Shall we go in?" she asked, taking Rand's arm.
The cocktails were waiting when they entered the drawing-room, off the
dining-room. The butler poured for them and put the glasses and the
shaker on a low table by a lounge.
"I'm afraid dinner's going to be a little later than I said, Mrs.
Fleming," he apologized. "Things were kind of stirred up, today, with all
those people here."
"That's all right; we can wait," she replied. "We won't need anything
more, Reuben."
Motioning Rand down on the lounge beside her, she handed him a glass and
lifted her own.
"Now," she began. "Just what sort of skulduggery has been going on? As of
Friday, the top offer for the collection was twenty-five thousand five
hundred, from some dealer up in Massachusetts. And then, on Saturday, you
came bounding in with Stephen Gresham's certified check for twenty-six
thousand. And I seem to recall that the late unlamented Rivers's offer of
twenty-five thousand straight had them stopped. Not that I'm inclined
to look askance at an extra five hundred--I can buy a new hat with my
share of that, even after taxes--but I would like to know what happened.
And I might add, that's only one of many things I'd like to know."
"The client is entitled to a full report," Rand said, tasting his
cocktail.
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