Free The Whenabouts of Burr by Michael Kurland

no place to hide in the large, square room but under the benches, and no one was doing that. He walked through into the locker room. There were four rows of lockers, all of them unlocked and most of them open. There were two wide shelves stacked with bath towels. There was no Alex: but Swift opened the closed lockers, feeling that he should go through the motions. He knew Alex: Hamilton wasn’t hiding in one of them. He was right.
    Swift didn’t panic. He was too experienced, too intelligent, too rational, too blasé, too tired to panic. He walked with measured tread back to the counter. “He’s gone,” he announced.
    The attendant looked up from his puzzle. “Huh?”
    â€œHe’s gone. The gentleman with the homburg.”
    â€œThat’s silly,” the attendant said, looking annoyed. “He hasn’t come out. He must be in the locker room.”
    â€œI looked. He’s not.”
    â€˜The massage rooms? They’re across the corridor. But they’re supposed to be locked. The masseuses aren’t in yet.” He took a key ring from a drawer in the counter and deserted his puzzle to try the three doors. They were all locked. He opened them. There was no one inside. “Funny,” he said. He went back to his puzzle.
    â€œVes,” Nate called into the button in his lapel, “Can you get over here right away?”

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Ves examined the building, then he examined the attendant, then he examined Nate. “One of the three of you,” he concluded, “is mistaken—or lying.”
    â€œThe building?” Swift asked. “Isn’t that an extreme form of personification, to say that a building is either mistaken or lying?”
    â€œOnly in so far as it expresses the wishes of its builder or owner,” Ves explained, settling down on one of the metal benches in the lobby and glaring at the white walls. “For instance, it could be mistakenly leading us to the conclusion that there is no other exit to the steam room; innocently concealing another behind a crate, or masking it as an air duct. Or, it could be lying to us and have a concealed door.”
    â€œA secret panel?” Swift asked. “I thought that was only a fictional device. Are there any real secret panels?”
    â€œOf course,” Ves said. “There are hidden doors of all descriptions and for all purposes. There are the priest-holes in England, which were used, I believe, during the time of Cromwell. There are hidden rooms in pioneer houses, so the family could disappear in case of an overwhelming Indian attack. There are the rooms used during the time of the Underground Railroad. There are hidden doors in some executive suites today, which conceal a bathroom, a bedroom, or merely a bar.”
    â€œNo secret panels in here,” the attendant said, displaying an interest in what was happening for the first time. “I checked for that.”
    Ves turned to him. “You did what?” he asked. “Why should you do anything like that?”
    â€œâ€™Cause of the other two,” the attendant explained. “I mean, it seemed like the reasonable explanation at the time.”
    Nate stared at him. “The other two?” He was almost afraid to find out what the attendant meant.
    â€œRight,” the attendant said. “Two other gentlemen have come through here and never come out. That’s just while I’m on duty. First one came after I’d been here about a month; that would be about two years ago. This guy dressed like an Italian comes barging in here and rushes through into the steam room. I run after him to give him a ticket and time-stamp him in, and when I come into the room he’s gone. And I’m no more than maybe two-three seconds behind.”
    â€œGone?” Nate asked.
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘like an Italian?’ ” Ves demanded.
    â€œWas the room empty?” Nate asked.
    â€œLike