Rinehart, American writer of mystery novels known for their humor and ingenuity, begins Two Flights Up: Answering the front door at the Bayne house was a lengthy matter. The postman had learned this long ago, and now he merely laid the mail in the vestibule and went away. First, Mrs. Bayne would look in the old reflecting mirror which still hung from her bedroom window and take note of the ringer. Then she would whisper cautiously over the stair rail: It's the milk bill. I'm not in. Or, as had been happening more and more frequently for the last six months: It's Furness, Holly. Come right up, and I'll send down your Aunt Margaret to receive him.