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

"Yes."

"Yet you regard it as obvious that Chatham wrote both the letters and the promissory note. You believe
that fact, just as the police believe it.

"They looked at the signatures just to check upтАФand I saw you do the same.

"You were interested in the contents of the letters and the amount of the note. But I was interested in the
signatures alone. Thus I learnedтАФ"

Clarendon paused and looked steadily at Burke. The ex-reporter had opened the door of the cab, and
had one foot on the step. But now he hesitated in astonishment, as something began to dawn upon him.

"What I learned must be kept secret by you and myself," said Clarendon. "Both the letters and the note
bore the same signatureтАФ yet there were minute differences between the signature on the note and those
on the letters. Therefore I believeтАФ"

"What?" gasped Burke.

"That the note signed by Horace Chatham was a forgery!"

With his subtle smile, George Clarendon gently urged his companion to the street. Clyde Burke stood
openmouthed as the door of the cab closed.

Then, just as the taxi started up the street, a sound came from within the vehicle. It was a low, weird
laughтАФa laugh that was both mocking and triumphant!

Clyde Burke watched the cab as it lost itself amid the passing traffic. With eyes half-closed, he imagined
that he could still see the masklike face of his mysterious employer, and through his brain reechoed the
sound of that weird, sinister laugh!

CHAPTER IV. CLARENDON EXPLAINS
CLYDE BURKE was perplexed. For twenty-four hours, he had been puzzling over the strange
revelation made by George Clarendon.

He had thought of it during the evening. It had occupied his mind since his first waking moment in the
morning. Now, in his office, Burke still pondered, to no avail.

Clarendon's discovery that the note signed by Horace Chatham was a forgery was singular enough. But
the real cause of Burke's bewilderment was George Clarendon, himself. The man was an enigma.

Burke realized now how little contact he had had with his benefactor. For months he had forwarded
clippings to George Clarendon, yet he had no idea where the man lived.

He sent the clippings when instructed; and the method of transmission was to place the clippings in an
envelope and deposit it in the door of a dingy office in a building on Twenty-third Street.

The name on the door was M. Jonas. Burke had never inquired who Jonas might be. He fancied that the
man was simply a friend of Clarendon's. The office had always been locked; and Burke had never seen
any one there.