Blake found himself quivering. “Cranks,” he muttered fiercely. “Definitely cranks. Definitely not legitimate tenants.”
When he arrived at his office door early next morning, he found Mr. Tohu and Mr. Bohu waiting for him. The tall man held out a key.
“Under the terms of our lease, Mr. Blake, a key to our main office must be in the possession of the resident agent for the building. We just had our locksmith make up this copy. I trust it is satisfactory?”
Sydney Blake leaned against the wall, waiting for his bones to reacquire marrow. “Lease?” he whispered. “Did the home office give you a lease?”
“Yes,” said the tall man. “Without much trouble, we were able to achieve a what-do-you-call-it.”
“A meeting of minds,” the tiny man supplied from the region of his companion’s knees. “A feast of reason. A flow of soul. There are no sticklers for numerical subtleties in your home office, young man.”
“May I see the lease?” Blake managed to get out.
The tall man reached into his right-hand overcoat pocket and brought up a familiar-looking folded piece of paper.
It was the regulation lease. For the thirteenth floor in the McGowan Building. But there was one small difference.
Gladstone Jimm had inserted a rider:…the landlord is renting a floor that both the tenant and landlord know does not exist, but the title to which has an intrinsic value to the tenant; which value is equal to the rent he will pay…