cars. Then Chet's dark eyes narrowed; his square jaw tightened forward.
A splotch of blackness was the reason.
The blot looked huge, vaguely human, as it detached itself from the front
of the shifter. Oddly, it seemed as though a chunk of the locomotive had broken
loose to come to life. Crouched in the engine's own gloom, such living blackness
could have passed the guards unnoticed, riding right into the yard of the
Pyrolac factory.
At that thought, Chet laughed.
The blotch of blackness was gone, so suddenly that it could not possibly be
a thing alive. Just the jolt of the shifter, cutting off the lights of the
building opposite, that was all. That, plus Chet's eyes, which had been
bothering him lately, from overstrain at test tubes, studying the reaction of
Pyrolac samples. No wonder he was seeing black spots, but it wasn't pleasant to
view such big ones.
Rubbing his eyes, Chet took another look from the window, this time at the
loading platform. The loaders were sliding one car door shut, so that it could
be double locked and sealed. Chet looked for a familiar face, but didn't see it.
He wondered what had become of the swarthy man with the dark mustache, who
usually supervised the operation.
Chet hadn't yet become acquainted with the chief loader. His own associates
were the chemists who so zealously handled every stage in the manufacture of
Pyrolac. Chet was something of a chemist too, otherwise he wouldn't be holding
the inspection job.
A good job, too.
The telephone on Chet's desk seemed to agree as it tingled furiously. And
when Chet answered the call, the voice he heard corroborated his opinion. Chet
found himself talking to none other than Hiram Biggs, the president of Pyrolac.
And Biggy, as he was nicknamed, wanted the inspecting chemist to come to his
office right away!
ADMITTED to the president's office, Chet found Biggs surrounded by half a
dozen visitors, all as serious of manner as the head of Pyrolac. With a wave,
Biggs introduced them, and Chet heard names he recognized. These men were the
customers who had received recent shipments of Pyrolac.
The final name impressed Chet most.
It was Humphrey Thorneau, and the man fulfilled all specifications.
Thorneau's name, like his industries, was widely known. He was a man whose
slogan was one word: results. And every factory that Thorneau controlled in part
or whole, produced those results.
Under Thorneau management, aircraft factories sped their output. So did the
plants that handled instruments, or products needed in anything from shipping to
munitions. Thorneau was the man who opened bottlenecks wide. Having helped on
such a task in the Pyrolac factory, Chet was more than pleased to meet the man
who had done the same, single-handed, in every case that required his attention.
The mere name Thorneau told Chet why this individual dominated the group of
customers. They had automatically chosen Thorneau as their spokesman. Meeting
Thorneau face to face, Chet was impressed by a blunt visage with keen, though
deep-set eyes; lips that carried a friendly, understanding smile, yet delivered
a heavy-toned greeting. In Thorneau's handclasp, Chet could feel a grip that
