"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 035 - The Black Hush" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

He spoke excitedly - almost gasping - amid the thickened gloom as he turned in the direction where
Richard Reardon had been sitting.

"Something is wrong," he said, in a low, muffled tone. "Something that I never believed could happen -
something that may mean serious danger to -"
Only Reardon caught the worried words. The president groped blindly and found his companion's arm.
He could feel Furness trembling.

A sudden gleam of light was sweeping through the room. The brilliant rays of a powerful lantern were
focused upon the men at the head table. The diners could see Reardon and Furness, both raising their
arms in surprise as they were caught within the circle of that terrific glare.

The light was coming from the door of the room. Held by an unseen person, it was a veritable spotlight
that had picked out the two principal men in this assemblage. Furness, open-mouthed, was partly in front
of Reardon's form.

The bark of a revolver sounded from the darkness. Although its flash appeared behind the light, the shot
had a sound that was almost muffled. The firing was repeated - again - again - again.

Roland Furness staggered. He collapsed upon the table, his falling form clearly revealed in the circle of
illumination.

A second later, Richard Reardon dropped. Two men, living but a few moments ago, were sprawled
lifeless before the horrified witnesses!

The powerful glare went out. Stygian darkness was all that remained.

Not a man in the room possessed the immediate resourcefulness to cope with this unexpected situation.
Tragedy had happened before their startled eyes; tragedy that was hidden by an amazing blackout!

APPALLING gloom! The same black hush lay within the Blue Room at the other side of the hotel.
There, Joe Cardona, grim amid the darkness, still stood beside the door, expecting to hear the sound of
shots before him.

But the man who expected did not hear. Those muffled reports from the other side of the hotel had not
reached his ears.

Joe Cardona waited. A click sounded from his left hand. He had drawn his flashlight, and had pressed
the button. The instrument, however, did not work!

Cardona growled. He could not understand this. He jockeyed grimly with the button while his right hand
clutched a revolver. Seconds were ticking into minutes, still the torch was useless. The detective cursed
his negligence; he hoped only that he could fight without the aid of light.

Then came unexpected relief. The Blue Room was suddenly flooded with brilliance. The lights had come
on. For a moment, the detective saw a sea of whitened faces. Then a buzz started as the Mohawks
resumed their interrupted noise-making.

Cardona saw Goldy Tancred. The man was serious and worried in expression; then, slowly, he showed