His mother phoned me about it a few minutes ago."
"That God-damned two-faced Jesuitical bastard!" Rand exploded. "Where are
you now?"
"Here at my shop. Mrs. Jarrett is coming here. She's afraid the reporters
will be coming out to the house as soon as they hear about it, and she
doesn't want to talk to them."
"All right. I'll be there as soon as I can. If there's anything I can do
to help you, you can count on me for it."
He hung up, and turned to Walters. "Is my car still out front?" he asked.
"It is? Good. I'll be gone for a while; tell the others I have something
to attend to."
"What's happened now?" Dunmore asked sourly.
"Just what I was speaking about. The Gestapo gathered up Pierre Jarrett;
they seem to have gotten the idea, now, that the motive may have been
competition for the collection. Next thing, Farnsworth will think he has
a case against Carl Gwinnett, and he'll land in the jug, too. I hope you
realize that every time something like this happens, it peels a thousand
or so off the price I'll be able to get for you people for these
pistols."
Dunmore didn't try to ask how that would happen, for which Rand was duly
thankful; he accepted the statement uncritically. Walters was staring at
Rand in horror, saying nothing.
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