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

just too late to make the contact. There was reason for the foreboding tone of The Shadow's mirthless
laugh. The Shadow foresaw immediate danger to Owen Lengood.

Circumstances had left an interval wherein doom could strike another person who dwelt within the
mansion of gloom. Owen Lengood, en route to Baltimore, might be facing hazards which even The
Shadow could not forestall at this late hour.

CHAPTER II. DEATH BY MISADVENTURE
LESS than two hours after its departure from Glynwold, Owen Lengood's powerful coupe swung into a
paved highway in southern Pennsylvania. A detour sign pointed to the right; the arrow showed the
direction to Conowingo.

As the coupe turned right, it passed another sign that marked the limit of a town called Duxton Square.
Though it boasted a population of two thousand, Duxton Square was a sleepy place, for it was off the
main highway. Flooded streams had forced detours which temporarily brought through traffic to the
town.

Owen's coupe whined in high-speed second gear. Though the highway was narrow and shouldered with
rows of trees, the driver preferred fast progress. The coupe whizzed past two other cars; its gears shot
into high.

The car was doing forty on a slippery road where signs warned that the speed limit was twenty miles an
hour. Straight ahead was a parked truck, with two men standing beside it working on the motor.

Cars were coming from the opposite direction. The truckmen observed that fact suddenly, just as
Owen's car was bearing to the left to pass the stalled truck. Simultaneously, the two men shouted
warnings. One waved his arms at Owen's car; the other gave wild hand signals toward the automobiles
that were coming from the south.

Oncoming traffic stopped. Owen's coupe roared rapidly past the truck; the two men leaped for safety. A
crash looked certain. All that prevented it was prompt action by the driver of the coupe.

Owen's car skewed across the road. Skidding half about, the driver shot his powerful machine through a
space between two trees. The car floundered through a ditch, demolished a picket fence and lacerated
the soil of a rain-soaked lawn.

For the moment, it looked as though the coupe had swung to safety; it was headed for an old farmhouse,
but the building was forty feet away and the distance was sufficient for the car to halt.

Then disaster intervened.

The coupe careened as its tires slithered in the slippery turf. Bearing to the left, it crashed head-on against
a large tree. Radiator and hood were crumpled; the halted car tipped crazily.

As the coupe righted itself, the door by the driver's seat ripped open. The driver tumbled headlong, to
sprawl upon the lawn.

ONE truckman made a motion as if to start toward the wrecked car. The other grabbed his arm and
growled: