"Shadow - 341201 - Back Pages - Grace Culver - Double Chocolate" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brown Roswell)

quite up to the situation."

Six o'clockЧclosing time.
From the shadows of the cellarway across the street, the girl from Noonan's
could see the new sign swaying on its iron hooks. IVAN JORGEN: Rugs, Vases,
Curios. She smiled dryly as a random thought occurred to her. What curios!
Her eyes narrowed suddenly. The dim lights in the store across the street had
snapped out. The bulky figure of the proprietor, appearing at the narrow doorway
in hat and ulster, was locking up.
Grace watched, flattening back against the rough cement wall behind her.
A keen-edged wind was whipping down the street, scurrying old papers and some
bits of packing excelsior before it. But it was for another reason that the girl's
trim figure trembled vibrantly.
Jorgen pocketed his key and swung out of the inky entrance. His shaggy head
was bowed against the wind as he plowed off up the dark street. His massive
shoulders were hunched.
A hundred yards behind, and on the opposite side of the sparsely populated
thoroughfare, the redhead followed. She had changed her clothes since the
afternoon's shopping tour. Her black beret and matching wool coat were
inconspicuous, The red pocketbook had disappeared.
Down one block to the even numbered intersection, and then across town
toward the west, Jorgen moved. At Seventh Avenue he boarded a downtown
surface car.
Grace was already in a cab by the time the light had changed to permit
the trolley to proceed. "Follow that green one and keep behind it!" was her order
to the driver.
In the electric-spattered city darkness, the swaying yellow windows of the
clumsy vehicle ahead were an easy focus for the girl's eyes.
The taxi was equipped with a radio, over which an adenoidal tenor was
beating something about "a room with a view." Grace did not hear him. The only
view that interested her was the back of Jorgen's hat, outlined against the bright,
steamed glass almost alongside.
At Sheridan Square he left the car, heading west once more on foot. The girl
in the taxi clipped a quick command to the man at the wheel. A moment later,
she, too, was facing toward the North River, fighting the raw, chill wind..
Up ahead, the figure of the man she was following plodded forward with long,
swinging strides. His muffled silhouette, as it was repeatedly outlined against
temporary light from shop windows or street lamps, was peculiarly menacing.
Like a scarecrow at midnight.
On and on. Two blocks. Around a corner.. Three. Four.
They were almost to the river, when Jorgen's figure swerved suddenly to the
leftЧand vanished!
Heart pounding, Grace kept on. Had they reached the end of the trail? Or was
it possible that he had learned he was being followed and was waiting for her,
ambushed in some dark hole in the wall?
Whatever it was, she had to keep going now. Breathing deeply, she swung
aheadЧher red curls, free of the beret, streaking in the increased blow, At the
point where Jorgen had disappeared, she looked up quicklyЧand once again her
heart skipped a beat. There he was!