"You've got a man registered here," Fredericks said, in crisp, official tones. "He gave the name of John P. Jones—"
The clerk was consulting a card file. "Yes, sir," he said brightly. "Room 1014."
"He's at work on an FBI matter," Fredericks said. "Naturally, this is private and confidential—"
"Naturally," the clerk said in a subdued tone. "But I—"
"I'm assigned to work with him," Fredericks said. "You understand."
"Of course, sir," the clerk said, trying to look as if he did.
Fredericks took a deep breath. "I know he's here, but I don't know his room number," he said. "Some red-tape mixup."
"He's in 1014," the clerk said hopefully.
Fredericks shook his head. "Not that," he said. "The real room number. Look, I've got to get to him immediately—"
"Of course, sir," the clerk said. "Identification, sir?"