"We don't require references or credentials, Mr. Manning. They tell us what business they're in and that's about all we ask them."
"And Forsythe said he was in the manufacturing and sales business, right?"
"Actually a little more than that. He mentioned something about being in the antique business, too."
Manning felt incredulous. "Didn't you think it strange that a whole manufacturing business could fit in an office that was no bigger than this one, let alone an antique business? His carburetor is made of metal; it requires stamping, machining, spraying. A whole factory full of machines would be required!"
The agent started to sweat again.
"I think I told you that we don't ask them detailed questions, Mr. Manning. In this case it seems obvious that he's using the office only as a sales outlet. Somebody else supplies him with the carburetors."
Manning bit savagely into the end of his cigar.
"I thought of that. I've had his office shadowed for the last week. He's had everything else delivered to him—refrigerators and typewriters and sofas and stoves. But no carburetors."
The agent looked a little smug. "It's a free country, Mr. Manning, he can order what he wants. And if your men didn't see any carburetors, then I would start to worry about their reliability. Forsythe must get his carburetors from somewhere and he must have them delivered."
Manning flushed and stood up to leave. "And if I were you, I'd start to worry about whom I rented office space to. And I'd start to worry about the condition I kept my buildings in. I would've sworn that there were at least a dozen violations of the civic fire ordinance there."