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

THOUGH Kenneth Malfort had forgotten Durlew, Spark Ganza had not. There was good reason why
Spark should remember the obscure druggist. Spark had been delegated to the task of using tact with
Durlew. He was, therefore, on his way to talk to the man who had provided the poison.

From Malfort's, Spark had traveled by taxicab to an elevated station. There, he had boarded an East
Side train. Riding southward, Spark wore a contemptuous grin as he looked about the lighted car and
surveyed the few passengers.

All were buried deep in the final editions of the evening newspapers. They were gobbling news of
murderтАФthe law's version concerning the death of William Hessup, prominent Buffalo banker, member
of New York's swanky Merrimac Club, where he had been found poisoned.

Theories were absent from the newspapers. The police had progressed only to the point where they
rejected suicide as the explanation, but had no other.

Spark's evil recollections went back to yesterday. Then, the newspapers had screamed the name of
Jerome Blessingdale, prominent mining promoter, who had come North from Florida. Blessingdale's
death had been murder, out and out; but it had provided no clues.

The "el" train rumbled to a stop. This was Spark's station. As he stepped off to the platform, Spark was
chuckling over thoughts of the future. To-morrow, the newspapers would have something new to shout
about. Another murder, this time a prominent Wall Street financier. One whose name Spark could
predict: George Furbish.

Spark Ganza, in his own crude way, was quite as confident as Kenneth Malfort. The lieutenant shared
Wardlock's belief in the master murderer's prowess. Moreover, Spark had not forgotten the mention of
the mysterious Ku-Nuan.

Spark's reveries ended as he reached the bottom of the elevated steps. Darkness was thick along the
gloomy avenue where the elevated loomed. Only at the cross street was there any sign of bright lights.
There, a newsboy was hawking his last few copies of the final editions.

"Uxtry! Uxtry! Read about de new moider!"

Spark paused to listen to the gamin's shout. He saw the newsboy sell a newspaper; then raise the cry:

"Anudder big moider! Police link de killers!"

Spark spat an oath, as he turned and strode along the avenue. He had expected this sort of thing from the
newspapers. Blessingdale and Hessup were both from out of town. It was only logical that the police
should see a tie-up between the two cases of sudden death. Malfort's reason for wanting Hessup to
appear a suicide struck itself home to Spark.

Nevertheless, the thuggish lieutenant displayed no worry as he paced past the dingy store windows that
lined the avenue. Let the law think what it wanted. Trails were covered. Another death would strike while
the police stood baffled.

MUSING thus, Spark came to the building that he was seeking. He slowed his pace, craned his neck
forward and studied a grimy store window that bore scratchy gold letters upon its lighted pane: