"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 117 - Vengeance Is Mine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

matters close at hand. One of his fundamental methods was to keep tabs on the
members of the Cobalt Club - not because he expected to find crooks among
them,
but because they represented the wealthiest men in New York, the sort against
whom criminals would strike.
The Shadow had checked the name of George Zanwood. The man was
prosperous,
precise in his business methods. His activities were not the sort that would
have made him a target for crime. Yet Zanwood had been done to death in a
fashion that was not only fiendish, but well planned. Someone had wanted to
remove Zanwood so completely that not even a trace of him would remain.
The Shadow's records concerning Zanwood began only a few years back. It
would be necessary to trace his earlier activities. Zanwood, himself, could
have described them; but Zanwood was dead. Therefore, The Shadow was choosing
the nearest point that might offer evidence concerning Zanwood's own career.
That point was the apartment where the dead man had been living alone.
Commissioner Weston had chosen a useless trail. Nothing of consequence
would be learned at the Apex Security Co. No ordinary runner from a security
house would risk his life by carrying a bomb. He would know that even if he
did
deliver it, the law would immediately be upon him.
Weston's trail, though useless to himself, was valuable to The Shadow. It
meant that the commissioner would forget Zanwood's apartment until later. The
Shadow, therefore, had time for his own investigation.


WHEN the cab neared the Everglades Apartments, it parked some distance
from the building. This cab was The Shadow's own. Its driver, Moe Shrevnitz,
was a speedy hackie whose life The Shadow had once saved. Moe followed The
Shadow's orders to the last detail; he was always in readiness for his chief's
command. Hence, when he parked near the Everglades, Moe turned off the motor
and sat waiting behind the wheel.
Moe did not see The Shadow alight. In fact, the keenest eyes could not
have spied the shrouded figure that emerged in darkness. The Shadow had donned
his cloak and hat from a bag beneath the rear seat of the taxi. Garbed in
blackness, he was moving silently into the night. He reached the front of the
apartment house; entered its lobby like a gliding, ghostly shape.
The Everglades was an antiquated type of apartment house; but its choice
location had kept it filled with tenants who paid high rentals. The floors
were
served by an automatic elevator; encountering no one in the lobby, The Shadow
had no difficulty in reaching Zanwood's apartment, which occupied a rear
quarter of the fourth floor.
Working with plierlike instruments of his own invention, The Shadow
opened
the lock within a few minutes. He entered the darkness of a large apartment
and
closed the door behind him.
Investigation with a flashlight showed that the apartment was entirely
empty. The Shadow lowered the shades in the living room and turned on the