"Naturally, all this is not being shouted from the housetops," Tipton
continued. "Fact is, it's a minor infraction of ethics for me to mention
it to you."
"I'll file it in the burn-box," Rand promised. "What was the matter;
didn't Premix want to merge?"
"Lane Fleming didn't. And since he held fifty-two per cent of the common
stock himself, try and do anything about it."
"Anything short of retiring Fleming to the graveyard, that is," Rand
amended. "That would do for a murder-motive, very nicely.... What were
Fleming's objections to the merger?"
"Mainly sentimental. Premix was his baby, or, at least, his kid brother.
His father started mixing pancake flour back before the First World War,
and Lane Fleming peddled it off a spring wagon. They worked up a nice
little local trade, and finally a state-wide wholesale business. They
incorporated in the early twenties, and then, after the old man died,
Lane Fleming hired an advertising agency to promote his products, and
built up a national distribution, and took on some sidelines. Then,
during the late Mr. Chamberlain's 'Peace in our time,' he picked up a
refugee Czech chemist and foods-expert named Anton Varcek, who whipped
up a lot of new products.
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