Jerry, at pistol point, was herding the four assistants from the room, taking the houseman along with them.
Tracy looked at Moncure, speculatively, then dipped into his pockets for pipe and tobacco. He gestured to a chair with his head. "Sit down, Mr. Moncure. The jig is up."
"The jig?" the other blurted in a fine rage. "I insist—"
"O.K., O.K., you'll get your explanation." Tracy sat down on a couch himself and sized up the older man, even as he lit his pipe.
Moncure, still breathing heavily in his indignation, took control of himself well enough to be seated. "Well, sir?" he bit out.
Tracy said curtly, "Frank Tracy, Bureau of Economic Subversion."
"Bureau of Economic Subversion!" Moncure said indignantly. "What in the name of all that's holy is the Bureau of Economic Subversion?"
Tracy pointed at him with the pipe stem. "I'll ask a few questions first, please. How many branches of your nefarious outfit are presently under operation?"
The other glared at him, but Tracy merely returned the pipe to his mouth and glowered back.
Finally Moncure snapped, "There is no purpose in hiding any of our affairs. We have opened preliminary offices only in Chicago and New York. Freer Enterprises is but in its infancy."