"It would take him five years to get
everything sold."
Nelda left the fireplace and advanced toward Rand. "Colonel, I owe you an
apology," she said. "I had no idea Father's pistols were worth anywhere
near that much. I don't suppose Fred did, either." She frowned. Wait till
she gets Fred alone, Rand thought; I'd hate to be in his spot.... "You
say you're acting on Humphrey Goode's authority?"
"That's right. I'll negotiate the sale, but the money will be paid
directly to him, for distribution according to the terms of your father's
will." Rand got out Goode's letter and handed it to Nelda.
She read it carefully. "I see." She seemed greatly relieved; she was
looking at Rand, now, as she was accustomed to look at men, particularly
handsome six-footers who were broad across the shoulders and narrow at
the hips and resembled King Charles II. She was probably wondering if
Rand was equal to Old Rowley in another important respect. "I didn't
understand ... I thought...." A dirty look, aimed at Gladys, explained
what she had thought. Then her glance fell on the bottle and siphon on
the table beside Geraldine's chair, and she changed the subject by
inquiring if Colonel Rand mightn't like a drink.
"Well, let's go up to the gunroom," Gladys suggested.
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