"So flattered at this speedy recognition," he says, airy and smiling. "You may know the tribe, but not the individual. Permit me to introduce myself—Anthony Ford."
I gave a start and turned it into a stretch. So this was the wonderful Tony Ford—a slick customer all right.
"That don't convey anything to my mind," I answered. "A rose by any other name still has its thorns."
"For more data—I'm the managing clerk of the Azalea Woods Estates, see seventeenth floor, first door to your left."
"Ain't I heard you were closed up there?"
"We are. This may be the last time you'll ever see me, so look well at me. Er—what did you say your name was?"
"One of the unemployed!" I said, falling back in my chair and rolling my eyes up at the ceiling. "Hangs round my switchboard and hasn't the price of a dinner in his jeans."
"I was too hasty," said he; "this isn't your first job."
"If your place is shut what are you doing here—not at this present moment, the actions of fools are an old story to me—but in the building?"
"Closing up the business. Did you think I was nosing round for an unlocked door or an open safe? Does this fresh, innocent countenance look like the mug of a burglar?" He grinned and thrusting a hand into his pocket rattled the loose silver there. "Hear that? Has a sound like a dinner, hasn't it?"