself, there is Philip Cabot, of Cabot, Joyner & Teale, whom you know, and Adam Trehearne, who’s worth about a half-million in industrial shares, and Colin MacBride, who’s vice president in charge of construction and maintenance for Edison-Public Power & Light, at about twenty thousand a year, and Pierre Jarrett and his fiancee, Karen Lawrence.  Pierre was a Marine captain, invalided home after being wounded on Peleliu; he writes science-fiction for the pulps.  Karen has a little general-antique business in Rosemont.  They intend using their share of the collection, plus such culls and duplicates as the rest of us can consign to them, to go into the arms business, with a general-antique sideline, which Karen can manage while Pierre’s writing....  Tell you what; I’ll call a meeting at my place tomorrow evening, say at eight thirty.  That suit you?”

That, Rand agreed, would be all right.  Gresham asked him how recently he had seen the Fleming collection.

“About two years ago; right after I got back from Germany.  You remember, we went there together, one evening in March.”