"The stairs are locked!" shouted Westervelt.
For a moment, he doubted that he had penetrated the official's panic. Then he saw new outrage in the man's eyes.
"What did you say?"
Westervelt explained about the door to the stairs. The gentleman downstairs clapped both hands to his moist cheeks. He had begun to look numb.
After a long pause, he pulled himself together enough to promise that he would look into the matter. As he switched off, Westervelt heard him muttering that it was just too much.
"You hear that, Joe?" he asked.
"Yeah, an' I didn't like it," replied the operator. "What does that leave us ... no elevators, no stairs ... how about the helicopter roof?"
"You have to walk up a flight of stairs to get there," said Westervelt, thinking of the department's three helicopters garaged on their private tower roof. "It's the same door. I suppose the door at the top is frozen too."
"Well, anyway, that could be worse," said Joe. "That makes two doors to knock open, an' I bet your boys have some little gadget around that will do that."
Westervelt felt better. There was always a way out, he told himself. Just the same, he thought he had better let Smith know about the situation.