“What’s happened now?” Dunmore asked sourly.

“Just what I was speaking about.  The Gestapo gathered up Pierre Jarrett; they seem to have gotten the idea, now, that the motive may have been competition for the collection.  Next thing, Farnsworth will think he has a case against Carl Gwinnett, and he’ll land in the jug, too.  I hope you realize that every time something like this happens, it peels a thousand or so off the price I’ll be able to get for you people for these pistols.”

Dunmore didn’t try to ask how that would happen, for which Rand was duly thankful; he accepted the statement uncritically.  Walters was staring at Rand in horror, saying nothing.  Rand picked up the outside phone and dialed the same number he had called from the Rivers place that morning.

“Is Sergeant McKenna about?...  He is?  Fine; I’d like to speak to him....  Oh, hello, Mick; Jeff Rand.”

McKenna chuckled out of the receiver.  “Sort of slipped one over on you, didn’t I?” he gloated.  “Why, I was checking up on those people who were at Gresham’s, last evening, and they all agreed that young Jarrett and the Lawrence girl had left the party about ten.  So I had a talk with Miss Lawrence, and she tried to tell me that Jarrett was with her at her apartment, over the antique shop, from about ten fifteen until about twelve, when another girl she rooms with got home from a date.  I’d of took that, too, only right across the street from the antique shop there is one of these old hens like you find in every neighborhood, the kind that keeps their nose flattened on the window between the curtains, checking up on the neighbors.  I spotted her when I came out of the antique shop, so I slipped around to see her, and she told me that young Jarrett went into the apartment with the girl at about quarter past ten, stayed inside for about twenty minutes, then came out and drove away.  She says Jarrett came back in about half an hour, and stayed till this girl who shares the Lawrence girl’s apartment—­a Miss Dupont, who teaches sixth grade at Thaddeus Stevens School—­got home, about twelve.  So there you are.”

“Uh-huh.  Dave Ritter said this was going to turn into another Hall-Mills case; well, now you have your Pig Woman,” Rand said.  “Miss Lawrence shouldn’t have lied to you, Mick.  I suppose she got worried when you started asking questions, and there’s nothing like a good murder in the neighborhood to make liars out of people.”

“And damn well I know that!” McKenna agreed.  “But that isn’t all.  It seems our cruise-car crew spotted Jarrett’s car standing in Rivers’s drive, about eleven.  Just when he was away from the antique-shop, and about when the M.E. figures Rivers was getting the business.”

“Did they get the number?” Rand asked.  “Or how did they identify the car?”

“Oh, they knew it; see, our boys shoot a lot with the Scott County Rifle & Pistol Club, and they’ve all seen Jarrett’s car at the range, different times,” McKenna said.  “A gray 1947 Plymouth coupe.  Like I say, they knew the car, and they knew Jarrett collects guns, and the lights were on inside the shop and the shades were drawn, so they didn’t think anything of it, at the time.  See, they went to bed about ten this morning, and didn’t get up till after five, so I didn’t find out about it till after supper.”