“Sorry, buddy. I’m a stranger here myself. Come on, Cyn.”
Their man was just turning into the door of the building housing their own office. Randall stopped. “Something screwy about this, kid.”
“What do we do?”
“Follow him,” he decided.
They hurried on; he was not in the lobby. The Midway-Copton is not a large building, nor swank-else they could not have rented there. It has but two elevators. One was down and empty; the other, by the indicator, had just started up.
Randall stepped up to the open car, but did not enter. “Jimmie,” he said, “how many passengers in that other car?”
“Two,” the elevator pilot answered.
“Sure?”
“Yeah. I was breezin’ with Bert when he closed the door. Mr. Harrison and another bird. Why?”
Randall passed him a quarter. “Never mind,” he said, his eyes on the slowly turning arrow of the indicator. “What floor does Mr. Harrison go to?”
“Seven.” The arrow had just stopped at seven.
“Swell.” The arrow started up again, moved slowly past eight and nine, stopped at ten. Randall hustled Cynthia into the car. “Our floor, Jimmie,” he snapped, “and step on it!”
An “up” signal flashed from the fourth floor; Jimmie reached for his controls; Randall grabbed his arm. “Skip it this time, Jim.”
The operator shrugged and complied with the request.
The corridor facing the elevators on the tenth floor was empty. Randall saw this at once and turned to Cynthia. “Give a quick gander down the other wing, Cyn,” he said, and headed to the right, in the direction of their office.
Cynthia did so, with no particular apprehension. She was sure in her own mind that, having come this far, Hoag was certainly heading for their office. But she was in the habit of taking direction from Teddy when they were actually doing something; if he wanted the other corridor looked at, she would obey, of course.
The floor plan was in the shape of a capital H, with the elevators located centrally on the cross bar. She turned to the left to reach the other wing, then glanced to the left-no one in that alley. She turned around and faced the other way-no one down there. It occurred to her that just possibly Hoag could have stepped out on the fire escape; as a matter of fact the fire escape was in the direction she had first looked, toward the rear of the building-but habit played a trick on her; she was used to the other wing in which their office was located, in which, naturally, everything was swapped right for left from the way in which it was laid out in this wing.
She had taken three or four steps toward the end of the corridor facing the street when she realized her mistake-the open window certainly had no fire escape beyond it. With a little exclamation of impatience at her own stupidity she turned back.
Hoag was standing just behind her.
She gave a most unprofessional squeak.
Hoag smiled with his lips. “Ah, Mrs. Randall!”
She said nothing-she could think of nothing to say. There was a .32 pistol in her handbag; she felt a wild desire to snatch it out and fire. On two occasions, at a time when she was working as a decoy for the narcotics squad, she had been commended officially for her calm courage in a dangerous pinch-she felt no such calm now.
He took a step toward her. “You wanted to see me, did you not?”
She gave way a step. “No,” she said breathlessly. “No!”
“Ah, but you did. You expected to find me at your office, but I chose to meet you-here!”
The corridor was deserted; she could not even hear a sound of typing or conversation from any of the offices around them. The glazed doors stared sightlessly; the only sounds, other than their own sparse words, were the street noises ten stories below, muted, remote and unhelpful.
He came closer. “You wanted to take my fingerprints, didn’t you? You wanted to check them-find out things about me. You and your meddlesome husband.”
“Get away from me!”
He continued to smile. “Come, now. You wanted my fingerprints-you shall have them.” He raised his arms toward her and spread his fingers, reaching. She backed away from the clutching hands. He no longer seemed small; he seemed taller, and broader-bigger than Teddy. His eyes stared down at her.