"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 026 - Murder Trail" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

indicated the berth in the wall, and inserted the pick. Catches clicked; the berth swung downward on
noiseless hinges, to reveal the blackened space that received its air from the ventilator shaft.

As Von Tollsburg leaned forward toward the berth, a low, guttural gasp came from his lips. His hands
shot upward in a mad effort to ward off unexpected danger. His body writhed furiously, casting long,
twisting shadows in the dim light of the secret cabin.
The gasp had ended unheard; in its place came a choking gargle that slowly toned away to a harsh rattle.

Half drawn into the blackness of the berth, Von Tollsburg's body became motionless. It moved
backward, as though impelled by an unseen force. It stood grotesquely, supported by a hidden grasp.
Then, released, it toppled and crumpled upon the floor.

Buried within the secret cabin, the form of Baron Hugo von Tollsburg lay inert and lifeless. The stowaway
aboard the dirigible Munchen had met with a cruel and unexpected fate. His mission had ended before
the flight had begun!

CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW OBSERVES
THE dirigible Munchen was nearing the last leg of its westward flight. Its huge bulk gliding onward, the
mammoth airship rode with marvelous stability. Purring motors kept up their constant rhythm. The
passengers in the forward salon smiled and chatted as the Zeppelin whirred through the night.

Dawn would arrive within a few hours. Gleaming rays of sunlight would show the silver queen of the air
entering the fringe of the Middle West. The Atlantic had been conquered; the rest of the voyage offered
no obstacles.

Captain Heinrich von Werndorff entered the salon. His arrival brought words of commendation from the
group of men who saw him. The commander bowed at the congratulations.

"We are experiencing great success," he declared. "This voyage, gentlemen, is a triumph for the dirigible
as a means of transportation. With our destination an inland city, instead of a seaport, we are proving the
advantages of air liners over ocean liners."

He caught the eye of a gentleman seated in a corner of the salon, and smiled as though in mutual
congratulation.

"You were fortunate, Herr Arnaud," said the captain. "Your last-minute arrival at Friedrichshafen enabled
you to join us on this memorable voyage. You came as a good omen."

All turned toward the man to whom the commander had spoken. Henry Arnaud had been regarded as an
unusual passenger on this flight. He had made reservation by wire from Moscow, and had reached the
Friedrichshafen hangar just as the Munchen was about to sail.

There was something about Henry Arnaud's appearance that commanded both respect and interest.
Although an American, he spoke fluently in French, German, and Russian, and had thus made an
acquaintance with passengers of those nationalities.

Captain von Werndorff was speaking in German as he addressed Arnaud; and the American replied in
the same language.

"The good omen on the Munchen," he said, in a quiet tone, "is the presence of our commander, Captain