"Shadow - 350601 - Back Pages - Grace Culver - Kitchen Trap" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brown Roswell)

Grogan's voice and that other. And one more.
"Aw, dry up!"
"Cut the calamity, Rosie!"
"Listen, Rosie, no lop-eared flattie's gonna figure us!"
Grace's eyes were level with the keyhole as her body crouched. But the
narrow slit of lighted room beyond told her nothing. Not one of the quartet inside
was in her line of vision. And from the sound of them they were seated at a table,
not moving around.
"We got the papers on that Washington love-nest to-day. Three pash notes
from the Congressman. If his wife got wise--"
Grace had to see them, mark them for future identification. Was one of them
Rocky? Who, aside from Sniffle Grogan, was in that conclave? Whoever they
were, they had killed Pete Brophy.
The chance was desperate, but she had to take it. Mentally, she gauged the
distance back to the door at the head of the stairs. She would have a lead of
perhaps thirty seconds. In that time, with luck--
"Wife!" the woman snarled. "It's the cops that'll catch wise, after Brophy!"
"Aw, Rosie, no dumb cops--"
Grace's hand lifted until its cold fingers wrapped about the tarnished brass
doorknob. Slowly, carefully, they tightened. The knob turned. There was a tiny
metallic click, which sounded like thunder in her ears.
But the people inside--Pete's murderers--had not noticed.
"Dumb cops, eh? Remember that time in Chicago, when you was putting on
the senator? Was they dumb then?"
"I tell you, Rosie, it was safe enough," the heavy, authoritative voice declared.
"This plant is so good a front that--"
The door was opening as the arm of the crouching girl in the hall stiffened
painstakingly. A strip of yellow light glittered before her, widened. Still they had
not noticed. Panting, she began to rise.
Another minute now, and--
The shadow on the door loomed so quickly that she was unable to turn. Above
and behind her, she caught a glimpse of a white, evil face in the darkness. Rocky's
face.
Then, over her head, a soft blackness fell with devastating suddenness. Dimly,
she realized that it was a coat or a blanket. She couldn't breathe.
Her hands beat upward, clawing at him frantically. But she was off balance,
and his strong arms were forcing her down--down--down--
She was gasping. Her brain seemed about to burst.
"What the--" some one roared, a long way off.
The blows of her fists against her attacker's unyielding body had become no
more than a weak fluttering. The roar inside her skull was unbearable. Her throat
was a tight, hot agony. Her chest--
"Spy!" Rocky screamed vindictively. Beneath his powerful fingers, Grace
Culver fell away into a wave of blackness.
The darkness was warm and close when Grace opened her eyes. The air that
gasped into her stinging lungs smelled of cooked foods--a stale, mongrel odor.
Staring at the impenetrable, murky shadows, she lay still and waited for the
pounding in her brain to lessen. She was on a floor--cold and damp. Through a
chink in the wall above her, a narrow slit of yellow light seeped from whatever
room lay beyond. The blackness of her windowless prison made it impossible to