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

were landlubbers. To his pals, this ugly-eyed specimen was known as Sailor Martz.

Others went back to their ships when they left Dory's. Sailor Martz stayed ashore. He had no ship. Dory
knew, however, that Sailor was not always in New York. He had been absent during a period of nearly
two months; it was only recently that he had returned.

Whether or not Sailor Martz had filled a temporary berth on some ship was a matter which did not
concern Dory Halbit. He recognized Sailor as an accepted customer; the fellow's business was his own.
Moreover, Sailor's patronage was profitable to Dory. On more than one occasion, the bad-eyed
customer had paid the proprietor for the use of rooms in the adjoining house. Sailor had held meetings
there. That was all that Dory knew.
SAILOR caught the proprietor's stare. His ugly grin widened. Shaking his dark-colored slicker, shoving
his cap up from his forehead, Sailor strolled over to the bar and thrust a foot upon the broken-down
brass rail.

Dory leaned back and produced a bottle and glass. He placed these articles on the bar so Sailor could
help himself.

"Looking for somebody, Sailor?" queried Dory.

"Yeah." Sailor stood with glass in hand and stared suspiciously about the dive. "Lookin' for a mug that I
don't know. Maybe you can help me, Dory."

"How's that? If you don't know the guy?"

"I may be able to pick him out, if he's here. What I want to lamp is strangers. Tell me where to spot
'em."

"Couple of Filipinos over by the side door."

"Not them. This mug's an American."

"Fellow by the middle post. The one with the underslung jaw."

"Who else?"

"Dark-faced gent down in that inside corner. The one with the dark mackinaw. Might be a furriner, but I
don't think he is."

Sailor flashed a sidelong glance. He spied a thick-set man who was seated alone. Something in the
fellow's bearing rendered him inconspicuous. Sailor would not have noticed him but for Dory's
suggestion. "Look's like the mug," stated Sailor, his growl lowered almost to a whisper. "I'm slidin' over
to talk to him, Dory. Maybe he'll start somethin'; so be on the lookout."

"Yeah?" queried the proprietor, his voice as hard as Sailor's. "Take another guess, matey. This ain't no
joint for a fight."

"It won't be no fight," assured Sailor, bringing a clenched hand from a pocket of his slicker. "Not if you
use your noodle, Dory. Here - snag this."