Murder in the Gunroom by H. Beam Piper (100 books to read in a lifetime TXT) 📕

managed to choke down his anger, but he rejected Goode’s offer in a manner which left no room for further discussion. Goode rose, shaking his head sadly.

“I suppose you realize,” he said, sorrowfully, “that you’re wrecking a ten-million-dollar corporation. One in which you, yourself, are a stockholder.”

Rand brightened. “And the biggest wrecking jobs I ever did before were a couple of petrol dumps and a railroad bridge.” He got to his feet along with the lawyer. “No need to call the butler; I’ll let you out myself.”

He accompanied Goode down the front stairway to the door. Goode was still gloomy.

“I made a mistake in trying to bribe you,” he said. “But can’t I appeal to your sense of fairness? Do you want to inflict serious losses on innocent investors merely to avenge one crime?”

“I don’t approve of murder,” Rand told him. “Least of all, to paraphrase Clausewitz, as an extension of business by other means. You know, if we let Lane Fleming’s killer get away with it, somebody might take that as a precedent and bump you off to win a lawsuit, sometime. Ever think of that?”

When he returned to the gunroom, he found Gladys Fleming occupying the chair lately vacated by the family attorney. She blew a smoke-ring at him in greeting as he entered.

“Now what was Hump Goode up to?” she wanted to know.

“I’m taking too much on myself,” Rand evaded. “Maybe I should have turned Walters over for trial by family court-martial. How do you like Davies, by the way?”

“Oh, he’s cute,” Gladys told him. “One of your operatives, isn’t he?”

“Now what in the world gave you an idea like that?” he asked, as though humoring the vagaries of a child.

“Well, I suspected something of the sort from the alacrity with which you produced him, before Walters was out of the house,” she said. “And nobody could be as perfect a stage butler as he is. But what really convinced me was coming into the library, a little while ago, and finding him squatting on the top of the spiral, covering Humphrey Goode with a small but particularly evil-looking automatic.”

Rand chuckled. “What did you do?”

“Oh, I climbed up and squatted beside him,” she replied. “I got there just as you were telling Goode what he could do with his bribe. You know, with one thing and another, Goode’s beginning to become unamusing.” She smoked in silence for a moment. “I ought to be indignant with you, filling my house with spies,” she said. “But under the circumstances, I’m afraid I’m thankful, instead. Your op’s a good egg, by the way; he’s on his way to bring us some drinks.”

“I ought to be sore at you, retaining me into a mess like this and telling me nothing,” Rand told her. “What was the idea, anyhow? You wanted me to investigate your husband’s murder, all along, didn’t you?”

“I⁠—I hadn’t a thing to go on,” she replied. “I was afraid, if I came out and told you what I suspected, that you’d think it was just another case of feminine dam-foolishness, and dismiss it as such. I knew it wasn’t an accident; Lane didn’t have accidents with guns. And if he’d wanted to kill himself, he’d have done it and left a note explaining why he had to. But I didn’t have a single fact to give you. I thought that if you came here and started working on the collection, you’d find something.”

“You should have taken a chance and told me what you suspected,” Rand said. “I’ve taken a lot of cases on flimsier grounds than this. The fact is, you practically told me it was murder, when you were talking to me in my office.”

“Jeff, I never was what the soap-operas call being ‘in love’ with Lane,” she continued. “But he was wonderful to me. He gave me everything a girl who grew up in a sixteen-dollar apartment over a fruit store could want. And then somebody killed him, just as you’d step on a cockroach, because he got in the way of a business deal. I’m glad to be able to spend money to help catch whoever did it. It won’t help him, but it’ll make me feel a lot better.⁠ ⁠… You will catch him, won’t you?”

Rand nodded. “I don’t know whether he’ll ever go to trial and be convicted,” he said. “I don’t think he will. But you can take my word for it; he won’t get away with it. Tomorrow, I think the lid’s going to blow off. Maybe you’d better be away from home when it does. Take Nelda and Geraldine with you, and go somewhere. There’s likely to be some uproar.”

“Well, Nelda and Geraldine and I are going to church, in the morning,” Gladys said. “It’s a question of face. We have a rented pew⁠—Lane was quite active in church work⁠—and none of us are willing to let ourselves get squeezed out of it. We all go; even Geraldine manages to drag herself to the Lord’s House through an alcoholic fog. And we’ll have to be back in time for dinner. It would look funny if we weren’t.”

“Well, if nothing’s happened by the time you get back, I want you to talk the girls into going somewhere with you in the afternoon, and stay away till evening. And don’t get the idea that you could help me here,” he added, stopping an objection. “I know what I’m talking about. The presence of any of you here would only delay matters and make it harder for me.”

Then Ritter came in, a cigarette in one corner of his mouth, carrying a tray on which were a bottle of Bourbon, a bottle of Scotch, a siphon and a couple of bottles of beer.

XX

The dining-room was empty, when Rand came down to breakfast the next morning. Taking the seat he had occupied the evening before, he waited until Ritter came out of the kitchen through the pantry.

“Good morning, Colonel Rand,” the