"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 006 - The Death Tower" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

"Mr. Wilkinson?" he asked. It was Horace Chatham's voice that came from Palermo's lips. "Ah! Glad
you are in. Must see you to-night. Very important.

"What's that? Good! I'm at the Argo Club. I'll come up to see you right away, Wilkinson."

There was a cigar stand by the telephone. Palermo noted that the clerk had overheard the conversation.
He purchased three cigarsтАФof a brand that he had found in Chatham's pocketтАФthen pulled a notebook
from his pocket, and pretended to read an address from a page.

"Seth Wilkinson, Grampian Apartments," he mumbled.

Outside the Argo Club, Palermo called for a cab, and told the doorman his destination. The attendant
repeated the name of the Grampian Apartments to the taxi driver.

Half an hour later, Doctor Palermo arrived at the uptown residence of Seth Wilkinson, and was ushered
into the living room of a pretentious apartment. He knew the place perfectly. He had been there before,
but never in the character of Horace Chatham.

The masquerader suppressed a smile, as he waited for Wilkinson's appearance. Wilkinson knew both
Horace Chatham and Albert Palermo. This was to be a crucial test.

"Hello, Chatham."

Seth Wilkinson had entered the room. Palermo arose and shook hands. Then he resumed his seat, while
Wilkinson took a chair close by, and looked at him as though expecting a statement.

Palermo did not hesitate. He played the part of Chatham to perfection when he spoke.
"Wilkinson," he said earnestly, "I have a favor to ask you. It concerns a man who is a mutual friend of
oursтАФDoctor Albert Palermo."

Wilkinson's eyes narrowed. Something in his sharp gaze caused the speaker to stop.

It was plain that Wilkinson was surprised to learn that Chatham knew Palermo; and it was also apparent
that Wilkinson was not pleased.

"So you know Palermo?"

As Seth Wilkinson pronounced these words, he arose from his chair, walked across the room, and
picked up a pipe that lay on the table. He stuffed the pipe with tobacco, and stared thoughtfully at the far
wall of the room.

Then he turned savagely toward the man sitting in the chair.

"I'll tell you what I think of Palermo!" he growled. "If I had that four-flusher here in this room, I'd give him
a lacing that he would never forget! You can tell him that for me, Chatham!"

WILKINSON'S threat was not an idle one. He was a huge, powerful man, with a firm-set jaw that
characterized a fighter.

Yet Palermo was unperturbed. Confident beneath his disguise, he simply looked mildly surprised at