In Los Angeles, however, things were different. Southern California was the “boob” end of the State, where people speculated with penny stocks. Here a great deal of Apex Crown had been unloaded in past years, and yesterday had wakened the moribund stock. Here the price had closed at five and a half. Twelve thousand shares had been quietly picked up at two and three cents before the market had discovered the activity. “Somebody’s got agents at work, all right,” said Bowen grimly. “And they offered the little girl as high as twenty! Wonder if Apex Crown broke into ruby ore? No, that’s not likely over on those holdings. Something’s going on secretly.” At that moment the telephone jingled. “Yep, this is Bowen speaking. Who? Say it again. Oh, Dickover! Thought you were out of town—” “I was,” returned the squeaky voice of the fat man. “Now I’m back. And I want to see you right now. I’m coming up to your room.” “Come ahead.” 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?” “How much is it worth to you to know? I can tell you before ten o’clock.” “You can? What d’ you know about it?” “A friend of mine holds a block of ten thousand shares. Was offered twenty cents for it yesterday. Asked my advice, then transferred the stock to me to be held or sold on my judgment.” “Ten thousand shares, eh?” Dickover’s eyes narrowed. “Give you thirty.” “I’m not selling. Do you want to know who’s buying, or don’t you? How much for my information? I’ll find out who wants this block—if you offer enough. I owe a bill here.” Dickover grunted. Then he emitted a falsetto chuckle. “Five hundred. Waiting for you at ten o’clock.” “And your interest in the property?” Dickover grunted, turned, and left the room.