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Oh, Nelda and Geraldine would bare their teeth at each other, once in a while, but now this place has turned into a miniature Iwo Jima. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to take it. I'm developing combat fatigue." "It's snowing," Rand mentioned. "Let's throw them out into the storm." "I can't. I have to give Nelda and Geraldine a home, as long as they live," she replied.
She wasn't exactly blotto, but she had evidently laid a good foundation for a first-class jag. After all, it was only two thirty in the afternoon. The other sister Nelda didn't say anything. She merely stood and stared at Rand distrustfully. Rand doubted that she ordinarily gave men the hostile eye.
"That, my dear Colonel, is where you earn your fee," she told him. "Actually, it won't be as hard as it looks. If Nelda gives you any argument, you can count on Geraldine to take your side as a matter of principle; if Geraldine objects first, Nelda will help you steam-roll her into line.
"And twenty-five G ain't hay, brother!" 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!"
"I always wondered about this suicide talk; I couldn't see why Humphrey was so perturbed about it. Anything that lowered the market price of Premix, at this time, would be to his advantage." She looked at Goode as though he had six legs and a hard shell. "You know, Humphrey, I can't say I exactly thank you for this." "Did you know about it?" Nelda demanded of her husband. "You did!
Nelda is the nymphomaniac sister, and Geraldine is the dipsomaniac. From time to time, temporary alliances get formed, mainly against Gladys; all of them resent the way she married herself into a third-interest in the estate. You're going to have yourself a nice, pleasant little stay in the country." "I'm looking forward to it." Rand grimaced. "You mentioned suicide rumors.
"He seemed a bit upset about my being brought into this, too, but he finally admitted that he was willing to pay up to twenty-five thousand dollars for the collection, and if he buys it, that's exactly what it's going to cost him." "What?" Nelda fairly screamed. Her hands opened and closed spasmodically: she was using a dark-red nail-tint that made Rand think of blood-dripping talons. "Mr.
"Fred has talked to one dealer, Arnold Rivers. There has been no inventory of any sort made." "Mr. Rivers is offering us ten thousand dollars," Nelda retorted. "I don't see why you had to bring this Colonel What's-his-name into it, at all. You think he can get us a better offer? If you do, you're crazy!"
The butler must have been busy with his pre-dinner tasks in the rear; it was Gladys herself who admitted him. "Stay out of there," she warned him, taking his arm and guiding him away from the parlor doorway. "Nelda and Geraldine are in there, ignoring each other.
"Who the devil are you?" she demanded. "Where's Walters?" "Out on bail," Rand told her. "Don't you remember?" "Oh, you did this to me!" she accused. "Walters could always fix me up, in the morning. Now what am I going to do?" "You might stop drinking," her husband suggested mildly. "Oh, just stop breathing; that would be better all around," Nelda interposed. Ritter coughed delicately.
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