I searched through his pockets. He didn't have any keys. He didn't
have any money or identification or a gun. He had a handkerchief and a
ballpoint pen.
The receptionist had moved away from the door and was talking to
somebody, in person or on the phone or intercom.
There wasn't any back door.
I went to the window. The city stretched out in an impressive panorama.
On the street below, traffic crawled. There was a ledge. Quite a wide,
old-fashioned ornamental ledge.
The ledge ran beneath the windows of all the offices on this floor. The
fourteenth, I remembered.
I had seen it done in movies all my life. Harold Lloyd, Douglas
Fairbanks, Buster Keaton were always doing it for some reason or other.
I had a good reason.