"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 123 - Washington Crime" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

on
Frederick Bryland.
To-morrow, Creelon intended to contact the man who held the NEC; to gain
the all-important code through shrewd bargaining with Bryland. For Creelon
held
no doubt regarding the ex-major's possession of the code.
Hugo Creelon had gained the information that he wanted from the best of
sources. The facts had been supplied him by The Shadow.


CHAPTER V

THE SPY'S PLAN

IT was afternoon the next day when The Shadow awoke. He found himself in
surroundings that he did not recognize, and he viewed them with a strange,
listless effect.
The Shadow was attired as Cranston; he was seated in a large easy-chair
in
a corner of a compact, well-furnished room. To his right were windows, high up
from the ground, for The Shadow could see the tops of trees against the
dullish, clouded sky. To his left was a closed door that was the only entrance
to the room.
This room was a combination living room and bedroom. A chunky,
broad-shouldered man was raising a heavy folding bed. The Shadow watched the
servant affix the bed to the paneled wall, then turn the panel about to swing
the bed into a closet.
The man's actions were painfully slow. When he turned the panel, it
revolved at a snail's pace. It seemed minutes before the bed was out of sight,
with a blank wall in its place. More minutes while the chunky man was turning
toward The Shadow's chair.
The Shadow saw an ugly, big-toothed face that wore a long scar on its
left
cheek. He recognized the features. The chunky, man was one of those with whom
The Shadow had battled at the house on H Street.
A fangish grin spread itself upon the fellow's face. The ugly lips moved
with a remarkable slowness, curling in such fantastic fashion that they seemed
ready to halt at any moment. With deliberate stride, the husky servant
approached The Shadow. As he came, he lifted each foot with a curious
slowness;
placed it down again with such peculiar motion that The Shadow wondered why he
did not lose his balance.
Halfway toward The Shadow, the man swung toward the door, making the turn
in slow-motion fashion like a figure in a news reel. As the man's eyes moved
away, The Shadow saw a chance for attack. He gripped the arms of his chair;
raised himself to begin fresh battle.
Oddly, The Shadow's action was even slower than that of the scar-faced
man. The Shadow's finger took ages to clutch the chair arms, His rising body
seemed weighted. His average speed had the semblance of a foot a minute. So
slow was The Shadow's process that the servant had time to turn around again,