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

When he had flicked the final cigarette into a bowl that served as an ash tray, Marsland noted the clock
on the table. He had been waiting ten minutes. He arose and glanced at the half-opened door that led to
the inner room. He stepped over and tapped on the door. Hearing no response, he entered. He stopped
short the moment that he stepped through the doorway. Neither surprise nor confusion were registered
upon his firm features. Marsland merely stood motionless as he stared at the form of Tim Waldron, with
its crazily spread arms.

Marsland's eyes were focused on that one spot in the room. He walked forward and examined the body
with the cold precision of a man to whom death is no stranger.

He picked up the automatic that lay on the table. He examined the weapon in a matter-of-fact manner,
then replaced it upon the table.

A low sound came from the end of the room. Marsland turned without haste.

Once more he stood motionless. In the corner of the room, at a spot where the light was obscure, stood
a tall man clad in black. He formed a strange, imposing figure, with a huge cloak over his shoulders. His
broad-brimmed hat, turned down in front, shrouded his face in shadow.

The only color that showed amidst this mass of black was a splotch of red, where the lining of the cloak
was folded back. The crimson hue of the lining rivaled the blood that covered the desk where Tim
Waldron's body lay.

CLIFF MARSLAND made no move. He did not even attempt to reach for the gun that lay on the desk.
He studied the man in black with a steady glance.

For a few moments neither moved. Then Marsland calmly slipped his hand into his left coat pocket. He
drew forth a cigarette, and lighted it.

A low, chuckling laugh came from the man in the corner. For the first time, Marsland was startled. The
match dropped from his fingers.

He suddenly regained his composure and stepped upon the lighted match.

The man in black stepped from the corner. He extended an arm and waved a black-gloved hand in the
direction of a chair. Marsland sat down. He still puffed his cigarette, but a puzzled expression had
appeared upon his face.

The puzzlement was mingled with awe. He began to feel uneasy. He could see no face beneath that
broad-brimmed hatтАФonly the glint of two eyes that seemed to fathom everything.

"You are Cliff Marsland," spoke a whispered voice.

Marsland nodded.

"Why did you come here?" asked the man in black.

Marsland pointed his thumb toward the body of Tim Waldron.