"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 027 - The Silent Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

with his burdens.

When the elevator reached the penthouse level, Sartain rang the bell at the entrance. He was admitted by
a quiet-faced, middle-aged man in uniform. The secretary followed.

"Good evening, sir," said the butler, in a pronounced English accent. "It is good to see you return."

"It's good to get back, Brooks," said Sartain, with a smile.
The millionaire was a brusque man of fifty years. He gave his coat and hat to the butler, and strolled
about the living room. He stopped and sniffed the air.

"Paint," he remarked.

"Yes, sir," responded Brooks. "The penthouse was renovated during your absence, sir."

"Of course," laughed Sartain. "I had forgotten it. The old place looks fine, Brooks. You were here to see
that they did it right, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir. The studio was done over also. By the way, sir, I placed all your correspondence upon the
desk. Mr. Broderick called to make sure about his appointment. He was very anxious, over the
telephone, sir."

"Yes, he would be," smiled Sartain. "I must go in the studio immediately. You, Hunnefield"тАФto the
secretaryтАФ"can receive Mr. Broderick. I shall ring for you when I am ready to interview him."

Brooks opened a door at the far end of the living room. It showed a hallway, beyond that an opened
doorway. Brooks stepped nimbly ahead of Sartain, and entered the far room. He turned on the light. The
millionaire walked in and glanced about admiringly.

THE studio had been redecorated to perfection. The walls were painted with a mural design in gold leaf.
The large window, with its small panes of glass, had fresh paint upon its heavy iron framework. Sartain
glanced toward the skylight, high in the sloping roof.

"Very nice, Brooks," was his compliment.

A large radiator was hissing softly in the corner of the room. Sartain did not appear to notice the sound.
He sat down at the desk and began to examine a stack of envelopes. Brooks stood at the door.
Hunnefield appeared beyond him.

"That is all, sir?" questioned the butler, as the secretary approached.

"Yes," returned the millionaire. "I do no wish to be disturbed. You may close the door, Brooks."

The butler drew the door shut and turned toward Hunnefield. The natural action had blocked the
secretary's entrance. Now that Alfred Sartain was ensconced in his studio, Hunnefield decided not to
enter. He walked back into the living room with the butler. Brooks closed the second door as they
passed.

When the secretary had crossed the living room, Brooks threw a quick glance toward two objects. One
was a bell in the corner. It was silenced by a small plug of rubber placed between the clapper and the