Chapter 13
THE HOYT was one of those definitely middle-class hotels along West Seventh Street. The clerk stopped rubbing his hands when he found out that McCloud was not thinking of becoming a guest. He was still impressed, though. He made a great business of locating the room number, finally cleared his throat portentously and summoned the bell-hop.
“Front! Take this gentleman up to 435.”
The bell-hop languidly folded his racing form and stuck it in a hip pocket. It appeared that he also doubled as an elevator operator. He and McCloud rode up to the fourth floor and went along a dimly lit hall to 435. Neither said anything. McCloud had the uncomfortable feeling that his escort was going to stay right there at his elbow unless bribed to go away. He parted with a silver dollar.
“Goodnig
