The telephone rang, Cecil Gillis answered it, listened for a moment, and then said:  “For you, Mr. Rivers; long distance from Milwaukee.”

Rivers’s face lit with the beatific smile of a cat at a promising mouse-hole.  “Ah, excuse me, Mr. Rand.”  He crossed to the desk, picked up the phone and spoke into it.  “This is Arnold Rivers,” he said, much as Edward Murrow used to say, This—­is London! The telephone sputtered for a moment.  “Ah, yes indeed, Mr. Verral.  Quite well, I thank you.  And you?...  No, it hasn’t been sold yet.  Do you wish me to ship it to you?...  On approval; certainly....  Of course it’s an original flintlock; I didn’t list it as re-altered, did I?...  No, not at all; the only replacement is the small spring inside the patchbox....  Yes, the rifling is excellent....  Of course; I’ll ship it at once....  Good-by, Mr. Verral.”

He hung up and turned to his hireling, fairly licking his chops.

“Cecil, Mr. Verral, in Milwaukee, whose address we have, has just ordered 6288, the F. Zorger flintlock Kentuck.  Will you please attend to it?”

“Right away, Mr. Rivers.”  Gillis went to one of the racks under the windows and selected a long flintlock rifle, carrying it out the door at the rear.

“I issued a list, a few days ago,” Rivers told Rand.  “When Cecil comes back, I’ll have him get you a copy.  I’ve been receiving calls ever since; this is the twelfth long-distance call since Tuesday.”

“Business must be good,” Rand commented.  “I understand you’ve offered to buy the Lane Fleming collection.  For ten thousand dollars.”

“Where did you hear that?” Rivers demanded, looking up from the drawer in which he was filing the card on the Leech & Rigdon.

“From Mrs. Fleming.”  Rand released a puff of pipe smoke and watched it draw downward into the fireplace.  “I’ve been retained to handle the sale of that collection; naturally, I’d know who was offering how much.”

Rivers’s eyes narrowed.  He came around the desk, loading another cigarette into his holder.

“And just why, might I ask, did Mrs. Fleming think it in order to employ a detective in a matter like that?” he wanted to know.

Rand let out more smoke.  “She didn’t.  She employed an arms-expert, a Colonel Jefferson Davis Rand, U.S.A., O.R.C., who is a well-known contributor to the American Rifleman and the Infantry Journal and Antiques and the old Gun Report.  You’ve read some of his articles, I believe?”

“Then you’re not making an investigation?”

“What in the world is there to investigate?” Rand asked.  “I’m just selling a lot of old pistols for the Fleming estate.”

“I thought Fred Dunmore was doing that.”

“So did Fred. You’re both wrong, though.  I am.”  He got out Goode’s letter of authorization and handed it to Rivers, who read it through twice before handing it back.  “You see anything in that about Fred Dunmore, or any of the other relatives-in-law?” he asked.