"I'd like to ask questions about one Harry Forsythe; he's running the Forsythe Carburetor Company in your building on North Clark Street."
The building agent looked cautious. "Is something wrong?"
"Could be," Manning said slowly. "We're investigating him."
"I'm not my brother's keeper, Mr. Manning." The agent laughed, a little hollowly. "You know how it is. We'll rent to almost anybody who comes along. They don't always tell us full details of their business although, believe me, we try to rent to only true Americans."
Manning felt tired.
"We're not chasing commies. This is just a simple case of fraudulent use of the mails. Nothing that will involve you in any way."
The man dabbed at his forehead with a light blue, silk handkerchief. He looked a lot more cheerful.
"We'll be glad to cooperate in any way we can."
Manning helped himself to a cigar from the open box on the desk. "Thanks. You can begin right now. Did Forsythe present any credentials or references when he rented his office?"
The agent held up his hands.