the supratendent. Why?" The scowl was heavy.

Karnes couldn't take any chances. The man might be perfectly okay,
but--

* * * * *

Lansberg's steps sounded, coming up the stairs. With him was a
Manhattan Squad officer of the Police Department.

"Shhh, Mr. Amati. C'mere a minute," said the cop.

"Oh. Lootenant Carnotti. Whatsa--"

"Shhhhhh! C'mere, I said, and be quiet!"

"You know this man?" Lansberg asked the policeman softly, indicating
Amati.

"Sure. He's okay."

Lansberg turned to the superintendent. "What do you know about the guy
who just came in?"

Amati seemed to have realized that something serious was going on, for
his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I dunno. I don't-a see
who it is. Whatsa goin' on, Lootenant Carnotti?"

"What about Apartment 523? Who lives there?" asked Karnes.

"Oh, them? Meester and Meeses Seigert. Artists. Sheesa paint pictures,
heesa make statues." Then Amati's eyes widened knowingly. "Ohhh! You
guys da Vice Squad, eh? I _theenk_ theresa someteeng fonny about
them!"

Footsteps sounded coming down the stairs from above.

"We watched the indicator needle on the elevator door in the lobby,
and I signalled the 'copters on the roof," Lansberg whispered.

The hallway began to fill quietly with police.

Lieutenant Carnotti assigned one of the men to watch Amati, mainly in
order to keep him out of the way, and Karnes led the men down the hall
towards 523, guns drawn.

Karnes knocked boldly on the door.

"Yeah? Who is it?" asked someone inside.

Karnes pitched his voice a little lower than normal, and said: "It's-a
me, Meester Amati, only me, the soopratendant."

The imitation wasn't perfect, but the muffling effect of the door
would offset any imperfections.

"Oh, sure, Mr. Amati. Just a sec." There was a short pause, filled
with muffled conversation, then somebody was unlocking the door.

* * * * *

Things began to happen fast. As the door came open, Karnes saw that it
had one of those inside chain locks on it that permit the door to be
opened only a few inches. Without hesitation, he threw his weight
against the door. Lansberg was right behind him.

Under the combined weight of the two men, the chain ripped out of the
woodwork, permitting the door to swing free. As it did so, it slammed
into the face of the man who had opened it, knocking him backwards.

There were seven or eight other m