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

"No vans seen about?" questioned the first bobby.

"None," replied the second. "These were -"

The speaker paused. A pedestrian was strolling from the mist. He was a man of military bearing, that
appearance being increased by his attire. He was wearing a khaki-colored overcoat; his felt hat was set
at a slight tilt. His greeting was cheery as he approached the officers.

"Hello, there!" he exclaimed. "Trouble hereabouts?"

The first bobby stared. He had seen coincidence in the fact that two passers had been going on foot to
the Acropolis Club. But that had been nothing when compared to the present puzzle.

The officer had remembered the first man's face. High cheeks, sharp nose and gray eyes. A voice that
was brisk; but well accented. To his amazement, the bobby was staring at that face again, listening to the
same voice!

Yet this could not be the identical Englishman. The first had worn a light-gray topcoat and bowler hat.
This man was clad in a khaki coat and soft hat. The first had worn gloves and carried a walking stick; this
man had neither.

Moreover, the first man had continued west. This chap had come from an easterly direction. Brief
minutes had separated their arrivals. Yet, as he stared, the bobby realized that the first man might have
stopped somewhere close by, changed his hat and coat, and then circled back.

"Beg pardon, sir," questioned the bobby. "Were you not the gentleman who passed by a short while
ago?"

"I?" queried the sharp-faced young man, in apparent surprise. "Not at all. I have been strolling in this
direction from The Strand. Enjoying London after a long absence."

"You have lost your way, sir?"

The bobby's query was cagey. It was an effort to learn the new arrival's destination. Gray eyes flashed.

"Ah! I have it!" The wayfarer's tone was jesting. "Some other chap, dressed like myself, strolled by here
in the fog. Well, I must grant that my attire is a bit unusual for a Londoner. You see, I am just home from
India."

THE bobby had stepped a trifle to one side, to gain a better view of the man's face. The wayfarer
noticed this effort at closer scrutiny.

"You are wondering about India?" he laughed. "Wondering why my face is not a tanned one? That is
because I came home on sick leave. I lost two stone in weight, thanks to the beastly fever spell that I
experienced in Bombay. I turned as white as a ghost."

"It was not that, sir," confessed the bobby, stepping back. "It was your face, not your attire that made me
believe you were the other gentleman returned. But I see that I am wrong, sir."

"Ah! My face is not the same?" The question was quick. "Perhaps you did not observe the other chap