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

"Good evening," he said. "Have you anything good for to-morrow night? I'd like to see 'Cat's Paws' at
the Forty-third Street Theater."

"I can fix it for the fourth row, center," replied the clerk. "But - erтАФ didn't you see that show, Mr.
Chatham? I sold you a ticket for it, last week."

"Yes, I saw it," replied the man quickly, "and I recommended it to a friend of mine. Promised to get a
ticket for him."

He pulled a roll of bills from his pocket, and purchased the ticket for "Cat's Paws." Along with the
money, he held another ticket, and the clerk smiled when he saw it. For he had sold that ticketтАФfor a
show to-nightтАФto Chatham, the day before.

The clerk smiled as the man in evening clothes hurried from the office.

"Funny, isn't it?" he remarked to a companion behind the counter. "That guy Chatham paid a premium
price for a ticket to the show at the Embassy, tonight. The first act is half over; yet he comes in here,
buying a ticket for another show, on his way to the theater.

"Some birds don't know what it means to get in before a show starts!"

Doctor Palermo was smiling to himself as he hurried toward the Embassy Theater. He had tested the
character of Horace Chatham, and it had stood the test.
The clerk at the ticket office would remember that Chatham had stopped in just before nine o'clock.
Buying a ticket for "Cat's Paws" had been a lucky stroke. The clerk would remember that, also.

Entering the lobby of the Embassy, Palermo had another opportunity to make use of his false identity.

The assistant manager, standing by the ticket box, recognized him as Chatham, and nodded in greeting.
Palermo returned the nod, and entered the theater. There he watched the show, and remained until the
final curtain.

After the show he called a cab, and directed the driver to take him to the Argo Club.

IN the darkness of the cab Palermo temporarily dropped his impersonation of Horace Chatham. Some
plan was passing through his mind, and his own peculiar smile appeared upon his lips.

"Ten minutes at the club," he said softly. "That will be sufficient. I can call Wilkinson from there. He will
surely be at home. If he is not, I can wait a little while."

When the cab stopped at the Argo Club, the man who stepped forth was Horace Chatham to perfection.
The doorman spoke in greeting as he came through the door, and Palermo exchanged nods with two
club members who were sitting in the hallway.

Then he strolled through the lounge and the library, staring straight ahead, as though in deep thought.

He was sure that more than one of Chatham's friends observed him; but he did not tarry long enough to
become engaged in conversation with any one. Instead, he went to a telephone in the corner of the
hallway, and called a number.