"Number one hundred and forty-eight, the corner room on the right," the Tocsin had said.

Jimmie Dale walked nonchalantly along--past No.
148.

At the lower end of the hall a group of people were gathered around the elevator doors; halfway down the corridor a bell boy came out of a room and went ahead of Jimmie Dale.
And then Jimmie Dale stopped suddenly, and began to retrace his steps.
The group had entered the elevator, the bell boy had disappeared around the farther end of the hall into the wing of the hotel--the corridor was empty.

In a moment he was standing before the door of No.

148; in another, under the persuasion of a little steel instrument, deftly manipulated by Jimmie Dale's slim, tapering fingers, the lock clicked back, the door opened, and he stepped inside, closing and locking the door again behind him.
It was already a quarter past nine, but no one was as yet in the connecting room--the fanlight next door had been dark as he passed.