“Mason, otherwise Rand. Rand, otherwise Mason. Who was Mason, and why did somebody kill him?”
Kimball made one of his jerky gestures. “Killed, was he? I thought he fell out of the window.”
“He was murdered.”
“Good God! Old Jack Mason! It’s beyond me. I haven’t a notion. You know this upsets me a good deal. I’ve seen little of him for a long time. I can hardly believe he’s gone. But why the devil did he call himself Rand?”
“What was he?” said Reggie sharply.
“God bless me, I couldn’t tell you,” Kimball laughed. “He was always very close. An agent in a small way, when I knew him—colonial produce, and so forth. I fancy he went in for building land. Comfortably off always, but he never got on. Very reserved fellow. Loved to be mysterious. No. I suppose it isn’t surprising he used two names.”
“Why was he murdered?” said Reggie.
“I can’t help you.”
“That’s all you can say?”
“Yes. Afraid so. Yes. Let me know as soon as you have anything more. Good morning, good morning.” He bustled out.