Rick strode to the door. He hadn't taken it in before. It was an old-fashioned wooden door. Dark wood, gleaming brass plate above a brass knob.
" No glass. Obviously," he said
Tracey appeared beside him.
"Nothing." The door rattled as he tried turning the knob. It budged but wouldn't give.
"This is a waiting room, yes? So this door must open."
He rattled it again. Sturdily made. But not so sturdy within the elaborately decorated panelled recesses that formed most of its top and bottom halves. One good kick should splinter it.
"Obviously," Rick repeated.