“He’s on the top floor, No. 10,” Cutler snarled, his face turning red.
“Thanks.”
Adams wandered over to the ancient elevator, got in, closed the gate and hauled on the rope that raised the evil-smelling cage up the equally evilsmelling shaft.
He was thankful when the elevator creaked to a standstill on the top floor. All the way up he had been expecting the rope to snap or the bottom of the cage to drop out.
Facing him was a long passage with doors every few yards. He walked to room 10, listened outside, then hearing no sound in the room, he rapped on the door. Nothing happened, and he rapped again.
The door opposite abruptly opened.
A girl in a blue-and-red silk wrap, her auburn hair about her shoulders, leaned against the door-post and showed him a long white leg and a wellrounded thigh through the opening in her wrap.
“He’s out,” she said. “If you want to wait, there’s a chair in my room.”
“You’re talking to a police officer,” Adams said mildly.
The girl wrinkled her nose, then lifted her shoulders.