"And nobody
could be as perfect a stage butler as he is. But what really convinced me
was coming into the library, a little while ago, and finding him
squatting on the top of the spiral, covering Humphrey Goode with a small
but particularly evil-looking automatic."
Rand chuckled. "What did you do?"
"Oh, I climbed up and squatted beside him," she replied. "I got there
just as you were telling Goode what he could do with his bribe. You know,
with one thing and another, Goode's beginning to become unamusing." She
smoked in silence for a moment. "I ought to be indignant with you,
filling my house with spies," she said. "But under the circumstances, I'm
afraid I'm thankful, instead. Your op's a good egg, by the way; he's on
his way to bring us some drinks."
"I ought to be sore at you, retaining me into a mess like this and
telling me nothing," Rand told her. "What was the idea, anyhow? You
wanted me to investigate your husband's murder, all along, didn't you?"
"I--I hadn't a thing to go on," she replied. "I was afraid, if I came out
and told you what I suspected, that you'd think it was just another case
of feminine dam-foolishness, and dismiss it as such. I knew it wasn't an
accident; Lane didn't have accidents with guns.
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