"Listen," he said. "You can stop selling Bellaver. I'm not looking for a job. Where's Shearing?"
"Oh, forget Shearing," said Vernon, impatient in his turn. "You never heard of him until a few days ago."
"He helped me."
"For reasons of his own."
"What's your reason? And Bellaver's?"
"Mr. Bellaver is interested in all social problems. And I'm a Lazarite myself, so naturally I have a sympathy for others like me." Vernon sat up, putting his glass aside on a low table. He had drunk hardly any of the contents.
"Shearing," he said, "is a member of a gang who some time ago stole a particular property of Bellaver Incorporated. You're not involved in the quarrel, Mr. Hyrst. I'd advise you, as a friend, to stay not involved."
Hyrst's mind and his ears were stretched and quivering, straining to hear a cry for help just a little too far away.
"What kind of a property?" asked Hyrst.
Vernon shrugged. "The Bellavers have never said what kind, for fairly obvious reasons."