D-99 by H.B. Fyfe

Author:H.B. Fyfe [Fyfe, H.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-01-21T05:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

SMITH STOOD AT THE COBNER OF THE CORRIDOH, leaning back every half minute or so to peek around at the stretch leading toward the library and communications room.

Westervelt had propped himself with folded arms against the opposite wall, facing the door to the stairs.

Beryl hovered behind Parrish, who faced Smith impatiently between darting glares at Westervelt.

“All right, I guess I have to tell you, Pete,” said Smith in a low tone. “You might say we are temporarily inconvenienced.”

“By him?” asked Parrish, jerking a thumb in Westervelt’s direction. “That I could understand. The kid’s beginning to think he’s a comedian. He started out just now playing Charley’s Aunt.”

“Sssh!” said Smith softly.

Westervelt turned his head toward the main entrance, wondering how far Parrish’s voice had carried.

Smith’s dapper assistant looked from one to the other. Seeking some evidence of sanity, he turned with raised eyebrows to Beryl. The blonde rounded her blue eyes at him and shrugged.

“Pete, this is no joke,” insisted Smith. “I wish it hadn’t gotten around so fast, but there it is.”

“There what is?” demanded Parrish, in a tone bordering on the querulous.

“Well . . . there’s been some kind of power failure throughout the business district. There aren’t any elevators running, and we don’t know how long it will be until the power company copes with the trouble.”

“No elevators?” repeated Parrish.

He stared at the sliding doors of the elevator shaft as if unable to comprehend the lack of such service. The idea seemed to sink in.

‘No elevators? And ninety-nine stories up?”

“Sssh!” said Smith, glancing down the corridor.

“What’s the matter with you, Castor?” asked Parrish, “Are you watching for someone . . . someone . . . oh!”

“See what I’m thinking?” asked Smith.

They faced each other for a moment in silence.

“Well, it ought to be all right, as long as he can get down the stairs if he wants to,” said Parrish. “I’m sorry, Beryl. We’ll have to make it some other time.”

“But how are we going to get home?” asked the blonde.

“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 modem 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 bum open the door from the stair side.

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