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

He transferred a crumpled wad of bills to the proprietor's hand. Dory eyed the money, nodded and thrust
the bills into his pocket.

"Pass the high-sign to the regulars," whispered Sailor. "When I start it movin', they pitch in. Drag the guy
out through the side way, into the house. I'll talk to 'im there."

"All right," agreed Dory.

As Sailor strolled over to the indicated corner, Dory shifted behind the bar. Some of the customers had
noted him talking to Sailor and were staring curiously. Dory caught the eyes he wanted. He gave a
significant nod and a nudge of his thumb. Nods were the responses of the regulars. Eyes shifted to the
corner.

Sailor had stopped by the table where the stranger was seated. He was looking at his quarry; the man
was staring up to meet his gaze. Sailor eyed a face that was unshaven, with an upper lip that displayed a
short-clipped mustache. He gained the hunch that the sallow complexion had been increased in darkness
by a dye.

"Howdy, mate," he greeted. "Ain't I seen you somewhere? On the Colombo, when I shipped from
Buenos Aires?"

"Don't remember you," returned the stranger, with a short growl. "Maybe we've met; maybe we
haven't."

"Old Halyard Lubin was the skipper," recalled Sailor, seating himself at the table. "You heard of him, ain't
you?"

"Sure." The dark-faced man shoved a bottle and glass to Sailor. "Heard a lot about him. Never met him,
though."

"You heard what they said about Lubin in Puerto Rico?"

"Yeah. But I never got the story straight. What was it?"

Sailor's grin hardened. His tone was contemptuous as he leaned forward across the table. "You heard
about Halyard Lubin, eh? In Puerto Rico? Well, he never was there - because there ain't no such guy! I
thought you was the landlubber I was lookin' for -"

As he spoke, Sailor came up from the table. His arms shot forward; his long-nailed fingers clawed for the
dark man's throat.

The stranger, too, was in action, and he moved too swiftly for Sailor. Twisting away, the landlubber sent
his chair crashing to the floor. With one hand he made a grab for the bottle. Whisking it from under
Sailor's nose, he started a side-swiping swing straight for his antagonist's head.

Sailor ducked as he threw up a warding arm. The swing went wide; the landlubber shifted for a
downward drive before Sailor could stop him. That second blow would have brought results, but for an
attack from another source.

The regulars had responded. They were surging forward en masse. Half a dozen ruffians, followed by a