Todrank laughed. The laugh was hard, sharp.
"You'll have your job cut out to get in touch with him! That lad wants facts, not personalities. He figures that the whole crowd of you are a gang of cut-throat financial crooks, and wants to keep away from you."
"But it's absurd!" cried Armstrong.
"Sure. Our jail system is absurd too, but the fact doesn't empty Sing Sing," came the caustic reply. "You act, and act quick! I know Tom Windsor, and he's the only and original leader of the bloodhound chorus, once he gets after a crook. And he really thinks you're one. Don't mention my name to him."
"All right, Todrank, and many thanks. Is Windsor in town?"
"He's at the Pennsylvania, or was. No telling now; he's a vigorous young devil."
"Good. Thanks again."
"Good luck!"
Todrank rang off.
Armstrong began to pace up and down, wrestling with this information. He found himself lifted out of his lethargy, found the old hot anger running and leaping again, found the apathetic and muffling impotency stripped suddenly away. The very mystery of this new blow roused him to fight. In what way could he be reached for any illicit operation of Food Products? He knew of none; yet Todrank had supplied the hint, and he knew better than to disregard the warning. He turned, and found Jimmy Wren staring at him from the corner. Abruptly, memory wakened within him.