This we failed to do.
“Looks bad,” said Talcott, shaking his head. “If Amos Gately is in there, it’s because he’s unable to get out—or—unconscious.”
He couldn’t bring himself to speak the crueler word that was in both our minds, and he turned abruptly aside, as he went in search of the janitor or the superintendent of the building.
Left by myself I stared at the silent door. It was an ordinary-looking door, at the end of a small side passage which communicated with the main hall or lobby of the building. It was inconspicuous, and as the passage had an angle in it, Amos Gately could easily have gone in and out of that door without exciting comment.
Of course, the janitor would know all about it; and he did.
He returned with Mr. Talcott, muttering as he came.
“I always said Mr. Gately’d get caught in that thing yet! I don’t hold with them automaticky things, so I don’t. They may go all right for years and then cut up some trick on you. If that man’s caught in there, he must be pretty sick by this time!”
“Does Mr. Gately use the thing much?” I asked.
“Not so very often, sir. Irregular like. Now, quite frequent, and then, again, sort of seldom. Well, we can’t open it, Mr. Talcott. These things won’t work, only just so. After anybody gets in, and shuts the door, it can’t be opened except by pressing a button on the inside. Can’t you get in upstairs?”
“No,” said Talcott, shortly. “Get help, then, and break the door down.”