Irene Gresham wanted to know what everybody wanted to drink.  Rand wanted Bourbon and plain water; MacBride voted for Jamaica rum; Trehearne and Cabot favored brandy and soda, and Pierre and the girls wanted Bacardi and Coca-Cola.

“And Stephen’ll want rye and soda, when he gets here,” Irene said.  “Come on, girls; let’s rustle up the drinks.”

Before they returned, Stephen Gresham came in, lighting a cigar.  It was just nine twenty-two.

“Well, I see everybody’s here,” he said.  “No; where’s Karen?”

Pierre told him.  A few minutes later the women returned, carrying bottles and glasses; when the flurry of drink-mixing had subsided, they all sat down.

“Let’s get the business over first,” Gresham suggested.  “I suppose you’ve gone over the collection already, Jeff?”

“Yes, and first of all, I want to know something.  When was the last that any of you saw it?”

Gresham and Pierre had been in Fleming’s gunroom just two days before the fatal “accident.”

“And can you tell me if the big Whitneyville Colt was still there, then?” Rand asked.  “Or the Rappahannock Forge, or the Collier flintlock, or the Hall?”

“Why, of course ...  My God, aren’t they there now?” Gresham demanded.

Rand shook his head.  “And if Fleming still had them two days before he was killed, then somebody’s been weeding out the collection since.  Doing it very cleverly, too,” he added.  “You know how that stuff’s arranged, and how conspicuous a missing pistol would be.  Well, when I was going over the collection, I found about two dozen pieces of the most utter trash, things Lane Fleming wouldn’t have allowed in the house, all hanging where some really good item ought to have been.”  He took a paper from his pocket and read off a list of the dubious items, interpolating comments on the condition, and a list of the real rarities which Gresham had mentioned the day before, which were now missing.

“All that good stuff was there the last time I saw the collection,” Gresham said.  “What do you say, Pierre?”

“I had the Hall pistol in my hands,” Pierre said.  “And I remember looking at the Rappahannock Forge.”

Trehearne broke in to ask how many English dog-locks there were, and if the snaphaunce Highlander and the big all-steel wheel lock were still there.  At the same time, Cabot was inquiring about the Springfield 1818 and the Virginia Manufactory pistols.

“I’ll have a complete, itemized list in a few days,” Rand said.  “In the meantime, I’d like a couple of you to look at the collection and help me decide what’s missing.  I’m going to try to catch the thief, and then get at the fence through him.”

“Think Rivers might have gotten the pistols?” Gresham asked.  “He’s the crookedest dealer I know of.”

“He’s the crookedest dealer anybody knows of,” Rand amended.  “The only thing, he’s a little too anxious to buy the collection, for somebody who’s just skimmed off the cream.”