A slow, friendly smile spread across the big fighter's heavy-featured face; his deep-set, widely spaced, blue eyes were troubled. His gaze was direct, as he studied the private investigator's face. He took the seat Jay pointed to and sat up ramrod straight in it, his body tense, unrelaxed.

"Well, Mr. Ballard… I haven't been robbed of the family jewels… yet…" he joked, lamely, his face settling into grim lines.

Jay laughed, heartily, while Arnie grinned, now, shyly, pleased that he, at least, appeared to be light-hearted. The detective surveyed the blonde giant across the desk from him and knew he could like this man. There was that easy-going directness about him… and there was the demonstrated ability to remain cool and collected, under stress. He had shown that several times in some thirty professional bouts.

"I saw your last fight… with BoBo Wilson…" Jay mentioned, trying to feel out the reason for the boxer's visit to his office.

"That's great… I'm awfully glad you did. It was a hard fight all the way… believe me! Wilson's a good man… a good fighter… hard to beat… one of the best in the business!" Arnie said. "… But, according to some people… I was supposed to lose that fight!"

"Well… I don't think Wilson had a chance… from the opening bell… even if he was favored, by the bettors!" Jay told him. "You were in good condition… and you were right in there, every round… carrying the fight to him… putting on the pressure…"

"Thanks… Mr. Ballard… but I'm…"

"Just call me Jay…" the detective interrupted.

"Okay… Jay, then…" He showed obvious tension at being interrupted. "… But as I was saying… I'm talking about people… that wanted me to lose it… on purpose!" Arnie got it out. His face was unsmiling, his big, square jaw set.

"You mean… somebody wanted you to throw that fight?"