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

Peering from darkness, The Shadow surveyed a man who had alighted from a taxicab. This individual
was a hard-faced fellow of medium height, who wore a heavy overcoat and leather gloves. He was
looking for someone coming from the gate.

The Shadow's piercing gaze, turned toward Mullrick and Pascual, found the same objective which the
waiting man had chosen. As Mullrick advanced, the man from the taxi grinned and peeled off his right
glove. He sprang forward to shake hands with the passenger from Mexico.

"Hello, Jerry," was Mullrick's greeting. "Thought you'd be here. I see you have a cab."

"Sure thing," returned Jerry. "I didn't want to chance you missing me by calling my hotel."

MULLRICK turned to Pascual. He spoke to the servant in a mixture of Spanish and English, finishing his
remarks by indicating the man who had come to meet them.

"Senor Herston," explained Mullrick. "They say 'Mr. Herston' here in New York. Savvy, Pascual?"

"Si, senor," responded the impassive servant. "Senor Herston. He ees Meestaire Herston. He ees the
man you have call Jerry."

"Right," commended Mullrick. "What about the luggage, Jerry?"

"I'll give them the address," responded Herston. He walked to the dock man who stood beside the truck,
and wrote an address on a large sheet of paper. "You can arrange for the delivery?" he questioned.

The attendant nodded. Herston handed him a tip.

The man laid the sheet of paper on a trunk and fumbled in his pocket for tags to attach to the various
pieces of baggage. Mullrick and Pascual were on their way to the cab. Herston turned to follow them.

A gloved hand came from darkness. Creeping forward, it plucked the sheet of paper from atop the
trunk. The eyes of The Shadow read the address which Jerry Herston had written. "Apartment 4H,
Belisarius Arms," a street address in the Nineties; this was the information which The Shadow gained.

The shipping man had found his tags. He looked for the sheet of paper. Not seeing it on the trunk, he
looked toward the flooring. As his glance went downward, the sheet of paper suddenly crept upward,
projected by an invisible hand. It again lay upon the trunk. Standing up, the dock man noticed it. He
scratched his head as he laid the tags beside it.

How that paper had gone and returned was a mystery to him. He wondered if his eyes had deceived him.
His eyes, again, were missing something. They did not see the obscure form that dwindled off toward the
street beyond the pier. The Shadow was making his departure.

The taxicab had gone. The Shadow had seen it turn up the broad avenue which follows the North River.
Again, The Shadow's form was momentarily in view as it passed beneath a light, then it faded.

A MINUTE afterward, a trim coupe pulled away from a parking space, and took the direction in which
the cab had gone.

Guided by a driver whose form was lost in its interior, the coupe whirled northward, picking spots