"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 011 - Double Z" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

handle it very long. It occurred to me that perhaps -"

"That you would be the man to handle it."

"Exactly."

The city editor laughed.

"You win, Burke," he said. "I was thinking you were the man for the job. When Harwood spoke about it,
I marked you down for the Wise Owl. You were pretty friendly with Caulkins, weren't you, old man?"

Clyde nodded.

"Well," continued Ward, "that's one reason why I figured on you. It's also the main reason why I'm going
to tell you something that wasn't in to-day's story."

Ward half rose from his swivel chair to make sure that no one was near the city desk. Then he leaned
forward and buzzed in Burke's ear. A look of surprise appeared on the reporter's face.

"Judge Tolland!" he exclaimed in a low voice. "You mean that he may be in this?"

"That's what Caulkins was saying when they got him," declared Ward. "I'm laying off it for the present.
But keep your eye peeled. Listen, Burke: One of three things is sure. First"тАФWard tapped his left thumb
with his right forefingerтАФ"Caulkins may have seen Tolland and have gotten some real dope from him.
Second"тАФthe city editor tapped his left forefingerтАФ"Double Z bluffed Caulkins into thinking he was
Tolland. Third"тАФWard indicated on another fingerтАФ"Double Z is -"

Ward did not end the sentence. Clyde Burke finished it for him silently. The reporter's lips framed a single
word.

"Tolland!"

"Right'" said the city editor briskly.

"I'll be on the lookout," declared Clyde.

"Keep mum," warned Ward. "This detective, Cardona, has the right idea. Double Z is in the mix-up.
Keep him guessing!"

"I'll run up to East Eightieth now," suggested Clyde.

"Good idea," agreed Ward. "Maybe you can trace back over the trail Caulkins followed. Then get in with
the bunch that know. See how they're taking this story we ran to-day."

Clyde Burke sat down at an obscure desk in a corner of the news room. He drew a fountain pen from
his pocket and wrote on a sheet of paper. Any one who might have observed him would have decided
he was simply adding up his expense account. Clyde Burke looked the part of a police reporter.

But this firm-faced young man was engaged in a different task. He was inscribing a note of strange
appearance. He was writing a series of coded letters, and the words which those letters formed told the