The bottom drawer was something else again. Invoices between the Forsythe Company and the Timely Trading Corporation of Oswego City, New America. Shipments and receipted bills. Manning looked at them blankly.
There wasn't any Oswego City, New America.
And Forsythe didn't pay off in money. He paid off in refrigerators.
And electric stoves.
And furniture.
And sports cars.
It didn't make sense, Manning thought, unless it was some kind of cover-up.
There was a rattle at the closed door and Manning ducked behind a crate. The door swung open and Forsythe came in, followed by another man. Forsythe flicked on the light switch and made himself comfortable at the desk. The stranger, a younger, somewhat smaller man, glanced shrewdly around the office.
"You don't have much of a layout here, Forsythe."
Manning watched the stranger carefully. He had the same sort of detached attitude that Forsythe seemed to have; the attitude you had when you went to a museum, Manning thought suddenly.