"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 113 - Partners Of Peril" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

on
foot, nor was he disappointed. It was the man who had ridden beside the driver
of the mysterious blue sedan. Cranston had only a vague picture of the blur of
the fellow's face, but he had memorized the bulk of the sloped, heavy
shoulders
encased in a gray-checked suit, and he was quietly certain that this was the
same man.
The sedan had evidently pulled up around the corner and let this man out
to resume his mysterious surveillance in front of the house in which
Harrington
lived.
They passed almost in front of the canopied entrance. Cranston observed
the fleshy face, the thick, brutish hands. "Thug!" his mind whispered
instantly. "Gun-bulge on his hip, too!"
The fellow's face was utterly unknown to him. Perhaps a small fry in the
world of crime, or else a gunman imported into New York from the outside. Had
he been otherwise, the sharp eyes of The Shadow, possessed of vast and
accurate
information concerning the vicious personalities that dominated Manhattan's
underworld, would have immediately identified this shrewd trailer of a
frightened man.
Cranston lounged quietly into the lobby of the apartment house. The
switchboard was empty; evidently the man on duty had taken Reed Harrington
upstairs in the elevator. In an instant, the sharp eyes of The Shadow were
scanning swiftly the open pigeon-holes that contained mail for the tenants. He
noted Harrington's name neatly typed on a slip of paper below one of the
compartments on the bottom row. The suite number, not the name, was what
impressed him.
He could hear the faint whine of the descending elevator and he hurried
noiselessly across the deserted foyer and dashed up the shady stairs. He was
perfectly satisfied with the way things were going. He knew exactly where
Harrington was - and his own presence in the building was unguessed. He
ascended the shadowy stairs to the eleventh floor.
Harrington's door was two removed from the end of the hall. The end
itself
was closed off by the fire door through which Cranston had just appeared. He
returned noiselessly to the staircase and opened a window.
Outside in the darkness was a high-walled stone terrace formed by the
setback arrangement of the building. The Shadow laughed quietly. Bent low like
a flitting wraith, he crossed under one window without sound, and approached
the second.


WITH his eye carefully lifted to the lower corner of the window, The
Shadow was able to see inside a large, high-ceilinged room. Reed Harrington
was
in that room, seated at a low desk. He didn't notice the calm gaze that took
in
at a single glance every detail of himself and the room in which he sat.
Harrington was slumped in abject fear. He groaned and held his head in his