"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 042 - Mox" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

Death threatens me. I know that death has been the lot of others. I know that death will continue. I have
been a fool. I have aided a monster in his schemes of death.

Harlew paused. His lips began to twitch. His eyes, steadying upon the words that his hand had written,
saw the name of The Shadow emblazoned on the paper. Harlew's hand steadied.

Midnight is the hour that the monster chooses. At midnight, he has talked with me. He has given me
instructions and the time that I must return. I obeyed him in the past. I always returned to his hidden
abode until one day ago; then I gained courage. I did not keep my appointment with my fiendish master.

The little clock on the desk showed five minutes before twelve. Harlew's teeth grated with determination.
Feverishly, he resumed his writing.

To fail in my appointment with this evil master held one penaltyтАФ doom. Sure doom, within twenty-four
hours after such failure. I have risked my life. I have hidden. Less than five minutes remain before
midnight. Once that dead line is passed, I shall be safeтАФfor I shall know that the fiend has not found my
hiding place.

I have been afraid to write my statement. I have begun now that I may be finished, when midnight comes.
I dare not betray him until I am sure of safety. As soon as my little clock tells me that midnight has
passed, I shall write the monster's name.

Then I shall post this letterтАФor leave it hereтАФwhich, I cannot decide. I can think more sanely, once I
know that I am free. This letter must reach the one to whom I have addressed it. He, alone, can meet and
defeat the monster. Once I am safe, I shall flee.

The clock showed one minute before twelve. Its measurement of time was precise; for it had a little
second hand which was just starting on the final minute. Watching the clock, Harlew wrote
mechanicallyтАФ he inscribed an involuntary thought upon the paper:

One minute: then the name:

Pen poised in hand, Harlew watched the second hand mark off its tiny portions of time. Each second
seemed endless to this man who had forgotten all else in his anxiety to make sure that he would escape
the doom he feared.

Fifteen seconds; twenty. Harlew was a living statute. His eyes were bulging as they stared at the clock.
His breath came in long, inaudible puffs.

Thirty seconds. Harlew remained rigid. He was fascinated by the slow upward journey of the tiny pointer
that seemed to hold its course while life lay in the balance.

At fifteen seconds before twelve, an involuntary trembling caught Harlew's frame. At ten seconds before
the hour, the shaking had increased to a palsy.

Five seconds to go. Harlew's face was twitching in fierce contortions. Four seconds; three; two;
oneтАФthe pointer of the second hand reached the high spot, just as the minute and hour hands together
formed an upright bar directly to the number twelve.