"Oh, they'll probably have it fixed by the time we're finished here," said Parrish.
"Then what's all the trouble about. Why is Willie looking so sour?"
Westervelt braced himself against the impact of three glances and tried not to sneer. The other two men cleared their throats and looked back at Beryl.
"I'm going to have to ask your co-operation, Beryl," said Smith. "First, Pete, I'd like to point out to you a little gem of modern design. This door here is powered to slide open automatically for a fire or other emergency."
"Of course," said Parrish curiously.
"But there isn't any power," Smith pointed out.
Parrish reached out impatiently and tried the door. He wrenched at it two or three times, then bent to peer for the latch.
"No use, Pete," said Smith, glancing down the hall again. "Willie already went through that whole routine. I've been on the phone to the building manager, and there isn't anything he can do except send a party up from the seventy-fifth floor to burn open the door from the stair side."
"Is he doing it?"
"Well, frankly ... I told him it wasn't necessary," said Smith, getting a stubborn look on his long face.