"
"Yes, but, dammit, they weren't all in his shop, last evening. Just me.
And one other. The one who killed him."
"On your way out from town?" Rand inquired.
"Yes. I stopped at his place, about a quarter to nine. I was sore as hell
about the hooking he gave me on that North & Cheney, falsely so-called,
and I decided to stop and have it out with him. We had words, most of
them unpleasant. I told him, for one thing, that Lane Fleming's death
hadn't pulled his bacon off the fire, that I was going to start the same
sort of action against him on my own account. But that isn't the point.
The point is that when I was going in, this la-de-da clerk of his, Cecil
Gillis, was coming out. He got into his car and drove away, leaving me
alone with Rivers. He'll be the first one the police talk to, and he'll
tell them all about it."
"That does put you back of the eight ball." Rand dropped the ash into a
tray and looked at it curiously. It looked like the sort of ash he had
seen at Rivers's shop, but he couldn't be sure. "But if it can be proved
that Rivers was alive after nine twenty, when you got here, you'll be in
the clear."
"I don't want to have to clear myself," Gresham insisted. "I don't want
anything to do with it, at all.
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