Mr. Goode arrived directly; he was
here in about ten minutes. I must say, sir, I was glad to see him; to
tell the truth, I had been afraid that the authorities might claim that
Mr. Fleming had shot himself deliberately."
Somebody else doesn't like the smell of that accident, Rand thought.
Aloud, he said:
"Mr. Goode lives nearby, then, I take it?"
"Oh, yes, sir. You can see his house from these windows. Over here, sir."
Rand looked out the window. The rain-soaked lawn of the Fleming residence
ended about a hundred yards to the west; beyond it, an orchard was
beginning to break into leaf, and beyond the orchard and another lawn
stood a half-timbered Tudor-style house, somewhat smaller than the
Fleming place. A path led down from it to the orchard, and another led
from the orchard to the rear of the house from which Rand looked.
"Must be comforting to know your lawyer's so handy," he commented. "And
what do you think, Walters? Are you satisfied, in your own mind, that Mr.
Fleming was killed accidentally?"
The servant looked at him seriously. "No, sir; I'm not," he replied.
"I've thought about it a great deal, since it happened, sir, and I just
can't believe that Mr. Fleming would have that revolver, and start
working on it, without knowing that it was loaded.
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