"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 039 - Road of Crime" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

a grotesque shape. The upturned collar of the cloak obscured the stranger's features.
Above the cloak, the silent visitor was wearing a broad-brimmed slouch hat which completely hid his
forehead. The dull light of the anteroom showed only the eyes of the mysterious arrival. From beneath the
hat brim, a pair of blazing orbs shone with sinister gleam as they peered toward the two doors that led
into the apartment.

Like an apparition, this weird stranger had followed Graham Wellerton into King Furzman's abode.
Merged with the darkness at the far end of the corridor, the black-cloaked phantom had been waiting for
someone to arrive.

Neither Graham Wellerton nor Gouger had detected his uncanny presence; neither was aware that The
Shadow, master of the night, had observed their meeting at the opened door!

THE SHADOW!

Spectral figure of darkness, he was one who sought the spots where crime was fostered. A master of
mystery, his very name was terror to the underworld! A lone wolf who battled the hordes of crookdom,
a supersleuth whose prowess of investigation knew no equal, The Shadow had entered here to learn
facts concerning bold crime.

The gleaming eyes spied the door upon the right. A soft, whispered laugh came eerily from unseen lips.
The tall form glided across the carpeted floor and reached the closed door. A black-gloved hand slowly
turned the knob. The door yielded.

Peering through a narrow crevice, The Shadow spied an empty room, which was almost totally dark.
The one source of illumination came from a narrow archway which was hung with heavy curtains.
Beyond that was a room lighted by floor lamps - a condition which signified that someone was present
there.

The Shadow entered the gloomy room and silently closed the door behind him. His tall form was totally
obscured as it clung to darkness in its path toward the heavy curtains. Only the slight swish of the black
cloak was audible.

The Shadow halted when he reached the curtains. His weird shape merged with a hanging drapery.

The eyes of The Shadow peered into the room beyond. They spied one man - Graham Wellerton. The
visitor, his coat, hat, and cane laid aside, was seated in an easy chair, smoking a cigarette.

A handsome face, above the peaked points of a Tuxedo collar - that was the visage which The Shadow
saw. Graham Wellerton, tonight, was a gentleman of crime. As such, he was awaiting the arrival of the
big shot - the man whom he called King Furzman.

Graham Wellerton's eyes, steady despite their idle appearance, were fixed upon a door at the opposite
side of this reception room - the spot from which the young man knew King Furzman would enter.

Intent in thought, Graham Wellerton gave no attention to the draperies at the archway. He did not see the
blotting patch of darkness that crept slowly inward from the other room and became an unmoving blotch
upon the floor.

That single sign of The Shadow's presence was motionless as The Shadow waited. An interview was in