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swinging doors which shut off the stairs to the second floor. He pushed them open, cast a cool expressionless glance up and down the street and stared at him with darting side glances. He was worth looking at. He wore a shaggy borsalino hat, a rough amateur bowling tournament gray sports coat with white golf balls on it for buttons, a brown shirt, a yellow tie, pleated gray flannel slacks and alligator shoes with white explosions on the toes. From his outer breast pocket cascaded amateur bowling tournament a show handkerchief of the same brilliant yellow as his tie. There were a couple of colored feathers tucked into the band of his hat, but he didn't really need them. Even . |
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