"What do we do now?" Mogin said. "Well, we could go to a double feature and kill the afternoon that way. Or we could go up and visit this Lasseroe." Mogin shrugged. * * * * * It was a new apartment house near Morningside Heights. It was elegant and smooth and important. "Do I wait?" Mogin said. "Maybe you better come in with me." They went in and rang Lasseroe's number and he must have been expecting somebody because he buzzed an answer right away and the door opened. When Frey and Mogin stepped out of the elevator, Lasseroe was standing at the door of his apartment and when he saw them he expected them to walk right by. But they came up to him. He was a man of medium height and he had a good build for a man of forty-five. He had a square, rigid-boned face, and deep-set dark grey eyes, and a good head of black hair threaded with silver. He was wearing a long collared silk shirt and an expensive cravat and an expensive silk lounging robe. "Hello, Lasseroe," Frey said. "I beg your pardon--" "You don't have to beg anybody's pardon," Frey said. "All you have to do is answer a few questions. If you don't mind we won't waste time out here in the hall. We'll go into your room and talk." "I presume you are thieves?" Lasseroe said. He wasn't excited. "No, we ain't thieves and we don't like funny boys," Mogin said. Lasseroe walked into the apartment and Frey and Mogin followed. "Now, gentlemen?" "My name is Frey. This is my assistant, Mr. Mogin." Lasseroe ignored Mogin. He said, "What do you want with me?" Frey began to talk. He didn't look at Lasseroe. He looked out the window and talked slowly, taking his time. He said, "You got a nice business, Mr. Lasseroe. You are an expert appraiser of art, and you take good fees from various dealers. Sometimes you hit healthy money. You check up on a Rembrandt and you give your okay to a buyer and the dealer gives you a sweet kick-back. It is all very legitimate and lucrative--" "What are you, a census taker?" Lasseroe said. "Quiet," Mogin toned. "A short time ago you figured out a few new angles," Frey said. "You weren't doing so good on the old stuff and you reasoned that you might be able to make up for the deficiency by a few transactions with the modern boys and girls." "Just what do you mean by--" "Quiet," Mogin toned. "So here's what you did," Frey said. "You rounded up several of the more snooty painters and sculptors--the artistic boys and girls who have a lot of dough because their parents or some uncle or somebody had a lot of dough. You told the suckers that you'd boost their work in return for tribute. Then you went to the dealers and told them that you had several sensational new artists whose work would bring high prices. You'd give that work a big build-up in return for the kick-backs. It worked." "Now just a moment--" "Quiet," Mogin toned.