"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 100 - The Man From Shanghai" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

"He pours the whole bottle of poison into the pitcher of ice water. He lets Hessup see an empty glass;
then fills it for him from the pitcher. Hessup takes the invite, all right, and he gets enough of the bum stuff
to croak him. But the bottle with the poison in it was bigger than the empty bottle that we'd planted in
Hessup's room!"

Malfort thwacked the newspaper that he held.

"So that was it!" he exclaimed. Then, reverting to his easy purr: "Naturally, the police found evidence of
more poison than the little bottle could have held. No wonder they classed Hessup's death as murder!"

"Yeah," agreed Spark. He nudged a thumb toward the newspaper: "But the bulls didn't let the bladders in
on why they thought it was murder. They didn't want nobody to wise up that there was too much of the
croak-juice in the pitcher. All they said was that the bottle they found didn't prove that Hessup bumped
himself."

"I have read the newspapers," announced Malfort, coldly. "All that I wanted was your version of the
matter. This occurrence alters our future plans."

"About knocking off this next guy, George Furbish?"

"Yes. I shall relieve you of that task, Spark. Simply keep your men on duty. Inform me when Furbish
arrives at his new apartment."

"Then who'll croak Furbish?"

"I shall delegate that work to Ku-Nuan."

Spark grinned when he heard Malfort's utterance. Evidently the name of Ku-Nuan was one that specified
crime of a most insidious sort.

"Meanwhile," added Malfort, "you can visit your druggist friend. Talk to Durlew, Spark; be tactful when
you sound out his opinions. If his views are reasonable, see to his welfare. If they are not -"

Malfort paused, to study the eagerness that showed upon Spark's ugly face. In significant purr, he added:


"If Durlew is unreasonable, follow your own impulse."

Spark nodded. Malfort delivered a wide, sweeping gesture that ended with his hand pointing toward the
door. The interview was concluded. Spark arose and went from the sumptuous living room.

SILENCE followed the thuggish lieutenant's departure. Malfort, the master of murder, sat studying the
fire. Dying embers brought a ruddy glow to satanic features. Malfort spoke, in low-toned pur:

"A fresh log, Wardlock."

Again, the soft-footed secretary had entered; and Malfort had sensed his silent arrival. Wardlock
approached and drew back the screen to place a log upon the fire. In indulgent fashion, Malfort spoke
confidentially to the moon-faced man.