Explore "Pursuit" by Lester Del Rey on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Hawkes crushed out the cigarette and began climbing the wide stairs slowly. It was probably an ambush into which he was heading -- but without this place, he had no chance of resting. He stared at the numbers painted on the dirty red doors, and went on up a second flight of stairs. The number he wanted was at the end of the hall, dimly lighted. He dropped to the keyhole, but found it had been filled long ago, probably when the Yale lock was installed.
He put his ear against the door and listened. There was no sound from inside except a monotonous noise that must be water dripping from a leaky faucet. Finally, he climbed to his feet and reached for his keys. The third one he tried fitted, and the door swung open.