"What I mean is that since then you have allowed yourself to become
involved in this murder case. You have let it be publicly known that you
are a private detective, working for the Fleming family," Goode orated.
"How long, then, will it be before it will be said, by all sorts of
irresponsible persons, that you are also investigating the death of Lane
Fleming?"
"Well?" Rand asked patiently. "Are you afraid people will start calling
that a murder, too?"
Gladys was looking at him apprehensively, as though she were watching him
juggle four live hand grenades.
"Is anybody saying that now?" Varcek asked sharply.
"Not that I know of," Rand lied. "But if Goode keeps on denying it, they
will."
"You know perfectly well," Goode exploded, "that I am alluding to these
unfounded and mischievous rumors of suicide, which are doing the Premix
Company so much harm. My God, Mr. Rand, can't you realize--"
"Oh, come off it, Goode," Varcek broke in amusedly. "We all--Colonel Rand
included--know that you started those rumors yourself. Very clever--to
start a rumor by denying it. But scarcely original. Doctor Goebbels was
doing it almost twenty years ago."
"My God, is that true?" Nelda demanded. "You mean, he's been going around
starting all these stories about Father committing suicide?" She turned
on Goode like an enraged panther.
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