Fleming's money," he lectured. "There is
nothing whatever for you to find out that is not already public
knowledge. Mr. Fleming was accidentally killed by the discharge of an old
revolver he was cleaning. I don't know what foolish feminine impulse led
Mrs. Fleming to employ you, but you'll do nobody any good in this matter,
and you may do a great deal of harm."
"Did my secretary tell you I was making an investigation?" Rand demanded
incredulously. "She doesn't usually make mistakes of that sort."
The wrinkles moved up Goode's brow like a battalion advancing in platoon
front. He looked even more narrowly at Rand, his suspicion compounded
with bewilderment.
"Why should I investigate the death of Lane Fleming?" Rand continued.
"As far as I know, Mrs. Fleming is satisfied that it was an accident. She
never expressed any other belief to me. Do you think it was anything
else?"
"Why, of course not!" Goode exclaimed. "That's just what I was telling
you. I--" He took a fresh start. "There have been rumors--utterly without
foundation, of course--that Mr. Fleming committed suicide. They are, I
may say, nothing but malicious fabrications, circulated for the purpose
of undermining public confidence in Premix Foods, Incorporated.
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