"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 103 - The Crime Oracle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

"Casey's?"

"Yeah. That's what the sign says."

"All right, then. Let's hop along, before another train shows up. Koker and his outfit can stay where they
are."

"Squint" led the way, with Chip following like an obedient dog. They walked to the exit and descended
the steps. This course brought them to the side street, a dozen yards from the corner. But instead of
turning back toward the avenue, Squint moved along the side street. Chip followed, puzzled. Squint
explained.

"Koker don't know the lay," informed Squint. "He's not in on it at all. I just told him to be on the avenue,
in case I wanted him."

"Was that on the dope sheet, Squint?"

"No. Just an idea of my own."

"But if The Head didn't tell you -"

"I'm following the orders that came from The Head. Listen again, Chip; Koker isn't wise to the racket.
So what does it matter, him being here?"

They had reached the depressed entrance to a side-street tea room. Shuttered windows told that the
place was no longer in business. A weather-beaten sign proclaimed the name: "THE YELLOW
PARROT," with a picture of the bird in question. Squint drew Chip down to the closed doorway. He
began to work at the lock with a skeleton key.

OF the many characters in Manhattan's underworld, Squint Proddock and Chip Mulley were unique.
Each was a specialist in his own direction; each was wise enough to admit his own limitations.

Squint Proddock was an ex-racketeer who had feigned retirement in order to turn to other crime. His
shifty, blinking eyes had given him his nickname; they also rendered him easy to identify, which was the
chief reason for Squint's carefulness when he crossed the path of the law.

Chip Mulley also carried a descriptive title. Originally, his pals had dubbed him "Chipmunk," a title that
befitted his dryish, small-lipped face. His nickname had been shortened to Chip; and he was known as a
competent subordinate who served various big-shots. Chip Mulley was an able hand at gaining needed
information. He was a competent go-between, who kept what he knew to himself. It was not surprising
that Squint had found Chip useful.

The door of the Yellow Parrot had opened under Squint's manipulation with the skeleton key. The two
men edged into the tea room and closed the door behind them. Squint clicked a flashlight and passed it to
Chip to hold. Under the glare, Squint produced an envelope. From it, he took a typewritten sheet and
studied a list that looked like a schedule.

"'Enter Yellow Parrot,'"read Squint. "'Time: 7:15.' Right to the dot, Chip!"
Squint had brought a watch into the light. Chip whispered a comment, wisely: