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

still up at the emergency landing field. No" - Zullick paused to deliver an insidious chuckle - "I didn't have
to talk to Hylap, but I fixed him so he'll never be around to arrange his deal with you. There won't be
anyone here in place of Hylap."

BARBRIDGE had come to his feet. His face showed fierce understanding. His hands were gripping the
edge of the desk. He knew the significance of Zullick's cold-blooded statement. Barbridge's voice rose in
accusation.

"You murdered Hylap!" denounced the railroad president. "I understand your innuendo. Hylap cannot
come here because his life has been ended! By your hand! You -"

Barbridge stopped. Someone was knocking at the side door of the shack.

Zullick threw a nervous glance in that direction, then rose to his feet. The door swung open.

Barbridge never looked toward the door. Instead, he yanked open the drawer of his desk and jerked
forth a revolver. Pointing the .38 straight toward Zullick, the railroad president gave the command:

"Hands up!"

Zullick complied promptly. This time it was Barbridge who chuckled as he shot a glance toward the door
and saw the ungainly, hard-faced man who had entered. Still covering Zullick, the railroad president
spoke:

"Close the door Findlay." Then as the hard-faced man complied, Barbridge added to Zullick: "This is one
man you couldn't reach, Findlay, my special supervisor. He's one of the loyal workers who made your
rats dig for their holes after I came on the job in person."

Still looking at Zullick, Barbridge paused; then spoke to Findlay.

"This man is a murderer," informed Barbridge. "He is going to pay the penalty for the crime that he has
practically admitted. I'll watch him, Findlay, while you go out and spread the word. I want you to bring
-"

Barbridge's sentence ended as a husky form hurtled hard upon the railroad president. The attacker was
Findlay, springing in while Barbridge's attention was centered on Zullick. A rough fist landed on
Barbridge's rugged jaw. The revolver clattered to the floor; Barbridge sprawled and tried vainly to rally
against this attacker.

Then Zullick leaped forward. His pounce ended Barbridge's resistance. The two attackers subdued the
railroad president; then hoisted him, limp and overwhelmed, into the chair behind the desk.

Half groggy, Barbridge opened his eyes; he was staring into the muzzle of his own revolver; the gun was
gripped in the fist of Findlay. Zullick was leaning upon the front of the desk, a sneer upon his ugly
countenance.

"Let me make the introduction," jeered the crook. "This man's name isn't Findlay. It's Ramsted - they call
him "Soup" Ramsted, because he knows plenty about blowing safes. He was just the fellow we wanted
here. A fellow with his talent could fit in with your blasting crew. Of course, you didn't wise to his racket.
His job was to work close to you. Soup Ramsted, our inside man."