“Well, now you see why girls leave home and start antique shops,” she said.  “Never a dull moment....  Wasn’t that sword the awfullest thing you ever saw, though?”

“Well, one of the ten awfullest,” Rand conceded.  “I just stopped in to give you some good news.  You won’t need to consider that offer of Arnold Rivers’s, any more.  He is no longer interested in the Fleming collection.”

“He isn’t?” An eager, happy light danced up in her eyes.  “You saw him again this morning?  What did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything.  He isn’t talking any more, either.  Fact is, he isn’t even breathing any more.”

“He....  You mean he’s dead?” She was surprised, even shocked.  The shock was probably a concession to good taste, but the surprise looked genuine.  “When did he die?  It must have been very sudden; I saw him a few days ago, and he looked all right.  Of course, he’s been having trouble with his lungs, but—­”

“It was very sudden.  Some time last night, some person or persons unknown gave him a butt-and-bayonet job with a German Mauser out of a rack in his shop.  A most unpleasantly thorough job.  I went to see him this morning, hoping to badger something out of him about those pistols that are missing from the Fleming collection, and found the body.  I notified the State Police, and just came from there.”

“For God’s sake!” The shock was genuine, too, now.  “Have the police any idea—?”

“Not the foggiest.  If some of the Fleming pistols turn up at his place, I might think that had something to do with it.  So far, though, they haven’t.  I gave the shop a once-over-lightly before the cops arrived, and couldn’t find anything.”

She tried to take a puff from her cigarette and found that she had broken it in her fingers.  She lit a new one from the mangled butt.

“When did it happen?” She tried to make the question sound casual.

“That I couldn’t say, either.  Around midnight, would be my guess.  They might be able to fix a no-earlier time.”  An idea occurred to him, and he smiled.

“But that’s dreadful!” She really meant that.  “It’s a terrible thing to happen to anybody, being killed like that.”  She stopped just short of adding:  “even Rivers.”  Instead, she continued:  “But I can’t say I’m really very sorry he’s dead, Colonel.”

“Outside of maybe his wife, and the gunsmith who made his fake Walker Colts and North & Cheney flintlocks, who is?” he countered.  “Oh, yes; Cecil Gillis.  He’s about due for induction into the Army of the Unemployed, unless Mrs. Rivers intends carrying on the business.”

Karen’s eyes widened.  “Cecil Gillis!” she exclaimed softly.  “I wonder, now, if he has an alibi for last night!”

“Think he might need one?” Rand asked.  “Of course I only saw him once, but he didn’t strike me as a possible candidate.  I can’t seem to see young Gillis doing a messy job like this was, or going to all that manual labor when he could have used something neat, like a pistol or a dagger.”