“John Tingley.”
“Where do you live?”
“310 West 61st Street.”
Peter obtained and wrote down the names and addresses of the trio. He then went to the “office” of the company, which was now opened.
“Is this an incorporated company?” he asked of the man tilted back in a chair.
“No,” said the man, adding two chair legs to terra firma, and looking at Peter suspiciously.
“Who owns it?” Peter queried.
“I’m the boss.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“That’s what I answered.”