"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 028 - The Shadow's Justice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

тАЬAll right, Stacks. You're the boss. But it's too blamed wet out hereтАФтАЭ

тАЬCome along,тАЭ interrupted тАЬStacksтАЭ impatiently. тАЬWe'll slide under the cover of the side porch.тАЭ

Two figures emerged from the bushes. They were no more than huddled shapes, but they cast long
shadows as they moved toward the shelter of the side portico. Both Stacks and тАЬScullyтАЭ were cautious in
this maneuver, keeping just on the fringe of light that came from above the front door.

Confident that they were not being watched as they crept through the blurry drizzle, the men did not
bother to look behind them. Hence they failed to notice a peculiar phenomenon which accompanied
them.

From a spot not ten feet away from the bush where they had hidden, came a third shadow, longer and
more pronounced than their own. A sinister shape of unreality, this strange silhouette accompanied the
men. A black vagueness in the mistтАФso obscure as to be almost unseen тАФwas the only living token of
this weird streak of blackness.

Yet, had Stacks or his companion stared back toward the bushes, they would have seen a more potent
sign of a being in the darkness. Two burning eyes, their brightness reflecting the glimmer of the light above
the door, were following the sneaking men. Phantom eyes that seemed to float through the mist, they
watched the progress of these stealthy spies.

тАЬWe'll be all right here?тАЭ came Scully's question, as the porch was reached.

тАЬSure,тАЭ was the whisper that came from Stacks. тАЬOld Boswick will be up in his studyтАФthe little room
that opens on the back yardтАФтАЭ

As he broke off his statement, Stacks chanced to glance back toward the driveway. He caught a
momentary glimpse of a gliding shape along the ground; then attributed it to his imagination.

THE owner of that shadow was invisible. The tall form of a living being was skirting the edge of the porch
even as Stacks spoke. Sharp ears had heard the reference to the little upstairs room. The phantom shape
moved onward, unseen in the darkness.

A dim light glimmered from a small window on the second floor, at the back of the house. Beneath that
window, a tall form emerged from the dampening darkness. Gloved hands pressed against the rough
stone wall of the building.

A figure moved upward. The folds of a rain-soaked cloak flapped gently against the stones. A creature
of the night was making its way to the window. Shortly afterward, a blackened hand appeared against
the dim light, and noiselessly pushed the window sash upward.

The shadowy shape of a slouch hat was momentarily revealed by the vague illumination. A few seconds
later, the head beneath the hat had moved to the side, and was no longer visible. The weird phantom of
the night clung bat-like to the side of the house.

While Drew Westling, listening by the door of the study, overheard the conversation within the room, this
eerie visitant of darkness was also learning what passed between Houston Boswick and Farland Tracy.

Silent, sinister, and unseen, The Shadow, man of darkness, had come to this secluded spot. The