IV
Stephen Gresham was in his early sixties, but he could have still worn his World War I uniform without anything giving at the seams, and buckled the old Sam Browne at the same hole. As Rand entered, he rose from behind his desk and advanced, smiling cordially.
“Why, hello, Jeff!” he greeted the detective, grasping his hand heartily. “You haven’t been around for months. What have you been doing, and why don’t you come out to Rosemont to see us? Dot and Irene were wondering what had become of you.”
“I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting too many of my old friends lately,” Rand admitted, sitting down and getting his pipe out. “Been busy as the devil. Fact is, it was business that finally brought me around here. I understand that you and some others are forming a pool to buy the Lane Fleming c
