"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 078 - The Third Skull" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

humiliation.

"I said four men would learn my secret," he cackled. "Four - so that no one man could play me false. I
was wrong when I said four. There will be five!"

"Who will be the other?" questioned Hothan.

"Yourself," sneered old Parchell. "I shall have you remain; to learn a secret which will be of no use to
you. Or to the man who hired you" - Parchell paused, eyeing Hothan closely - "the man who bribed you
to betray me; the man whose name I know. He will be as helpless as you, Hothan, because I shall tell all
to look out for his treachery."

Hothan chewed his lips. He stared sullenly; then began to look about the room. His gaze rested upon a
filing case in the corner; a wall safe beyond it.

Old Parchell chuckled.

"You searched those places, Hothan," he reminded, "and you learned nothing. Why? Because the secret
was not there. It was in my brain, Hothan" - with a clawlike finger, the old man tapped his withered
forehead - "here in my brain. The details of where my treasure is hidden; with orders concerning what is
to be done with it."

The old man dropped his right hand. It rested beside his other claw; unconsciously, old Parchell began to
crinkle the folded paper as he had done before.

Hothan breathed hard, suddenly. For the first time, the discharged secretary noted the document. White
against the bedspread, the paper had not previously gained his attention.

Hildrew Parchell looked up. His cackled laugh was a bluff. He was covering the fact that he had actually
written out his secret; that this paper in his hands contained the very information that Hothan was here to
get before others arrived. But the sudden glare in Hothan's eyes told Parchell that the game was ended.
The sallow-faced man advanced, his face venomous.

Hildrew Parchell performed a sudden twist. His face contorted with pain from the strain that the effort
cost him. Flinging away from Hothan's approach, the old man used his left hand to clutch the table on the
opposite side of the bed. With his right, he thrust the folded paper squarely into the flickering flame of the
candle.

Snarling, Hothan leaped forward. He bounded across the bed. Old Parchell swung up to meet him. With
his left hand, the old man beat wildly against his foe while his right hand waved the paper as a firebrand.
The document had caught fire at one corner. Grimly, Parchell was fighting to destroy it.

Hothan caught the old man's wrist and twisted it with spiteful force. Old Parchell gasped. His fingers
loosened; but he managed to fling the burning paper to the floor. Half of it ablaze, the precious document
was flaring like a miniature torch.

As Hothan dived for the paper, Parchell grabbed him. The old man's hands sunk deep into the
secretary's flesh as they found Hothan's neck. Together, the two men rolled from the bed.

Hothan's fist caught Parchell's jaw. The old man's head rebounded hard against the corner of the table.