"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 048 - Gray Fist" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

arrive..."

Varden's face seemed to pale beneath the light that came from a desk lamp beside him. For a moment,
stark fear flickered over his features. Finally, anger mingled with terror.

"A hoax?" Varden's question was blurted into the mouthpiece. "This is no hoax! Can't you take my word
that danger threatens me? Listen, Cardona"тАФVarden's voice was lowering tenselyтАФ"I can tell you one
fact right now... Yes, regarding this danger... It involves Seth Cowry, the missing racketeer... No, I don't
know where he is, but I can tell you who he's working for -"

An exclamation came across the wire. It was Cardona's statement that he would come to Varden's. The
gray-haired man smiled wanly as he hung the receiver on the hook. Despite the strain which held him,
Varden could not repress a smile at the quickness with which his statement had aroused Cardona's
interest.

SEATED at a heavy desk, in the center of a well-furnished study, Worth Varden was in a setting that
denoted wealth. His room was adorned with chairs of fine mahogany; the floor and walls were bedecked
with Oriental rugs of apparent value. Yet the man, himself, despite the dignity of his appearance, seemed
miserable. His eyes were glassy, his shoulders were bowed as though they bore the burden of an invisible
weight.

At the side of the room, a door stood ajar. There was blackness beyond. The partly opened barrier
indicated that Varden was apprehensive about what might occur from that direction. His furtive eyes
looked toward the door; his ears were listening.

TapтАФtapтАФtapтАФ

The rhythmic beat made Varden start. Some one was knocking for entrance, at a spot beyond the partly
opened door. The gray-haired importer arose and moved cautiously toward the door. He pushed it
slightly; slipped through and closed the door behind him. He was in a short hallway, which was totally
dark. The tapsтАФthey seemed as cautious as did VardenтАФwere coming from another door at the end of
the little corridor.

Varden advanced. Locks clicked as he unfastened them. His trembling hand turned the knob. As the
door opened slightly under Varden's pull, a quiet voice spoke from outside.

"Ruggles Preston."

Varden opened the door quickly when he heard this announcement. A gust of chill air came from the little
courtyard outside of the house. A man stepped in from the darkness. Varden closed the door and locked
it.

Silently, the two men made their way to the study. When they had reached the lighted room, Varden,
with a sigh of relief, closed the door to the hall. He turned to face his visitor.

Ruggles Preston eyed him quizzically.

Ruggles Preston was a younger man than Worth Varden. Although a trifle portly, he possessed a strong
physique and a domineering gaze that was almost challenging. There was something in Preston's manner
that betokened confidence, and Varden sensed it. He waved his visitor to a seat opposite the desk.