The operator worked his switch and the door moaned itself shut. They went up. All of the McGowan Building elevators were very slow, and Blake had no trouble reading the floor numbers through the little window in the elevator door.

…ten…eleven…twelve…fourteen…fifteen…sixteen…

They stopped. The elevator operator scratched his head with his visored cap. Blake glared at him triumphantly. They went down.

…fifteen…fourteen…twelve…eleven…ten…nine…

“Well?” Blake asked him.

The man shrugged. “It don’t seem to be there now.”

“Now? Now? It’s never been there. So where did you take those men?”

“Oh, them, I told you: the thirteenth floor.”

“But I just proved to you there is no thirteenth floor!”

“So what? You got the college education, Mr. Blake, not me. I just do my job. If you don’t like it, all I can say is I just do my job. Someone gets in the elevator and says ‘thirteenth floor,’ I take—”

“I know! You take them to the thirteenth floor. But there is no thirteenth floor, you idiot! I can show you the blueprints of the building, the original blueprints, and I dare you, I defy you to show me a thirteenth floor. If you can show me a thirteenth floor…”

His voice trailed off as he realized they were back in the lobby and had attracted a small crowd.

“Look, Mr. Blake,” the elevator man suggested. “If you’re not satisfied, how’s about I call up the delegate from the union and you and him have a talk? How’s about that, huh?”

Blake threw up his arms helplessly and stamped back to his office. Behind him he heard the starter ask the elevator operator, “What was he getting in such an uproar about, Barney?”