Obviously, somebody would have to be persuaded to
finance an investigation. Preferably some innocent victim of unjust
suspicion; somebody who could best clear himself by unmasking the real
villain.... For "villain," Rand mentally substituted "public benefactor."
He was running over a list of possible suspects as he entered Rosemont.
Passing the little antique shop he slowed, backed, read the name "Karen
Lawrence" on the window, and then pulled over to the curb and got out.
Crossing the sidewalk, he went up the steps to the door, entering to the
jangling of a spring-mounted cowbell.
The girl dealer was inside, with a visitor, a sallow-faced,
untidy-looking man of indeterminate age who was opening
newspaper-wrapped packages on a table-top. Karen greeted Rand by name and
military rank; Rand told her he'd just look around till she was through.
She tossed him a look of comic reproach, as though she had counted on him
to rid her of the man with the packages.
"Now, just you look at this-here, Miss Lawrence," the man was enthusing,
undoing another package. "Here's something I know you'll want; I think
this-here is real quaint! Just look, now!" He displayed some long,
narrow, dark object, holding it out to her.
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