"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 083 - Man from Scotland Yard" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

streets was added indication. Moreover, he showed a furtiveness when he peered back at every
crossing. The wayfarer feared followers.

The fog gave the man confidence as he reached the moisture-surfaced structure of an elevated railway.
He had put distance between himself and the waterfront. The grime of blackened pillars seemed to please
him.

Dull lights of shop windows gleamed from the avenue and showed a pallid, long-featured face. Protruding
teeth glittered as the muffled man delivered an unpleasant smile. A quick glance over shoulder; the fellow
ducked into the obscurity of a side street.

Fear of followers had passed from the wayfarers thoughts; had he lingered longer, his trepidation would
have returned. Hardly had the long-limbed individual cut away from the avenue before another hunched
figure shambled into view beside the "el" pillars.

Crafty eyes from a wizened face made thorough search along the avenue. Quick-gazing, those optics
picked the very street that the long-limbed man had taken. Shuffling cater-cornered across the street, the
newcomer headed for the same route.

Though this New York fog was as thick as the traditional London "pea-souper," the follower had kept on
the quarry's trail. Wherever the long-limbed man was going, the shorter fellow would remain close behind
him. Strange figures of the underworld, the two were playing an odd drama of the night.

OF the pair, the wizened-faced trailer was the more intriguing. Any man who could stalk prey through
this fog must unquestionably be clever at his chosen game. That little trailer was indeed clever. He had a
reputation for his ability. In the scumlands of New York, he was known as "Hawkeye," the craftiest of all
spotters.

One person alone was conceded to be Hawkeye's better at such tasks. That one was the mystery figure
of the underworld - The Shadow. Crooks gave The Shadow credit for superhuman powers; it was little
wonder that they were willing to acknowledge him superior to Hawkeye.

Gunners had claimed that they could outshoot The Shadow; cracksman had bragged that they possessed
greater skill than that unknown champion of right. Listeners had laughed at such boasts. Those of the
underworld knew this much of The Shadow - that he had no equal in any line of endeavor that came
within his sphere of action.

So Hawkeye, had he claimed himself on par with The Shadow, would have been greeted with jeers. But
Hawkeye, oddly, possessed a modest spirit regarding his own ability. The little trailer never made
mention of The Shadow; and he had good reason for preserving silence. Hawkeye was in The Shadow's
service.

The Shadow had found the little spotter to be a useful aid. Master who battled crime, The Shadow had
supertasks of his own. Known as the scourge of crookdom, he was forced to leave lesser work to
others.

Tonight's trail was one that The Shadow had passed to Hawkeye. Under secret orders, the little spotter
had been told to pick up the trail of a fellow named "Scud" Paffrey. Hawkeye had previously seen Scud
close to the waterfront. It was that vicinity that Hawkeye had chosen tonight.