Cut Thin to Win

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I opened the door, walked in, nodded to the receptionist and crossed over to the door marked: DONALD LAM, Private.

Elsie Brand, my secretary, said, “Did you notice the man who’s waiting in the outer office?”

“Not particularly. Why?”

“He wants to see you.”

“What about?”

“Something that is so highly confidential he won’t discuss it with anyone except you.”

“What’s his name?”

She handed me a card. The ink embossing had been piled on so thick a blind man could have read it with the tips of his fingers.

The card read, DAWSON RE-DEBENTURE DISCOUNT SECURITY COMPANY. Down in the left hand corner were the words, Clayton Dawson, Assistant to the President.

The address of the company was Denver, Colorado.

“All right,” I said to Elsie, “let’s see him.”

Elsie buzzed the receptionist and said, “Mr. Lam is in now. Have Mr. Dawson come in.”

A few moments later the receptionist opened the door for Dawson.

He was medium height, around fifty, wearing clothes that were quiet and subdued in pattern but of a quality which made them stand out. There was a rich luster about the cloth.

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