"Oh, no responsible person pays any attention to that sort of talk," Rand
comforted him. "My armed-guard and armored-car service brings me into
contact with a lot of the local financial crowd. None of them is taking
these rumors seriously."

"Well, of course, nobody wants the responsibility of starting a panic,
even a minor one, but people are talking, and it's hurting Premix on the
market," Goode gloomed. "And now, people will hear of Mrs. Fleming's
having retained you, and will assume, just as I did at first, that you
are making some kind of an investigation. I hope you will make a prompt
denial, if you hear any talk like that." He pressed a button on his desk.
"And now, I'll get a letter of authorization made out for you, Mr.
Rand ..."




CHAPTER 4


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."