And another thing. You say that whoever killed Lane also killed this
fellow Rivers. Well, on Thursday night, when Rivers was killed, Anton
didn't get home till around twelve."
"Yes, I'd thought of that. You know, though, that the murderer doesn't
have to be Varcek, or anybody else who was in the house at the time. The
garage doors were open--I'm told that your wife was out at the time--and
anybody could have sneaked in the back way, up through the library, and
out the same way. There are one or two possibilities besides you and
Anton Varcek."
Dunmore's eyes widened. "Yes, and I can think of one, without half
trying, too!" He nodded once or twice. "For instance, the man who was
afraid you were investigating Fleming's death; the man who started that
suicide story!" He looked at Rand interrogatively. "Well, I got to go;
Nelda'll be out of the bathroom by now. I want to talk to you about this
some more, Colonel."
After Dunmore had gone out, Rand mopped his face. The room seemed
insufferably hot. He found an electric fan over the workbench and plugged
it in, but it made enough noise to cover any sounds of stealthy approach,
and he shut it off. He had finished revising his list to include the
recovered pistols for as far as it was completed, and was hanging them
back on the wall when Ritter came in.
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