As she rides by

Frank?”
    “Of course, sir,” Frank said, shaking in his shoes by then.
    “It’s just a question of procedure, Frank,” I said. “Of office routin ‘, stuff like that.” I smiled at him; he gave me a nervous grimace in return, not reassured at all. “Who does what, for example?”
    “Who does what what?” he said.
    “In your department, Frank, who does what? How many are there in pensions, anyway?”
    “Counting secretarial?” he said.
    “Why not?” I said.
    “Eh, well, of course Mr. Michaelson’s not expected back in the office till the end of the week, and Mr. Gillespie’s in Europe and one of the receptionists, Sally, she’s up in Oregon helping her mother move...”
    “Roughly, Frank, roughly,” I said before Howieson got at him and scared him even more, as I could see he was just about to.
    “Well, surprisingly few, considering,” Frank said.
    “Considering what, Frank?” I said.
    “Considering the amount of work involved,” he said.
    “How much work is involved, Frank?” I said.
    “Well, at my level,” he said, “there is the paying out monthly to some forty-two hundred separate entities, with all that that involves— making out the checks accurately, addressing forty-two hundred envelopes accurately, franking them, inserting the checks, then mailing them. Naturally, all of these steps are now done automatically by computer, including printing the checks—all but the actual envelope-stuffing, that is, the girls do that.”
    “They would,” I said.
    “Then there’s the whole other side of it,” he said. “The monies coming in and their disposition.”
    “Mr. Gillespie,” I said, “the one living it up in gay Paree or wherever he is, is he involved with the other other side of it, the investment side?”
    “Why yes he is,” Frank said. “And he’s in Berne , actually.”
    “Mr. Daniel,” said Howieson from his desk. “Am I right in thinking all this might take a while, as in several hours?”
    “Easily,” I said. Frank snuck an unhappy look at his watch.
    Then I am homeward bound,” Mr. Howieson said. He got up, went over and put his glass in the small sink, then came over to us and shook both our hands. “Frank, good of you to come in, it shall not be forgotten. Mr. Daniel, I’ll be available at home tomorrow from seven to eight-thirty, in my car from eight-thirty to nine, and here thereafter. I left all three numbers on the desk. Needless to say I await your call with extreme impatience. So: Happy hunting, or do I mean unhappy?”
    Out strode Mr. Howieson. Frank relaxed visibly, only to tense up again two seconds later when Mr. Howieson popped his head back in the door.
    “Tom,” he said. “Dial four. He’ll order any food you might want, pay for it, and bring it up. He’ll open locked premises. You know where the bar is.”
    “Always seem to,” I said. He grinned and vanished. “Speaking of bars, Frank, what’s yours?” After considerable hemming and hawing, he finally allowed as he might have a weak vodka and tonic, thanks, with just a zest of lemon if there was some. There wasn’t, so I doubled up on the vodka instead. “Now,” I said when we were both settled down comfortably again, drinks close to hand, “let’s try again, Frank. Who does what, and in particular, what does Mary Jones do and what did Jonathan Flint do under her, if I may put it that way without causing any blushes?”
    Frank summoned up the ghost of a smile, which was pretty good going, all things considered, as from where he sat, being the immediate superior of the names that were floating about, he was potentially in deep shit.
    He took a long swallow of his drink, then looked at it quizzically. “Do you know anything about computers, Mr. Daniel?”
    “Vic,” I said. “Call me Vic. I’ve got a little PC in the office so I know a bit about them.”
    “Well, what Mrs. Jones does,” he said, “you could call a combination of bookkeeping and programming.”
    “Frank,” I said with a sigh, “we do not seem to be getting anywhere. We are not being specific, Frank. What precisely does Mary do during her working hours, Frank? Does she stuff those envelopes? Does she enter entries? Does she sign things? Does she drop the outgoing mail down the mail chute? Does she steal paper clips? Talk to me, Frank. Better yet, let’s take our booze down to your department and you can tell me there. Do we need Tom for that?”
    “No, I’ve got keys,” he said.
    “I think