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

but gave the matter little thought. Had they been able to view the side of the packet that was toward
Rowdy's eyes, their passing curiosity would have become keen interest.

THE near side of the band was marked, not with a printed or written statement of amount, but with a
most unusual emblem. Thrust through the band itself was a feather of jet-black hue.

It was this object that Rowdy Kirshing did not want the other men to see. That was why he did not tear
the band. He glowered, as the tightly-packed bills failed to come free. The players leaned back in their
chairs and waited.

Thus came momentary silence, that lacked even the slight clicking of poker chips. It was the sudden lull
that caused Rowdy Kirshing to look up quickly as his ears detected an unexpected sound from across
the room.

Rowdy was facing the door; the other men stared as they caught the expression that appeared upon the
big shot's face. Rowdy's hands stopped their motion. Gripping the ends of the packet of bills, the
racketeer gazed in petrified horror.

The others turned their heads in alarm. Like Rowdy, they became as statues. Unseen, unheard, some
stranger had entered the secluded gaming room. Like a specter from the night, a figure had appeared
before these men of crime.

Looming just within the door was a tall form clad in black. A cloak of sable hue hid the arrival's body.
The upturned collar concealed his features. The turned-down brim of a black slouch hat obscured the
visitor's forehead. All that showed from that darkened visage was a pair of burning eyes that focused
themselves upon the crisp bills gripped in Rowdy Kirshing's hands.

From a black-gloved fist extended a huge automatic, its mighty muzzle looming with a threat of instant
death. It was the sight of that weapon that caused five watching men to quail.

Then, as no one moved, there came a token more terrifying than either the being himself or the mammoth
gun which he displayed. A whisper crept from unseen lips. It rose to a quivering, shuddering laugh that
echoed sibilantly through the room.

That was the laugh feared throughout the underworld. It was the cry that men of crime knew for a knell
of doom.

The laugh of The Shadow!

CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW SPEAKS.
THE SHADOW!

Every one of the five racketeers trembled at the sound of the visitant's laugh. Though four knew that the
sinister sound was directed toward one-Rowdy Kirshing-there was no comfort for them.

These men were crooks. To them, crime had become a science. Payers for protection, they had found
ways to offset the efforts of the police. But, like all denizens of gang land, they held a common fear.

They knew that all participants in crime were threatened by a common menace. They knew that a
mysterious fighter was ever ready to battle with those who fought the law. They had heard tales of a