“Aa-aah, that guy,” the operator said. “He was blaming me for the blueprints of the building. If you ask me, he’s got too much college education. What have I got to do with the blueprints?”
“I don’t know,” the starter sighed. “I sure as hell don’t know.”
“I’ll ask you another question,” the operator went on, with a little more certainty, now that he saw his oratorical way, so to speak. “What have the building blueprints got to do with me?”
Blake closed the office door and leaned against it. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair.
“Miss Kerstenberg,” he said at last in a strangled voice. “What do you think? Those cranks that were here yesterday—those two crazy old men—the home office went and rented the thirteenth floor to them!”
She looked up from her typewriter. “It did?”
“And believe it or not, they just went upstairs and took possession of their offices.”
She smiled at him, a rapid woman-smile. “How nice” she said. And went back to her typing.
The morning after that, what Blake saw in the lobby sent him scurrying to the telephone. He dialed the home office. “Mr. Gladstone Jimm,” he demanded breathlessly.
“Listen, Mr. Jimm. This is Sydney Blake at the McGowan. Mr. Jimm, this is getting serious! They’re moving in furniture today. Office furniture. And I just saw some men go upstairs to install telephones. Mr. Jimm, they’re really moving in!”