"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 033 - The Living Joss" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

Again, he heard the spoken name of Kwa; later, as he picked a deserted side street on the outskirts of
Chinatown, he caught the mumbled tones of an Oriental who was uttering the same mysterious title.

THE district was agog. Kwa had returned. In some unknown abode, an insidious power dwelt. Who
was this unknown being who had returned to New York?

What was his mission here?
The man who had heard, thought of the shadowy streets in Chinatown. Strange menaces existed there -
factors which could not exist outside of that town which seemed like a patch of the Orient transplanted to
Manhattan.

A mysterious being such as Kwa could not be found elsewhere in New York - so the sallow-faced man
reflected. But in that opinion he was wrong. Had he glanced behind him as he strode along, coming from
an alleyway into a street beneath the elevated line, he might have glimpsed the sign of a phantom shape as
amazing as any Living Joss.

Out of the shadows of Chinatown had come a Living Shadow - a weird, sinister shape which glided
along in exact speed with the military stride of the departing man. A splotch of blackness, long and
silhouetted in the fog-blended lights of street lamps, was following the man who had heard.

That strange shape had come to Chinatown tonight. It had crossed the path of the prowling American. It
was the token of an unseen watcher in the night, one who had also learned the rumors that persisted
concerning the unknown Kwa.

The Shadow, master of darkness, had watched the lips of the speaking Chinese merchants. Unobserved,
The Shadow had heard the name Kwa uttered at the door of the obscure shop. Later, The Shadow had
heard the remarks of other Chinamen, speaking in their native tongue as they mentioned the name of the
Living Joss.

Now, spectral in the darkness, The Shadow was trailing the American who had so cleverly intruded upon
Chinese conversations.

Shadows still remained in Chinatown; but The Shadow had departed, and none knew of his arrival or his
departure!

CHAPTER II. THE MEETING
FOUR men were gathered about a circular table. The room in which they were seated was a built-in sun
porch of a large mansion, a fact easily recognizable by the windows that flanked three sides. Behind
drawn shades, the quartet was holding a quiet discussion. A vacant chair, however, signified that the
group expected another member.

In the largest chair, the one which might well have constituted the head, was a weary, gray-haired man
some seventy years of age. His shoulders were bowed, his face was pale, but kindly. His thin hands
rested upon the edge of the table.

"Will we have to wait much longer?"

The old man asked the question in a quavering voice as he looked at his companions.

"I hope not, Mr. Schofield," came a reply. "We will allow just a few minutes more; then we can