"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 105 - The Yellow Door" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

and began to remove bundles of clothing, to pile them in his half-emptied suitcase. Glancing at his watch,
he saw that it was seven minutes after eight. Panting, Dynoth hastily opened a small drawer and grabbed
up valuables: studded cuff links, some rings of moderate value, other items that he considered of worth.

Suddenly he paused, to cock his head and listen. Fear showed on Dynoth's face. Strained nerves had
exaggerated his imagination. He fancied that he heard footsteps upon stairs. Steadying, Dynoth grated a
sickly laugh; then his face twitched.

There could be someone in this house.

Dynoth had remembered the click that had followed his telephone conversation with the voice. He
thought of the downstairs telephone. Had someone lifted the lower receiver? Was that person already en
route upstairs, or lying in wait below?

Frantically, Dynoth tossed his valuables into the packed bag. He leaped back to the bureau and pawed
through the drawer. He found a revolver and thrust it into a pocket. Diving to the bag, he dug beneath
clothing and produced a small, round bottle. Twisting off the screw cap, Dynoth shook out a large
capsule. He placed it carefully between his front teeth; then closed his lips to conceal it.

Unbroken, the capsule remained in its hidden position while Dynoth buried the bottle and closed the lid of
the suitcase. He tugged straps tight and lifted the suitcase, to plant it on the floor. He glanced at his
watch. Twelve minutes after eight. Dynoth grinned slightly, without disturbing the capsule with his pressing
teeth.

Gripping the handle of the suitcase with his left hand, Dynoth thrust his right into his coat pocket, to grasp
the revolver. While he fumbled for the weapon, he turned toward the door of the bedroom. His tightened
lips prevented a gasp; but his smile ended. Rigid, Dynoth faced a being on the threshold.

A SILENT intruder had arrived to confront James Dynoth. Motionless as a statue, silent as a specter, a
cloaked invader stood ready to block escape. The visitor was garbed entirely in black. A cloak covered
his shoulders; thin gloves encased his hands. His head wore a slouch hat, with downturned brim. The only
features visible to Dynoth were burning eyes that shone with a condemning challenge.

From one black-gloved fist projected an automatic pistol, a bulky .45 with looming muzzle that formed a
tunnel of certain doom. Dynoth quavered; the bag thudded as his left hand rose; the revolver turned in his
pocket as his right hand came to view and also moved ceilingward.

Everything in Dynoth's manner showed that he recognized the weird personage who confronted him. His
trembles were those of a guilty man; they told that James Dynoth was a murderer. He was marked as the
slayer who had killed Peter Gildare in Chicago. Dynoth was a man schooled in modes of crime. That was
why he had so quickly recognized the being who blocked his flight.

The black-cloaked invader was one who battled men of crime, whose power of vengeance was feared
by all who dealt in evil. He was the scourge of the underworld, the master who moved by night to
confront crooks and finish their outlawed careers.

James Dynoth stood trapped by The Shadow.

CHAPTER II. TRIPLE DEATH
SILENCE followed The Shadow's advent. A stillness so complete that the ticking of Dynoth's watch was