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make this as
plain as I can. We are not engaging you to perfect a conspiracy to
obstruct justice. I am not hiring you to do that, nor have I
suggested it at any time. Do you agree?"
    What could I say? "I guess so."
    "No," he said firmly. "That's not good
enough. I want it understood that you are being hired to conduct an
investigation to determine whether Quentin's death might compromise
our company's image and standing. We are not hiring you to cover
anything up. On the contrary, we want to determine the truth of the
matter."
    I almost said, "And if that truth turns out to
be disagreeable?" But I didn't. I just said, "I
understand."
    "Good," Glendora said. "We will make
arrangements to fly you out to L.A."
    "There are a couple of problems with that. I'm
not licensed to practice in California, and I don't have any contacts
on the L.A. police force."
    "We will make arrangements," he said again.
    "Dover lived in California?"
    "He lived in Indian Hill. He sometimes worked on
the coast--both coasts, actually. His wife and mother are here in the
city. You will undoubtedly want to talk with them and with the
members of Quentin's team. I'll have Jack arrange that for you. Jack
will be your contact here and on the coast. And of course I will be
available if you should need me." He folded his hands on the
desk. "I guess that covers it. All except for your salary. We
will pay you twice your normal rate, plus all reasonable travel and
other expenses. Is that agreeable?" He extended his right hand.
    "It's downright generous," I said, shaking
with him.
    "Good. Welcome to the fold, Mr. Stoner."
 
    3
    I found Jack Moon sitting, cross-legged, on a
visitor's bench beside the secretary's booth. He patted the cushion
beside him and I sat down.
    "So how'd it go?" he asked.
    "All right. Glendora says I'm part of the fold."
    He grinned at me. "You sold out, huh? Well, I
guess everybody's got his price. What did he offer you? Gold, jewels,
women?"
    "Just plain old dollars.
    "Yeah? How many?"
    I glanced at him. His pally voice said that he was
only kidding, but something in his clever eyes really wanted to know.
When he saw that I'd figured that out, he ducked his head.
    "Guess it's none of my business. Did His Nibs
have anything to say about me?"
    "You're my contact."
    "I figured," he said without enthusiasm.
"Well, you must have a few questions you want to ask, so let's
go down to my office and start cleaning up the mess that Quentin left
behind him."
    I had a few hundred questions I wanted to ask Jack,
but when we got to his office--a small, windowless room furnished
with a Steelcase desk and a padded desk chair and one visitor's
chair--the first one that came to mind was, "What kind of man is
Frank Glendora?"
    "Frank?" Moon scratched his curly black
beard. "Frank is one of those guys who didn't miss his calling
in life. He's a born company man. White, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant,
sober, pliable, loyal, and discreet. United hired him out of college
at the end of the Second World War, and he's never forgotten the
favor. Or ever let anyone else forget. Frank's got what you could
call a case of hard-core gratitude. The company gave him a home when
times were hard and that makes anything the company wants to do O.K.
by him. Jesus, you should hear him when he gets started on the
subject. It's like it never occurred to him that some of us don't
want to stick around for thirty-five years of regular promotions and
Blue Cross, just to end up as head of production for a corporation
that sponsors 'The Young Interns.'"
    "He's United's head of production?"
    Moon nodded. "Yeah. Why are you asking about
Frank?"
    "No reason," I said. But I had a reason. I
was trying to figure out what Frank Glendora really expected me to do
if I unlocked the wrong door and found that scandal he seemed to be
afraid of.
    "He's relatively honest," Moon said, "if
that's what you're wondering about. He can be a bastard when the
stakes are high enough, but then who can't?"
    "All right,"