"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 112 - Death By Proxy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

heard him speak.

тАЬHello... Doctor Denburton?тАЭ There was a short pause; some one was summoning the doctor. тАЬHello,
Doctor... Yes. This is Louis Joland... Is Owen Lengood there?тАЭ
тАЬI see... You talked to him out front... He drove away just as you came into the house to answer this
call... Yes. He told us he was going to Baltimore... Thank you, Doctor...тАЭ

Joland hung up and returned to the living room. He placed his hand upon Roy's shoulder; told the young
man to forget his worry until evening, when he could call Owen by long distance to Baltimore. While
Joland was speaking to Roy, the telephone rang. Eleanor started to answer it; but stopped when she
heard a crackly voice in the hallway. It was Peters, the butler.

A few moments later, Peters appeared at the doorway. Stoop-shouldered, with wrinkled face topped by
white hair, he surveyed the group with eyes that showed surprising sharpness for a man so old.

тАЬIt's for Mr. Owen,тАЭ he stated. тАЬA gentleman named Mr. Cranston, calling from New York. I believe
that he said something about the speed-boat company.тАЭ

тАЬTell him that Owen has gone to Baltimore,тАЭ returned Joland. тАЬThat he can reach him at the Colonial
Hotel in about three hours.тАЭ

тАЬVery well, sir.тАЭ

Peters went back to the telephone. There, the old wrinkled servant delivered the message. He heard an
even-toned voice express its thanks across the wire. As he hung up the receiver, his face showed
puzzlement.

STANDING in the deep gloom of the great hallway, Peters received a strange impression of a weird
echo that sounded like a grim, foreboding laugh. So distant had it seemed, that the servant could not
believe it real. He glanced suspiciously about the hall then looked at the telephone. After that, he shook
his head. He believed that the sound had been a product of his own imagination.

Peters was wrong. Grim and sinister, that solemn laugh had come from the telephone receiver that he had
delayed in placing on the hook. It was like a prophecy, that tone; for it foretold the entrance of a master
being into the affairs of the Lengood heirs.

The speaker who had called himself Cranston was actually The Shadow. Master sleuth who delved into
all matters that signified the presence of hidden crime, The Shadow had decided to investigate the death
of James Lengood.

One year ago, Howard Lengood had died an accidental death only a few weeks before he reached the
age of twenty-five. Yesterday, his cousin James had died in a sanitarium; like Howard, James was not
quite twenty-five.

In choosing to contact Owen Lengood, The Shadow had picked that young man as the oldest of those
who remained. Within the next week, Owen Lengood would be twenty-five. In New York, The Shadow
had learned of Owen's interest in a speed-boat company. He had chosen to use that factor as a means of
contact.

Owen's quarrel with Roy had disturbed The Shadow's plan. The call from the supposed Cranston was