Needled lacquer, that's what. It reminds me of the way they doctored booze in
the prohibition days. Only this time it isn't done to make the stuff bring a
better price.
"This needle job was meant to ruin these Pyrolac shipments, and it did.
Whatever stuff was injected, it turned the lacquer into a lot of gummy goo.
Those holes were jabbed right through the can lids, then plugged with wax, a
simple smear job. That could have happened in your department, Conroy."
Chet met Marquette's impeachment with a distant stare. His voice, though,
was emphatic:
"It couldn't have -"
"And why not?"
"Because," began Chet, "I check all those containers personally when they
ride past on the belt."
"And then?"
"They go into the shipping room, where they're waxed and stacked, ready for
removal to the loading platform -"
Chet halted suddenly. He'd stated the very fact that Marquette wanted;
namely that the inspection preceded the simple waxing process that solidly
affixed the labels and inspection stamps, along with making the Pyrolac cans
rustproof, should they encounter moisture during shipment. In simpler terms,
Chet had marked himself as the logical man behind the sabotage occurring in the
Pyrolac factory!
Logic appealed to Chet Conroy. He decided that he could use it in his own
behalf.
"Those shipments travel in freight cars," reminded Chet. "It would be easy
for people to get at the containers during transit. Plenty of time to jab them
with the neutralizer, apply another coat of wax -"
"Hold it, Conroy," interjected Marquette. "We bolt the doors of those box
cars and seal them. Our operatives ride the caboose of the main line freight and
check the cars when they're picked up at the junction. We use thorough methods,
Conroy."
Looking at the faces around him, Chet saw silent accusation. The pudgy face
of Biggs was typical of the lot. The others seemed to be matching the expression
shown by the president of Pyrolac, with one exception. In Chet's estimate, that
exception counted more than the rule.
Humphrey Thorneau wasn't committing himself for or against Chet Conroy.
Rather, Thorneau was taking keen interest in the verbal duel between Chet and
Marquette. Thorneau reminded Chet of a judge on a bench, the way his deep-set
eyes took in the scene. Right now, he was looking at Chet, as though expecting
him to even the score.
There wasn't any smile on Thorneau's lips, but his expression was at least
impartial, if not sympathetic. So Chet decided to prove himself worthy of
Thorneau's expectations.
"I'd like to analyze this stuff," declared Chet, gesturing to the muggy
glassload that had once passed as Pyrolac. "I want to find out just what's wrong
with it."
"You've already told us." Marquette's voice carried the trace of a sneer.
"You spoke of some neutralizer."
"That was your idea," reminded Chet. "You said the stuff was needled, so I
took your word for it. But that was before you told me that you kept tabs on the
