Death in the Primrose Hotel – Chapter 3 cont’d…….

“Ok. Send some men down here with whatever tools needed to tear down a brick wall. Also send some men into the old dress shop basement and look for anything out of the ordinary. They’re not going to be able to get a compressor or a generator down in the elevator so they’re going to have to demolish this wall the old school way, by sledge hammer and hand held drills,” Tom Forsythe said into his radio. He ordered a uniformed cop back up to room 607 to wait for the crew and guide them down.
“Tom, this back wall doesn’t have the same look as the rest of the tunnel. It looks like it’s out of plumb and was hastily thrown up. The courses are crooked and the mortar is squeezed out between the bricks. It looks like it was built by an inexperienced amateur and may have even been built from the other side,” I said.
“You’re right,” Tom Forsythe said after studying the end wall.
“It was probably built well after the tunnel was built,” I said. After a moment’s reflection, asked, come to think of it, how did they stock the speakeasy? They couldn’t have used the elevator for the beer barrels. Maybe a case of whiskey or two at the most on the elevator, but not barrels,” I said.
“You’re right. This tunnel between the speakeasy and the old dress shop must have been how the booze came into the speakeasy. This tunnel was probably built at the same time as the hotel,” Tom Forsythe said. I nodded my agreement.
Four big unshaven musclebound town laborers came to the end of the tunnel grumbling about having been pried away from the Penn State football game on television and being called out to work on a Saturday afternoon. They carried their picks and digging bars on their shoulders like rifles at shoulder arms. The also brought extra lights.
“Here it is boys,” Tom Forsythe said. “It’s probably a false wall, maybe just one brick thick,” Thomas Forsythe said. Tom Forsythe and I backed away giving the men swinging the sledge hammers plenty of clearance.

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