Though there are dozens of other second-rate residential hotels on Manhattan's upper West Side, the dark green lobby of the 297-room Hotel Emerson seems to be irresistible to holdup men. The Emerson's long-suffering night clerk, one Martin Henry, has been stuck up three times in the last two months. Even so, he was not quite prepared for the three pistol-packing bravoes who strolled in out of the grey dawn at 4 o'clock one morning last week, announced, as is regular on such occasions, that they wouldn't mind blowing his head off, and set to work cleaning out the poor...
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