"Well, in the
last few years, we've seen defenses in depth penetrated with monotonous
regularity. I've jeeped through a couple, myself, to interrogate the
surviving ex-defenders. It's all in having the guns and armor to smash
through with."
CHAPTER 3
Humphrey Goode was sixty-ish, short and chunky, with a fringe of
white hair around a bald crown. His brow was corrugated with wrinkles,
and he peered suspiciously at Rand through a pair of thick-lensed,
black-ribboned glasses. His wide mouth curved downward at the corners
in an expression that was probably intended to be stern and succeeded
only in being pompous. His office was dark, and smelled of dusty books.
"Mr. Rand," he began accusingly, "when your secretary called to make this
appointment, she informed me that you had been retained by Mrs. Gladys
Fleming."
"That's correct." Rand slowly packed tobacco into his pipe and lit it.
"Mrs. Fleming wants me to look after some interests of hers, and as
you're executor of her late husband's estate, I thought I ought to talk
to you, first of all."
Goode's eyes narrowed behind the thick glasses.
"Mr. Rand, if you're investigating the death of Lane Fleming, you're
wasting your time and Mrs.
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