Rand looked at the section of pistol-rack devoted to Colts.

“Which one was it?” he asked.

“Oh it’s not here, sir,” Walters replied.  “The coroner took it away with him.”

“And hasn’t returned it yet?  Well, he has no business keeping it.  It’s part of the collection, and belongs to the estate.”

“Yes, sir.  If I may say so, I thought it was a bit high-handed of him, taking it away, myself, but it wasn’t my place to say anything about it.”

“Well, I’ll make it mine.  If that revolver’s what I’m told it is, it’s too valuable to let some damned county-seat politician walk off with.”  A thought occurred to him.  “And if I find that he’s disposed of it, this county’s going to need a new coroner, at least till the present incumbent gets out of jail.”

The buzzer of the extension phone went off like an annoyed rattlesnake.  Walters scooped it up, spoke into it, listened for a moment, and handed it to Rand.

“For you, sir; Mrs. Fleming.”

“Colonel Rand, Carl Gwinnett, the commission-dealer I told you about is here,” Gladys told him.  “Do you want to talk to him?”

“Why, yes.  Do I understand, now, that you and the other ladies want cash, and don’t want the collection peddled off piecemeal?...  All right, send him up.  I’ll talk to him.”

A few minutes later, a short, compact-looking man of forty-odd entered the gunroom, shifting a brief case to his left hand and extending his right.  Rand advanced to meet him and shook hands with him.

“You’re Colonel Rand?  Enjoyed your articles in the Rifleman,” he said.  “Mrs. Fleming tells me you’re handling the sale of the collection for the estate.”

“That’s right, Mr. Gwinnett.  Mrs. Fleming tells me you’re interested.”

“Yes.  Originally, I offered to sell the collection for her on a commission basis, but she didn’t seem to care for the idea, and neither do the other ladies.  They all want spot cash, in a lump sum.”

“Yes.  Mrs. Fleming herself might have been interested in your proposition, if she’d been sole owner.  You could probably get more for the collection, even after deducting your commission, than I’ll be able to, but the collection belongs to the estate, and has to be sold before any division can be made.”

“Yes, I see that.  Well, how much would the estate, or you, consider a reasonable offer?”

“Sit down, Mr. Gwinnett,” Rand invited.  “What would you consider a reasonable offer, yourself?  We’re not asking any specific price; we’re just taking bids, as it were.”

“Well, how much have you been offered, to date?”

“Well, we haven’t heard from everybody.  In fact, we haven’t put out a list, or solicited offers, except locally, as yet.  But one gentleman has expressed a willingness to pay up to twenty-five thousand dollars.”

Gwinnett’s face expressed polite skepticism.  “Colonel Rand!” he protested.  “You certainly don’t take an offer like that seriously?”