"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 074 - Bells of Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

As Claverly complied, Messler turned to the fourth player. He was facing an impassive, hawk-visaged
personage who had made no comment. Messler put a formal question to the fourth player.

"How about it, Cranston?" he queried. "Do you agree that it is time to end the game?"

"Yes," came the quiet response.

Chips were clattering. Rosling was turning in his small stack. Messler had an even smaller pile. Cranston's
chips, however, were many and of varied colors. Claverly, eying them as he prepared to pay, realized
instantly that Cranston, like himself, was a heavy winner.

Dull, muffled throbs were audible all the while. These four were aboard the steamship Laurentic, in
passage from Liverpool to New York. The pounding of the engines accounted for the throbs, for the ship
was wallowing through a heavy sea.

These four men were alone in the smoking room of the liner. It was past midnight; other passengers -
stragglers who had ventured from their cabins - had retired. Yet these four, untroubled by the roughness
of the weather, had continued the game that they had begun earlier in the evening.

It was not surprising that the rough passage had not troubled them. During their acquaintanceship aboard
the Laurentic, each had learned that the others were accustomed to ocean travel. Augustus Messler, the
portly gentleman, was a wealthy New Yorker who was completing a voyage around the world. Milton
Claverly, the suave young chap, was ending a trip from Australia. Charles Rosling, the man with the
hatchet face, had declared himself to be a frequent transatlantic traveler.

The fourth member of the party - Lamont Cranston - had proven to be the most experienced voyager of
all. He had sailed every ocean and was familiar with lands which, to the others, were no more than
names.

Cranston had arrived in London just in time to board the Laurentic. He had reached the English capital
after a journey through the heart of Africa, from Capetown to Cairo.

Accounts settled, Augustus Messler began to comment on these facts. Settling back in his chair, the
portly man puffed at a huge cigar and chuckled as he surveyed his companions. He seemed undisturbed
by the money that he had lost. The opportunity for a last chat was more important.

"Travelers, all of us," commented Messler. "It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance,
gentlemen. It is odd, the way that people meet. Each man with his own story of the world.

"Myself, for instance. My trip around the world began as a pleasure journey. I had no expectation of
adventure until I decided to visit the north of India. My trip to Delhi changed everything. It was there that
I acquired the jewels of the Rajah Salgore.

"From then on, my trip required caution. I hired guards for my journey from Delhi to Calcutta and it was
well that I did so. Twice, attempts were made to rob me. I did not feel safe until I was out of India."

Messler paused to chuckle. Claverly was eying him shrewdly. Rosling was interested, although he tried to
feign indifference. Cranston, impassive, was watching the speaker with steady gaze.
"I worked a clever trick in Calcutta," resumed Messler. "I engaged passage on a P O liner; then took a
boat that left two days earlier. That was a wise course. They arrested five men aboard the P O ship