Joe Grimsby stood on the door-mat--a very shabby and badly worn door-mat, I must say--trying to fit his key into the tiny slit which, properly punctured, shot back the bolt which loosened the door, admitting him to the hallway leading to his apartment on the third floor of No. 99 Waverly Place. “Somebody must have--no, here it is. Hello, Moses, is that you? I was just going to put my knee against it and----”…
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