hted up and LaVerne's piquant face faded in.
"The call Mr. Tracy was expecting from Operative Wiseman."

"Put him on," the Chief said, lacing his plump fingers over his stomach.

Jerry's face appeared in the screen. He was obviously parked on the
street now. He said, "Subject has disappeared into this office building,
Tracy. For the past fifteen minutes he's kinda looked as though the
day's work was through and since this dump could hardly be anybody's
home, he must be reporting to his higher-up."

"Let's see the building," Tracy said.

The portable screen was directed in such manner that a disreputable
appearing building, obviously devoted to fourth-rate businesses, was
centered.

"O.K.," Tracy said. "I'll be over. You can knock off, Jerry. Oh, except
for one thing. Subject's name is Warren Dickens. Just for luck, get a
complete dossier on him. I doubt if he's got a criminal or subversive
record, but you never know."

Jerry said, "Right," and faded.

Frank Tracy came to his feet and knocked the rest of his pipe out into
the gigantic ashtray on his boss' desk. "Well, I suppose the next step's
mine."

"Check back with me as soon as you know anything more," the Chief said.
He wheezed a sigh as though sorry the interview was over and that he'd
have to go back to his desk chores, but shifted his bulk and took up a
sheaf of papers.

Just as Tracy got to the door, the Chief said, "Oh, yes. Easy on the
rough stuff, Tracy. I've been hearing some disquieting reports about
some of the overenthusiastic bullyboys on your team. We wouldn't want
such material to get in the telly-casts."

_Lard bottom_, Tracy growled inwardly as he left. Did the Chief think he
liked violence? Did anyone in his right mind like violence?

* * *

Frank Tracy looked up at the mid-century type office building. He was
somewhat surprised that the edifice still remained. Where did the owners
ever find profitable tenants? What business could be so small these days
that it would be based in such quarters? However, here it was.

The lobby was shabby. There was no indication on the list of tenants of
the firm he was seeking, nor was there a porter. The elevator was out of
repair.

He did it the hard way, going from door to door, entering, hat in hand,
apologetically, and saying, "Pardon me. You're the people who sell the
soap?" They kept telling him no until he reached the third floor and a
door to an office even smaller than