Doorway to Death

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Johnny had a passkey to all the hotel rooms. He wasn't looking for murder, but he found it-and worse!

On the streets of a big city people smile and the fights are bright. But there is an altey world of darkness, double-dealing and death; in this world you need muscles and brains to take a step-and only the lucky ones live long. These two worlds meet in Hotel Duarte. Johnny Killain had a fistful of experience with both worlds-and with Hotel Duarte:

The girl in 1109 was a schoolmarm from a small western town; but when she visited the city she left her morals at home, stripped off the drab veneer and became an armful of seething hell.

The “salesman” in 1938 peddled death on the side-until he turned up cold.. very cold… on a hook in the hotel icebox.

Johnny had the keys to all the doors-to lust, love, greed … and murder!

Johnny Killain straightened impatiently in the big wing chair and attempted to force the topmost brass button on his blue-gray uniform through its reluctant buttonhole; he released it to make a silencing grab at the phone which rang shrilly upon the table at his elbow. “Yeah?” His heavy voice was a basso burr. “Yeah, Paul; Mr. Martin will be right down. Throw his bag in the rack.” He replaced the receiver and looked over at the slender man carefully knotting an expensive looking tie at the bureau mirror. “Airport limousine's here, Willie.”

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