Harry Trader, a barrel-chested individual, with the odor of stale perspiration and tobacco clinging to him, was still in his office, making out some reports. He surveyed his two visitors with cold, gray eyes.
“Just where do you two guys fit into this picture?” he asked.
“We’re making an investigation,” Mason told him.
Trader slipped a plug of tobacco from the pocket of his stained overalls, cut off a slice and inserted it in his mouth. With calm deliberation, he replaced the tobacco, shut the knife, and shoved it down deep in his pocket. “Yeah,” he said. “When a guy starts asking questions, he’s making an investigation. That don’t mean anything. Are you representing Packard?”
“No, I’m not,” Mason said. “I’m investigating another angle of the case.”
“Which angle?”
Mason said, “An angle which is quite incidental.”
Trader rolled the piece of tobacco about in his mouth through tightly clenched lips, and said, “Uh huh. Thanks for tellin’ me.”
“Did you take Packard to the hospital?” Mason asked.
“Yes.”