"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 001 - The Living Shadow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

CHAPTER I. OUT OF THE MIST
THE fog was thick at the center of the bridge where the man stood leaning against the rail. Although the
streets of New York were scarcely a hundred yards away, he might have been in a little world of his
own. For the only light in the midst of that cloud of black night fog came from an arc light on the bridge.

A taxicab, carrying a late passenger home, shot through the mist.

The man stepped away from the rail and crouched beside a post. He saw a flash of the red tail light on
the cab; a moment later it was lost in the fog.

As the noise of the motor died away, the man stood up again and placed his hands upon the rail.

He listened, afraid that another cab might be coming across the bridge; then, reassured, he leaned over
the rail and stared downward.

Mist; thick, black mist - nothing but mist. It seemed to invite his plunge. Yet he hesitated - as many wait
when they are upon the brink of death - until, with a mad impulse, he swung his body across the rail and
loosened his hands.

Something clamped upon his shoulder. An iron grip held him - balanced between life and death. Then, as
though his body possessed no weight whatever, the man felt himself pulled around in a sweeping circle.
He staggered as his feet struck the sidewalk of the bridge.

He turned to confront the person who had interfered. He swung his fist angrily, but a hand caught his
wrist and twisted it behind his back with irresistible power.

It was as though the man's strength had been wrested from him when he faced a tall, black-cloaked
figure that might have represented death itself. For he could not have sworn that he was looking at a
human being.

The stranger's face was entirely obscured by a broad-brimmed felt hat bent downward over his features;
and the long, black cloak looked like part of the thickening fog.

The man who had attempted suicide was too startled to speak. Fear had come upon him, and his only
desire was to shrink from this grim and eerie master of the night. But he felt himself pulled across the
sidewalk, and at the curb he stumbled through the open door of a large limousine, which he had not seen
until that moment. His arm was freed, and he shrank into the far corner of the car.

The door closed and the car moved onward. Fear still clutched the man whose life had been saved
against his will. Rescued, he sensed that the grim stranger was in the seat beside him. He expected new
evidence of that weird personage's presence. The evidence came.

A voice spoke through the darkness. It was a weird, chilling voice - scarcely more than a whisper, yet
clear and penetrating.

"What is your name?"
It was not a question. Rather, it was a command to speak.

"Harry Vincent," replied the man who had been deterred from self-destruction. The words had come to
his lips automatically.