“Generations of summer visitors had marched through the lobby and trampled out any old-world charm it might once have had. It seemed an unlikely place for Roy Bradshaw to be staying. But Bradshaw was there, the elderly night clerk said. He took a railroad watch out of his vest pocket and consulted it. “It’s getting pretty late, though. They may be asleep.” “They?” “Him and his wife. I can go up and call him, if you want me to. We never did put telephones in the rooms.” “I’ll go up. I’m a friend ...of Dr. Bradshaw’s.” “I didn’t know he was a doctor.” “A doctor of philosophy,” I said. “What’s his room number?” “Thirty-one, on the top floor.” The old man seemed relieved at not having to make the climb. I left Arnie with him and went up to the third floor. Light shone through the transom of 31, and I could hear the indistinct murmur of voices. I knocked. There was a silence, followed by the noise of slippered feet. Roy Bradshaw spoke through the door.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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