"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 094 - Castle of Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

The Afghan's huge fingers were but inches distant from the knife itself. They possessed the strength
required to wrest that blade from its lodging. A weapon lay almost in Amakar's grasp!

Harry Vincent came to double action. To offset Amakar, he sprang forward, bounding up the step edge
to encounter the half-risen giant. At the same time, he yanked his own automatic from his pocket. The
only way to deal with so formidable a foe was to gain the first advantage.

Amakar did not finish the rise. With a fierce cry in his native tongue, the dark-faced Afghan dived
sidewise from his crouch. His long arms, shooting forth like grappling hooks, were instantaneous in their
action. Bearing down from the steps like a toppling tower, Amakar caught Harry in his grip.

Harry had no chance to fire. His arm was trapped half lifted. Mammoth arms encircled him. As he went
rolling backward, pinned to helplessness, Harry felt those engirding arms hoist him clear of the sidewalk.
Then Amakar delivered a twisting heave, in the fashion of a discus hurler.

Harry Vincent cleared the curb in mid-air. He had reached the center of the narrow street when he
struck, shoulder first. The power of the fling carried him onward.

Harry rolled over three times in quick succession before he finally stopped. Even then, it was the
presence of the opposite curb that halted him. Harry's head cracked the edge of the sidewalk with a
jarring velocity.

HALF dazed, Harry tried to rise, his only thought to get back into the fray. Hemmed in by the fog, he
could see only that lighted stretch directly in front of the doorway across the street; against its
background, he spied the looming bulk of Amakar. The big man was turning; apparently looking for
another prey.

To Harry's dazed senses came the trill of police whistles. The Shadow's shots; the flight of vanished thugs
- both had been heard by constables in the district. Harry tried to rise and failed. His right shoulder
sagged; his right knee gave with his weight.

As Harry made the effort, a muffled gunshot sounded from the haze. The direction of the report told
Harry that it must mean the finish of the fight that The Shadow was having with one lone assassin. Harry
was right. Amakar, too, had heard the sound. The big Afghan had located someone in the fog.

Harry saw Amakar leap past the steps. At the same instant, a figure charged forward to meet him. It was
The Shadow, hatless, his cape half torn from his shoulders. Despite his tallness, The Shadow looked
pygmylike as he plunged toward Amakar. His lithe form looked slender enough for the Afghan to break
in two.

A wreath of smoke was curling from above The Shadow's hand. The coil came from his automatic, its
curling twist blended with the murkiness of the fog. Then Amakar met the advancing figure. Harry saw
The Shadow's hand jerk backward.

Amakar had plucked The Shadow's gun hand while it was on the aim. He had gained the same
advantage that he had with Harry. The Afghan's gripping arms surrounded Harry's chief. The Shadow's
body was hoisted high in front of the patch of light which formed the background for the scene.

Harry's own gun was gone. It had spilled far from his hand during his long pitch. Helplessly, Harry could
only watch; he saw The Shadow whirling like a straw puppet as Amakar prepared to fling him against the