Gladys smiled quickly at Rand, then turned to Nelda.  “Now I hope you see why I thought it wise to bring in somebody who knows something about old arms,” she said.

Nelda evidently saw; there was apparently nothing stupid about her.  “And Fred was going to take a miserable ten thousand dollars!” The way she said it, ten thousand sounded like a fairly generous headwaiter’s tip.  “Did Rivers actually tell you he’d pay twenty-five?”

Rand gave, as nearly verbatim as possible, his conversation with the dealer.  “And he can afford it, too,” he finished.  “He can make a nice profit on the collection, at that figure.”

“My God, do you mean the pistols are worth more than that, even?” she wanted to know, aghast.

“Certainly, if you’re a dealer with an established business, and customers all over the country, and want to take five or six years to make your profit,” Rand replied.  “If you aren’t, and want your money in a hurry, no.”

“That’s why I was against turning the collection over to Gwinnett on a commission basis,” Gladys said.  “It would take him five years to get everything sold.”

Nelda left the fireplace and advanced toward Rand.  “Colonel, I owe you an apology,” she said.  “I had no idea Father’s pistols were worth anywhere near that much.  I don’t suppose Fred did, either.”  She frowned.  Wait till she gets Fred alone, Rand thought; I’d hate to be in his spot....  “You say you’re acting on Humphrey Goode’s authority?”

“That’s right.  I’ll negotiate the sale, but the money will be paid directly to him, for distribution according to the terms of your father’s will.”  Rand got out Goode’s letter and handed it to Nelda.

She read it carefully.  “I see.”  She seemed greatly relieved; she was looking at Rand, now, as she was accustomed to look at men, particularly handsome six-footers who were broad across the shoulders and narrow at the hips and resembled King Charles II.  She was probably wondering if Rand was equal to Old Rowley in another important respect.  “I didn’t understand ...  I thought....”  A dirty look, aimed at Gladys, explained what she had thought.  Then her glance fell on the bottle and siphon on the table beside Geraldine’s chair, and she changed the subject by inquiring if Colonel Rand mightn’t like a drink.

“Well, let’s go up to the gunroom,” Gladys suggested.  “We can have our drink up there, while Colonel Rand’s looking at the pistols....  Coming with us, Geraldine?”

Geraldine rose, not too steadily, her glass still in her hand, and took Rand’s left arm.  Gladys, seeing Nelda moving in on the detective’s right, took his other arm.  Nelda was barely successful in suppressing a look of murderous anger.  The double doorway into the hall was just wide enough for Rand and his two flankers to pass through; Nelda had to fall in a couple of paces rear of center, and wasn’t able to come up into line until they were in the hall upstairs.