Irene shook her head. "I don't think so. There aren't any seams."
Peter frowned and took a pair of scissors from his desk drawer. He took one sleeve of the suit and tried to cut it. It wouldn't cut. He jabbed at it with the point. The suit stubbornly refused to cut, snag, or tear.
"I wonder," he then said thoughtfully, "if this Rolath Guelph would have a suit made for me; one that I could wear." He scribbled out a note and put it in with the next batch of stuff.
The reply came back almost immediately.
I can't promise anything, Mr. Merton, but I'll see what I can do. R. G.
"Well, that's that," sighed Peter. "I'll just have to wait."
Another week passed, and Peter got no word from Rolath Guelph. He did, however, get word from another group of men.
He was sitting comfortably in his office, pondering on what to do with all his money, when the intercom on his desk buzzed.
"There are some gentlemen from the Treasury Department to see you, Mr. Merton," said Irene's voice. She sounded scared.
"Send them in," Peter said. Come to think of it, he felt a little uneasy, himself.