Rand suppressed a
smile at this minor verification of his theory. Walters had been
expecting to be accused of larceny, and was prepared to treat the charge
with contempt. Then he had realized, after a second or so, what the State
Police sergeant had really said.
"Good God, gentlemen!" He looked from Mick McKenna to Corporal Kavaalen
to Rand and back again in bewilderment. "You surely can't mean that!"
"We can and we do," Rand told him. "You stole about twenty-five pistols
from this collection, after Mr. Fleming died, and sold them to Arnold
Rivers. Then, when I came here and started checking up on the
collection, you knew the game was up. So, last evening, you took out the
station-wagon and went to see Rivers, and you killed him to keep him from
turning state's evidence and incriminating you. Or maybe you killed him
in a quarrel over the division of the loot. I hope, for your sake, that
it was the latter; if it was, you may get off with second degree murder.
But if you can't prove that there was no premeditation, you're tagged for
the electric chair."
"But ... But I didn't kill Mr. Rivers," Walters stammered. "I barely knew
the gentleman. I saw him, once or twice, when he was here to see Mr.
Fleming, but outside of that.
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