Bowen struggled into his clothes hurriedly, wondering why Dickover was seeking him. After that ten-thousand-share block? No, Dickover wasn’t buying low-grade stuff.
Five minutes later the fat man entered the room, puffing a little and eying Bowen with angry suspicion. He refused to sit down.
“See here!” he broke out suddenly.
“When I slipped you a tip to take a flier in Apex Crown I didn’t mean for you to jump into the market with both feet! Confound you, Bowen, what’s back of this? Why are you buying stock all over California?”
Bowen’s eyes twinkled as he surveyed his visitor.
“Guess you’re on the wrong track, Dickover,” he drawled. “When you told me about Apex Crown, I figured you were handing me a bum steer. I haven’t bought a share of the stuff. Straight!”
“What? You mean it?” Dickover said.
Bowen laughed easily. “I’ll prove it. I haven’t ten dollars to my name, and if the hotel wanted me to pay my bill I’d have to work it out in jail. I’d look fine going around buying stock, I would!”
There was no doubting his words. Dickover mopped his round face.
“Damn it!” he said. “Who’s doing it?”