Chapter 11
Jonathan Ladd Jones had left a note stuck in the door of the keysmith's room, "Waiting in #4B." Clive scowled and went down the stairs again. He prowled in the dirty yellow smear of light that came from two feeble bulbs set back and front. The frayed carpeting tried to trip him, and when he touched woodwork it was greasy with the memories of ancient cooking. The place smelled of many people, many things, none of them clean.
He found the number finally and knocked. The voice of Jonathan Ladd Jones came from beyond.
"C'min, c'min, whoever you are."
He sounded very happy. Clive opened the door. The stench of the hallway was beaten back immediately by a more powerful one that had been cooped up inside. The inside odor was mostly gin. There were other things - perfume, stale smok
