"You find
anything except what's here in the shop?"
"Only Rivers's own .38 Smith & Wesson, in his room, and a lot of pistols
out in the garage, that look like junk to me," Kavaalen said. "I'll show
them to you."
Rand nodded. "Pierre, you look around the shop; I'll see what this other
stuff is."
He followed Kavaalen through a door at the rear of the shop; the same one
through which Cecil Gillis had carried the Kentucky rifle the afternoon
before. Beside Rivers's car, there was a long workbench in the garage,
and piles of wood and cardboard cartons, and stacks of newspapers, and
a barrel full of excelsior, all evidently used in preparing arms for
shipment. There was also a large pile of old pistols, and a number of
long-arms.
Rand pawed among the pistols; they were, as the State Police corporal had
said, all junk. The sort of things a dealer has to buy, at times, in
order to get something really good. Many of them had been partially
dismantled for parts. When he was certain that the heap of junk-weapons
didn't conceal anything of value, he returned to the shop. Pierre was
waiting for him by Rivers's desk.
He shook his head. "Not a thing," he reported. "I found a couple of
out-and-out fakes, and about ten or fifteen that had been altered in one
way or another, and a lot of reblued stuff, but nothing from Fleming's
collection.
Pages:
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189