"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 041 - The Killer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

momentarily inert.

In the center of that dissipating mass the man had seen a pair of burning eyes, fixed upon him in a steady
gaze!

As the dock worker managed to grip the handles of the trucks the weird hallucination ended. Only
shadowy blackness remained where fog had been. There was no further sign of the brilliant orbs. They
had vanished with the haze, as if some phantom creature had returned to the spaces from which it had
materialized.

The dock worker moved along. He shuddered as he threw a quick glance back over his shoulder. His
footsteps dwindled with the squeaking roll of his truck. Then, from that obscure corner came a sighing
sound, a soft, throbbing laugh that was audible only in the proximity of the spot where it was uttered.

OUT of the blackness stepped a figure. A phantom shape of blackness, it moved along the pier with
silent stride. Its form became evident as it stopped between two piles of boxes. Revealing light betrayed
its characteristics, but none of the men upon the dock could see it because of the stacked boxes.

Even under flickering glare, the creature which had come from the blotted corner seemed more spectral
than human. Tall, motionless, this being was a statuesque form clad entirely in black.

A long cloak of sable hue hung from hidden shoulders. Hands were garbed in thin black gloves. The
upturned collar of the cloak hid the face of the personage who wore it. The broad brim of a black slouch
hat completely obscured the upper portion of the apparition's features.

Strange though this shape appeared, there were men in New York who would have known its identity
had they been present at this spot. Evil men would have recognized the masterful personage, but they
would not long have lingered had they been here to view the spectral being.

The figure clad in solid black was The Shadow. Mysterious master of darkness, he was one who warred
with crime. Where evil brewed, The Shadow appeared. Silent, invisible in motion, The Shadow was the
most dreaded force that battled with the hordes of New York's underworld.

Many had heard of The Shadow; few had seen him. Minions of crime who had met him eye to eye had
never lived to tell the details of such meetings. The Shadow, when he watched, was a fleeting shape of
blackness. The Shadow, when he struck, was a being of wrath who came from darkness and returned to
it when his work of justice was accomplished.

What was The Shadow's purpose on this North River pier? Only The Shadow knew, and the soft tones
of whispered mirth that came from his hidden lips were the token of The Shadow's readiness. Those
throbbing touches of mockery were the echo of shrill blasts which came from the whistles of panting
tugboats, just beyond the pier.

Pale lights revealed a massive bulk that came swishing slowly inward. Spattering wavelets licked greedily
against walls of steel. A large steamship, its twenty thousand tons exaggerated by the effect of the fog,
was being warped beside the pier.

Cleaved fog billowed. The ship seemed to cut the atmosphere as it did the water.
As mist swirled everywhere, The Shadow stepped from behind the boxes. His tall form glided toward the
edge of the pier, swerving with the eddies of blackened mist, unnoticed by any human eye. The Shadow