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

The vestibule door opened. A short, broad-shouldered man slipped into the hallway.

He closed the door noiselessly. His eyes gleamed in the dim light as he stared toward the landing below
the second floor. His firm face took on a pleased expression.

He followed the course that the first man had taken; but he ascended the stairs with amazing speed and
remarkable silence. Two steps at a time he went, one hand on the banister taking part of the burden, he
almost vaulted upward. But the strangely gangling figure of the first man was lost in the shadows.

The third floor of the building was darker. When the short, pursuing man arrived there, he stopped at the
end of the stairway. His keen ears heard the click of metal. The first man was unlocking a door at the
side of the hallway.

Swiftly, the pursuing man advanced through the darkness, keeping against the wall, and moving with his
previous stealth. Within a few seconds, he stood only an arm's length from the tall man at the door. He
heard the tall man's tense, hissing breaths, but the pursuer gave no sign of his own presence.

The door opened inward. The tall man remained motionless in the darkness. He was listening for sounds
from downstairs, totally unknowing that a living person stood within a yard of him. Not satisfied, he
tiptoed toward the stairway to listen, almost brushing against the hidden man as he went by. After a
momentary pause, the tall man returned along the hall. He walked with reassurance. By this time, the
short man who had followed him had gone in through the open door.

The tall man closed the door behind him and fumbled for a light switch. A click, and the room was
flooded with light. He was in a small, but comfortable, sitting room of a third-story apartment. The tall
man seemed confident in the security of his own abode.

He removed his hat, revealing a head covered with black, gray-streaked hair. He drew the muffler from
his neck, disclosing the face of a man of fifty. He doffed his coat and placed it on a chair.

There was a mirror at the far side of the room. The tall man stood in front of it and studied his own
features. They were well formed except for the chin, which was long and pointed.

The man rubbed his chin reflectively. Then he placed his hands upon his temples to hide the streaks of
gray hair. He seemed pleased with his appearance while he held his hands in that positionтАФpleased,
despite the worried, haggard expression which dominated his countenance.

OUTSIDE, a driving wind swept around the old house. In the room on the third floor, the windows, one
on each side of the mirror, rattled dismally. But that sound did not disturb the man who was engrossed in
his own reflection.

He evidently regarded this apartment of the old house on East Eightieth Street as a sanctuary, in which
nothing could harm him.

He did not hear the slight click behind him as the wind shook the panes again; he did not see the door
open slowly at the other side of the room.

The man studying his reflection lowered his hands from his temples, and a ghostly smile played over his
thin lips. They moved, as if muttering words of satisfaction.