Sydney Blake lit a cigarette and drew on it carefully. A whole floor! You certainly couldn’t judge by appearances.
“I’m sorry,” he told them. “You can’t have the thirteenth floor. But—”
“Why not?” the tall man breathed. He looked angry.
“Chiefly because there isn’t any thirteenth floor. Many buildings don’t have one. Since tenants consider them unlucky, we call the floor above the twelfth the fourteenth. If you gentlemen will look at our directory, you will see that there are no offices listed beginning with the number 13. However, if you’re interested in that much space, I believe we can accommodate you on the sixth—”
“It seems to me,” the tall man said very mournfully, “that if someone wants to rent a particular floor, the least a renting agent can do is let him have it.”
“The very least,” the tiny man agreed. “Especially since no complicated mathematical questions are being asked in the first place.”
Blake held on to his temper with difficulty and let out a friendly chuckle instead. “I would be very happy to rent the thirteenth floor to you—if we had one. But I can’t very well rent something to you that doesn’t exist, now can I?” He held his hands out, palms up, and gave them another we-are-three-intelligent-gentlemen-who-are-quite-close-in-spirit chuckle. “The twelfth and fourteenth floors both have very little unoccupied space, I am happy to say. But I’m certain that another part of the McGowan Building will do you very nicely.” Abruptly he remembered that protocol had almost been violated. “ My name,” he told them, touching the desk plate lightly with a manicured forefinger, “is Sydney Blake. And who, might I—”
“Tohu and Bohu,” the tall man said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Tohu, I said, and Bohu. I’m Tohu.” He pointed at his minuscule twin. “He’s Bohu. Or, as a matter of occasional fact, vice versa.”