"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 095 - Death Rides the Skyway" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

"Running about ten minutes late, Mr. Barbridge," replied one of the men. "She ought to make it up,
though."

Barbridge grunted. He produced a pipe and pouch. He stuffed tobacco into the pipe and dug some
matches from his pocket.

"Expecting anybody, Mr. Barbridge?" came a polite inquiry.

"Maybe," returned Barbridge, eyeing the speaker coldly. "Why did you ask?"

"Thought maybe he could've come in by plane. There was a ship went over here about half an hour ago."

"Did it make a landing?"

"Couldn't tell. It passed the brow of the hill up yonder, where the emergency field is located. I couldn't
see it after that."

Barbridge lighted his pipe and puffed furiously. He shrugged his shoulders; then spoke in a casual tone:

"If anyone asks for me, tell him I'm in the temporary office. I expect some friends of mine to come in on
Number Four."

THIS instruction given, Barbridge strode across the tracks and took to a muddy road that ran close to
the railway. His course carried him straight toward the blackened hillside that the man on the platform
had mentioned. The rails veered somewhat in the opposite direction. By the time that Barbridge had
covered a quarter mile, he was a full two hundred yards distant from the tracks.

Coming to a darkened building, Barbridge produced a key and fumbled for a lock. He opened a door
and stepped into an empty room. He pressed a light switch to reveal a little office with shuttered
windows. The furniture consisted of a desk and half a dozen chairs.

Barbridge pressed another switch. A large incandescent glowed outside the crude frame building. The
rugged faced man stepped out to view the effect. The light above the door read:

KR

OFFICE

Stepping back into the office, Barbridge closed the door but did not bolt it. From off of the hillside,
directly behind the shack came a muffled blast, one that made the crude building quiver. Barbridge
grunted.

The night shift was finishing with a series of blasts before the day men came to work. A second roar of
muffled thunder sounded while Barbridge stood beside the window.

Ensuing silence; Barbridge closed the shutter. He turned as he heard an unexpected sound. It was a
rapping at a side door of the temporary office building. Barbridge stroked his chin; then went to the door
and opened it. A muffled man came into view.

BARBRIDGE watched the arrival remove coat and muffler. He found himself staring at a visitor whom