"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 009 - Mobsmen on the Spot" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

Again came the sigh. The injured man's partner suddenly collapsed.
Ernie ran around, dragging at his gat.

"Drop this vanтАФget that car!" he yelled, approaching the sedan. He yanked open the door, gun raised.

The heavy-calibered pistol swished downward. But the blow was never completed.

A powerful, unseen hand had come from the darkness; steel-like fingers had grappled on Ernie's thick
wrist.

A quick, strong twist, and Ernie found himself thrown flat on his back in the street.

In the dim glare of the van's lights, a black-clad figure swung into the fray. Like a huge bat in human form,
the figure struck with his fists. At each blow, a gangster went down.

There followed a mocking laughтАФeerie, sinister. The mysterious interloper had disappeared into
nothingness. But the small, low-hung sedan was coursing away as noiselessly as it had earlier arrived.

Ernie rose to his knees in time to see the shadowlike car gliding swiftly away.

As if hypnotized, Ernie swayed, the memory of that mocking laugh still stinging his ears. But there came
then a more earthly sound to spur the gangster into action.

The shrill alarm of a police whistle!

Ernie struggled to his feet. He rested a moment on the fender of the van, then, hands deep in pockets,
hatbrim pulled down, he walked off, not too hurriedly, in the opposite direction from whence had come
the warning blast.

He knew that those gorillasтАФlying senseless in the streetтАФ wouldn't talkтАФif they wanted to take up
living again.

CHAPTER II. RACKETEERS DISAGREE
THE Hotel Spartan was an old, third-class hostelry that stood near the edge of the lower East Side. It
had been many years since the place had known its palmy days. It was surrounded by low, dilapidated
buildings, and the elevated railroad ran in front of its grimy windows.

A heavy-set man walked through the door. He noted the loungers standing about the lobby, then started
up the rubber-treaded stairs. Had he paused to glance through the broad window of the lobby he might
have seen a shadowy form melt into the darkness.

At the fourth floor he stopped in front of the door of a room and knocked softly.

"Who's there?" came a whispered voice.

"Ernie," the visitor replied.

The door opened, and Ernie stepped inside. The door closed behind him.

A few moments later, there was a movement in the hallway outside the closed door. For a brief instant,