By now he’d reached the end of the block. Peering round a chimney−stack, he could see the police climbing on to the hotel roof some distance away. They began to move very cautiously towards him. Well, they’d take a little while to catch up at that rate.
By his feet was a trap−door. He lifted it carefully and lowered himself into an attic room, drawing the trap−door in place after him. He knew the block was by now surrounded. He took the bundle of money out of his shirt and split it into four small packets. These he distributed carefully in each pocket of his suit. It was no use carrying the Thompson any longer. He put it in the corner of the room and then opened the door and walked into a corridor.
As he walked towards the head of the stairs he loosened his automatic in its shoulder−holster. The place seemed to be a block of offices. When he reached the second landing, rows of frosted−panelled doors confirmed this. At the end of the corridor he saw a gentleman’s toilet. He hesitated a moment and then went in.
The only occupant was a window−cleaner, who was leaning out of the window. Raven eyed his uniform and realized his chance.
The window−cleaner, hearing him come in, looked over his shoulder. “Seems like there’s a lotta excitement poppin’ at the St. Louis,” he said with a grin. “The place is lousy with cops.”
Raven came to the window and looked down. A heavy cordon had been thrown round the block and the street was packed with interested sight−seers.
“What’s it all about?” he asked, stepping back.
“Search me,” the window−cleaner returned, still looking down into the street. “Some excitement.”
Raven drew his automatic and let the barrel slide into his hand, then he dealt the window−cleaner a crushing blow at the back of his head.