“And?”
“He hollers the law’s up there hunting for the same gent, so will you kindly hop up quick-like?”
A little twist-of-the-wrist-ing and the face of my Longines was a reasonable facsimile of a mirror; good enough so I could see a big maroon hat receding toward the inner door going through to the credit office.
“Better, I guess. Find Mister Duman, tell him I’m going up to the sixth.” I moved toward the main desk, so if they shunted her away in Credit, she’d still have a chance to scamper out through the door where I’d been standing.
Zingy went. Fran Lane came back. “You didn’t think there was any Key Permission, did you?”
“No,” I admitted. “Isn’t even any permittee.”
She peered. The little office was empty.
“Too bad.” I smiled. “She must have slid out through the credit office.”
Fran nodded solemnly. “You want me to look for her, but not too hard.”
“Not unless she has some of her wares with her.”