CHAPTER ELEVEN
As he quietly unlatched his front door and entered his house, Jack Pierce felt smug and self satisfied. Now that Jean's delivery boy gigolo had been scared away, and that wise-guy reporter, Bill Fogarty had been taken care after a fashion, things were shaping up again. He'd be an I. E. C. Vice-President yet!
Now, he'd have to straighten out his ever-loving wife, Jean, the delivery-boy's hump-delight.
"Jean, where are you, Jean?" he called.
"Out here in the garden," she replied.
He went out to her. He had built the Japanese style sunken rock-garden for her a few years ago. It was circular, twenty feet in diameter, completely surrounded with a thick hedge of intermeshed evergreens. The garden was completely secluded, and, short of taking a helicopter ride, nobody could sp
