Rand nodded, finished what he was typing, and looked up.

“Why, yes.  There were a few details I wanted to clear up with him, and I called at his shop this morning.  I found him lying dead inside.”  He went on to describe the manner in which Rivers had met his death.  “The radio and newspaper accounts were accurate enough, in the main; there were a few details omitted, at the request of the police, of course.”

“Well, you didn’t get involved in it, though?” Dunmore inquired anxiously.  “I mean, you’re not taking any part in the investigation?  After all, we don’t want to be mixed up in anything like this.”

“In that case, Mr. Dunmore, let me advise you not to discuss the matter of Rivers’s offer to buy this collection with anybody outside,” Rand told him.  “So far, the police and the District Attorney’s office both seem to think that Rivers was killed by somebody whom he’d swindled in a business deal.  Of course, they know about the collection being for sale, and Rivers’s offering to buy it.”

“They do?” Dunmore asked sharply.  “Did you tell them that?”

“Naturally.  I had to account for my presence at Rivers’s shop, this morning,” Rand replied.  “I don’t know if the idea has occurred to them that somebody might have killed Rivers to eliminate a rival bidder for the collection or not; I wouldn’t say anything, if I were you, that might give them the idea.”

The extension phone rang shrilly.  Walters picked it up, spoke into it, and listened for a moment.

“Yes, Miss Lawrence; he’s right here.  You wish to speak to him?” He handed the phone across the desk to Rand.  “Miss Karen Lawrence, for you, Colonel Rand.”

Rand took the phone.  Before he had time to say “hello,” the antique-shop girl demanded of him: 

“Colonel Rand, you must tell me the truth.  Did you have anything to do with Pierre Jarrett’s being arrested?”

“What?” Rand barked.  Then he softened his voice.  “No; on my honor, Miss Lawrence.  I knew nothing about it until this moment.  Who did it?  Olsen?”

“I don’t know what his name was.  He was a State Police sergeant,” she replied.  “He and another State Policeman came to the Jarrett house about half an hour ago, charged Pierre with the murder of Arnold Rivers, and took him away.  His mother phoned me about it a few minutes ago.”

“That God-damned two-faced Jesuitical bastard!” Rand exploded.  “Where are you now?”

“Here at my shop.  Mrs. Jarrett is coming here.  She’s afraid the reporters will be coming out to the house as soon as they hear about it, and she doesn’t want to talk to them.”

“All right.  I’ll be there as soon as I can.  If there’s anything I can do to help you, you can count on me for it.”

He hung up, and turned to Walters.  “Is my car still out front?” he asked.  “It is?  Good.  I’ll be gone for a while; tell the others I have something to attend to.”