The office was on the twenty-third floor of a big office building in mid-town New York, room 2307. It came with all the standard equipment, desks, filing cabinets, chairs, phones, an attractive secretary.
“I’d like to see Mr. Sertant,” Tedor told the secretary, who was leafing through one magazine with half a dozen others waiting their turn.
“Isn’t a very busy office,” she told him flushing slightly.
“I didn’t think it would be.”
“You know Mr. Sertant?”
“We’re old friends,” Tedor assured her. It wasn’t the truth, for he’d never met Sertant, although he had heard of the Agent.
“Then can you do me a favor, Mister?”
“Maybe.”
“What does he do? I mean, what’s Mr. Sertant’s business? The way he snoops around people sometimes, you’d think he was a private detective. You know, like Mike Ha
