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

being clad in black, a lone wolf whom none could balk; and they knew that he was called The Shadow.

Swift death came to those who sought to thwart The Shadow. Often had this phantom being arrived in
spots where gangsters lurked, to deal vengeance upon fiends who plotted crime. But of all spots in
Manhattan where security from The Shadow could have been expected, this guarded gaming room within
the steel-domed club had promised greatest security.

The Shadow's presence was incredible. The trapped men stared as though viewing a ghost. There was
an unreality about the black-clad shape; but it was brought to grim actuality by the tokens of The
Shadow's power.
The blazing eyes; the looming automatic; the weirdly whispered laugh-these were signs of The Shadow's
wrath. The men who saw and heard were quivering. Not a hand stirred as horrified minds hoped only
that The Shadow would concentrate upon the man who first had seen him-Rowdy Kirshing.

A moment of chilling silence. Then came The Shadow's voice. A sneering whisper formed words that
hissed with terrible threat.

"Rowdy Kirshing!" The Shadow's tones seemed to mock the name that they uttered. "I have found you
with ill-gotten spoils. Before I depart, you will tell me of their source. You will betray the part that you
have played in evil crime!" The tall form was moving inward from the door. There was weirdness in The
Shadow's approach. As his dreaded figure neared the table, the seated men crouched away; but all held
their hands above their heads as token of surrender.

ROWDY KIRSHING'S face still wore its sullen fear. His hands, however, were trembling. The crisp
bills crinkled between them. The big shot was cowed. "Speak!" The Shadow's voice was commanding.
"Tell me the name of the underling who has served you!"

Rowdy's lips were rigid. Then, like the big shot's hands, they began to tremble. The menace of The
Shadow's automatic seemed imminent.

"Speak!" came The Shadow's harrowing tone.

"Terry," gasped Rowdy Kirshing. "Terry-Terry Rukes. He's the fellow-who's working for me. But I'm
not in it-"

The Shadow's laugh came as a chilling interruption. Rowdy Kirshing's scarred face showed pallor. "You
are the go-between," sneered The Shadow. "The money in your hands is payment for your services. You
have purchased men for crime."

Rowdy Kirshing's protest ended. There was accusation in The Shadow's sinister utterance. The big shot
could not meet it.

"Name the man," came The Shadow's order, "who has provided the funds for crime."

It was a moment before Rowdy Kirshing gained his voice. His words, when uttered, were hoarse, with a
plaintive quaver that seemed incongruous from his roughened lips.

"I-I don't know"-Rowdy was gasping-"don't know-don't know who-"

The Shadow's blazing eyes were fierce. A soft, menacing taunt came from the lips that Rowdy could not