"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 047 - The Black Falcon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

Such was the trophy that The Shadow had brought from the secret stronghold on Tenth Avenue.
Unaided, the master fighter had raided the palatial club where big shots met. Departing unscathed, he had
left death lying in his wake.

Rowdy Kirshing had died in an attempt to slay The Shadow. Before his death, the big shot had blurted
his connection with "Velvet" Laffrey. There lay another link. The police-so rumor had it-were looking for
Laffrey in connection with the disappearance of Hubert Apprison, prominent New York banker.

Gangland rumors are usually backed by truth. Such was the case with this one. Less than half an hour
after the echoes of The Shadow's shots had ended within the confines of the Tenth Avenue club, a
swarthy, stocky man stepped from a subway entrance near the corner of Thirty-third Street.

This individual walked along at a steady pace until he arrived at the entrance of an apartment house. He
rode upstairs in an automatic elevator and knocked at the door of an apartment. The door opened to
show a small anteroom. A short man, of military bearing, stepped back to admit the arrival.

"Good evening, Detective Cardona," he said, "The commissioner is waiting to see you. Step in."

The servant conducted the detective into a living room. He led him through to a hallway beyond and
paused to knock on a closed door. A brusque voice responded from the other side of the barrier.

"What is it, Kempton?"
"Detective Cardona is here, sir," replied the servant.

"All right," came the voice. "Have him enter."

The servant opened the door and ushered the detective into a small, lighted office. A desk occupied the
middle of the room; beyond it was seated a firm-faced man who was going over a stack of papers.

Cardona seated himself in a chair on the nearer side of the desk. He waited for several minutes until the
police commissioner laid the papers aside, rested back in the chair and eyed his visitor.

There was a marked contrast between these two men who represented the law. Police Commissioner
Ralph Weston was of a powerful, executive type. His strong face, his steady lips with pointed mustache
above them, showed him to be a man who believed in action and demanded it.

Detective Joe Cardona, with keen, dark eyes and solemn visage, was one who could follow instructions
that were given. His impassiveness was the sign of his ability to observe. Long experience in hunting
down perpetrators of crime had gained him recognition as an ace among sleuths.

IT was Cardona's practice, when he visited Weston, to let the commissioner begin the conversation.
Cardona had learned that his superior was both impulsive and impatient. When Weston had questions, he
asked them. Cardona had become wise enough to govern his replies along lines that were close to the
commissioner's train of thought.

Thus Cardona waited for a full minute while Weston stared in his direction. The detective knew that a
question was coming. He wanted to hear it. At length the commissioner snapped his inquiry.

"Anything new on Apprison?"