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

for Tam Sook was a crafty Celestial whose knowledge of San Francisco covered a much greater area
than the mere confines of Chinatown. Tam Sook was a friend of The Shadow; and he had promised to
keep Crofton posted. Tam Sook had lived up to the promise.

A few days ago, the Chinaman had sent word of shady characters - men who deserved suspicion,
although they had managed to dodge the law. Stealthy and slinking, they had chosen a focal point - a
residence on the side of a northern hill.

Crofton had visited the terrain. He had seen signs of prowlers. He had learned that the house was the
residence of Seton Hylap, a retired financier. Yet he had guessed no reason for the presence of the
riffraff. Seton Hylap, though a man of influence, was not enormously wealthy. His home, though large,
was unpretentious.

Crofton had sent word to The Shadow. His chief had left New York by air. Tam Sook, meanwhile, had
cooperated in measures of stealth. Influential in his own quarter, Tam Sook had supplied Chinese
watchers. Craftily, these men from Chinatown were maintaining an outer cordon, ready to act should evil
threaten the beleaguered residence.

The call that Crofton had so recently received was news that The Shadow had arrived at the San
Francisco airport. From now on, the period of vigil had ended. If something was wrong at Hylap's, the
time had come to learn the details. The Shadow had delegated Miles Crofton to that duty.

His voice hoarse from the fog-thickened night, Crofton gave a gruff order to the taxi driver. The cab
changed course; it labored on a steep incline. The cabby shifted to second gear in order to make the
precipitous hill. Half a block later, Crofton ordered him to stop. Alighting, The Shadow's agent paid the
driver and stepped from the cab.

IT was an ideal night for duty. Crofton was wrapped in fog and darkness before he had gone a dozen
yards. Crofton was proceeding shiftily. He intended to pass two thin groups of watchers: The Chinamen
and the riffraff beyond.

Nothing disturbed his mission. Crossing a street at the middle of a block, Miles Crofton came within the
massive gloom of an old stone residence. Lower windows were but dimly lighted; the upstairs part of the
building was entirely dark. Treading carefully as he reached a flight of broad stone steps, Crofton
ascended and huddled in the darkness close to the large front door. Fumbling in the dark, he found a
push button and pressed it. A bell tingled faintly within the house.

Footsteps sounded, barely audible. The door opened inward, but showed no light, for the vestibule was
darkened. Crofton saw the pallid face of a servant. Moving inward, he gave a friendly greeting that
caused the man to step back without refusal of admittance.

"Who - who are you, sir?" queried the servant, his face startled and apprehensive. "I - I had not been
informed that a visitor was expected."

"I've come to see Mr. Hylap," responded Crofton easily, as he drew a card from his pocket. "A matter
of important business. My name is Gwynn" - he tapped the card as he handed it to the servant - "and my
business is real estate. I have come to see Mr. Hylap regarding the purchase of some property."

The introduction was an apt one. Crofton had learned that Hylap was burdened with too much real
estate. Apparently the servant knew the same, for he nodded wisely and motioned the visitor to a chair.