stood for power, even though its pressure was restrained.
Perhaps the satisfaction of meeting Thorneau caused Chet to overlook the
gloom that clouded this assemblage. It was Biggs who bluntly supplied the news
that these customers, Thorneau included, had not come to deliver testimonials
favoring Pyrolac.
"Those recent shipments, Conroy," spoke Biggs, abruptly. "Our customers say
there is something wrong with them."
Chet turned about, puzzled.
"Something wrong?"
"See for yourself." Biggs proffered an open can of Pyrolac that he brought
from beside his desk. "You won't have to make a chemical test to know that this
Pyrolac has been adulterated."
Chet took a look at the gummy liquid. He poured some into a glass that
Biggs supplied. The stuff was muddy.
Shaking his head, Chet said:
"This can't be Pyrolac."
"It was Pyrolac," announced a voice near Chet's shoulder. "At least it was
branded as such when it left your department, Conroy."
Turning, Chet faced the swarthy man with the dark mustache who had been
absent from the loading platform. He decided he didn't like the chap nor his
implications.
"If you mean I certified faulty lacquer," declared Chet, coldly, "I'd
suggest that you reconsider the statement. Nothing leaves my department unless
it tests one hundred percent. But my job is finished when the shipments go to
the loading platform."
That was tossing it right back at the swarthy man. Chet didn't bother about
noting how Biggs reacted. Instead, he glanced toward Thorneau and saw that the
blunt-faced man still retained his firm smile. Evidently Thorneau approved
Chet's way of meeting an issue squarely. The fact made Chet like Thorneau all
the more.
Unfortunately, Biggs wasn't so impressed. It happened that Biggs was the
one man qualified to settle the present issue. Looking straight at Chet, Biggs
waved his hand toward the swarthy man, and announced:
"Perhaps I should have introduced you, Conroy. This gentleman is Mr.
Marquette. He and the more important members of the loading crew are operatives
from the Federal Bureau of Investigation."
Chet found himself in a mental whirl. With F.B.I. men on the loading job,
nothing could have happened to the Pyrolac during the loading operation.
Therefore the responsibility lay somewhere in the plant.
But where?
STEP by step, Chet could recall every portion of the tested process,
double-checked to the sealing of the cans. He'd have sworn that there couldn't
be a faulty gallon of Pyrolac in all the loads shipped. Chet shook his head,
quite baffled.
Marquette wasn't baffled.
Lifting the can of Pyrolac, the F.B.I. man held its tilted lid to the
light. Through the metal, Chet could see a pattern of very tiny holes.
"They've been spiked," affirmed Marquette. "Needled is another term for it.
