shipments during transit."
Again, Chet had scored. Even Marquette looked interested. But Chet was more
concerned with winning Thorneau's approval, for he calculated that this big man
could prove a real friend.
"Pyrolac goes through several processes," reminded Chet. "Anywhere along
the line, the introduction of adulterated chemicals could ruin the formula. It's
my job to inspect from start to finish, but I have to allow for the integrity of
the various departments."
Hiram Biggs started to say something, but Marquette waved for silence.
Bluntly the Fed asked:
"Then what about these plugged containers?"
"They might be a blind," returned Chet, promptly. "Maybe the caps are
punched and waxed before this factory receives them."
Again Biggs opened his mouth but shut it promptly when Marquette picked up
the glass of muggy fluid. However, Marquette wasn't going to suggest that Biggs
taste some of the faulty Pyrolac. Instead, the Fed handed the glass to Chet, and
said:
"Analyze it, Conroy. We'll wait for your report."
Triumphantly, Chet bowed himself from the office, smiling at the dumb
stares of Biggs and the Pyrolac customers. For again, Chet saw a face that was
an exception. In the gaze of Humphrey Thorneau, Chet saw the approbation that
one keen thinker could give another.
Crime had pointed its finger at Chet Conroy, and he was ready to nullify
that accusation, confident that his proof of innocence would be accepted by the
man whose opinion counted most: Humphrey Thorneau. But Chet's confidence would
not be enough to overcome the mass of evidence which would soon pile up against
him.
CHAPTER II
THE FRAME THAT FAILED
WHEN Chet Conroy reached his little office, he placed the glass of muddy
liquid on his battered desk. Stepping outside the door, he examined some gallon
cans of Pyrolac that were coming through on the belt. There wasn't a thing wrong
with the lids that Chet could see. Still, the needle holes, if present, wouldn't
show while the cans were sealed.
Soon the shipping crew would be back. But Chet doubted that any of them
could spike the containers during the waxing job. There were so many that they'd
keep tally on each other and Chet knew the whole crowd personally. Honest
fellows, who couldn't possibly be harboring more than one crook among their
number, if any.
Back in the office, Chet looked from the window. The yard was dark, except
around the loading platform. There, Marquette's men were flashing lights in one
box car while others were bolting the door of another, applying the heavy seals
that the Fed had mentioned. Chet had never watched that operation before. His
own work kept him too occupied.
Opening the desk drawer, Chet found a slip of paper that he wanted and
smiled, despite his worry. The slip carried the combination to the safe in the
