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

"Caulkins came in," he explained. "He found the guy who had coaxed him here. They were talking about
this Double Z stuff. Caulkins went to the phoneтАФ right there; the other bird was standing here.

"Just as Caulkins began to spill the story, the other fellow outs with a gat and plugs him four times.
Caulkins didn't have a chance, even though the guy that killed him was a bum shot. Right here is where
we figure the murderer was standing. Nervy, eh, while Caulkins was phoning?"
Clyde nodded. Somehow, Wentworth's description, a duplicate of Cardona's findings, did not fully
satisfy him; yet he could not explain what was wrong. He and the detective left the house. Clyde grunted
a good-by, and started back to the newspaper office. On the way, he stopped at the building on
Twenty-third Street. Standing in the dim hall, he scrawled a short coded message, describing his visit to
Eightieth Street, and dropped the note in the door that bore the name Jonas.

BEFORE the desolate-looking house on East Eightieth Street, Detective Sergeant Wentworth continued
his vigil. Dusk came. The door of the old house across the street was dim in the increasing darkness.

Watching it, Wentworth fancied that he saw a moving blur pass momentarily in front of it. He strolled
across the street and tried the door. Locked. Wentworth went back to his post.

As his footsteps clicked down the stone steps to the sidewalk, a low laugh sounded in the vestibule. The
soft mirth did not reach Wentworth's ears. A man was standing in the vestibuleтАФa man clad in black. He
was totally invisible in the darkness. He had entered the front door in spite of the detective's vigil.

Now, a light appeared in the inclosureтАФa tiny spot of light no larger than a half dollar. It shone directly
upon the lock of the inner door. A queer-looking key appeared within that circle of illumination. A
black-gloved hand used the key to probe the lock.

The door opened. It did not close immediately. The man in black was still working at the lock. The key
moved in and out, as though being used to probe the metal depths.

At last, the door closed. Silence reigned with darkness. The light shone at intervals, moving upward on
the stairway. It stopped on the third floor. Its rays swinging pryingly, stopped at the very spot where Joel
Caulkins had stood in the hallway, unobserved by the man he was following. The tiny light, close to the
floor, revealed slight dust marks.

Metal clicked against metal. The door of the apartment opened. The ray of the flashlight widened as it
advanced uncannily, not a foot above the floor. It seemed to be following an invisible trail.

It paused; then, swerving, went to the door of the side room in which Caulkins had hidden himself.

Next, the light swung around the room, and aimed downward, to reveal the carpet. The floor covering
was cheap and plain. It showed wear near the door and by the table. There was another spot where it
was worn. The flashlight paused at that place, then moved upward. Its light glinted back from the silvered
surface of the mirror that hung on the wall.

After a pause, the light went to the table. It moved busily about. It showed the telephone, off slightly to
one side, and the chair, placed at an angle.

It examined the far side of the table, and the floor beside it. There, in the carpet, was a tiny stain. The
light started toward the door, probing the carpet. It revealed another small dark splotch.