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

In my game, nothing can ever be taken for granted. Until my negotiations are
completed, I shall hold you prisoner.
"Perhaps there may be occasion for you to exert your talents again in my
service. Upon that possibility depends your hope for life. That is all."


JARRUTH was returning, bringing a small tea wagon loaded with food. He
wheeled it in front of The Shadow; placed a spoon in the prisoner's hand. The
Shadow began to eat a bowl of hot soup.
The operation intrigued him. Each spoonful that he slowly removed taxed
his full concentration. Lifting the weighted spoon was a difficult as a
balancing act.
Each slow swallow of soup was welcome. It seemed to bring warmth and
strength; steadiness that offset the hashish. Nevertheless, The Shadow was not
deceived. He knew that the effect of the drug still held him. As Creelon had
declared, The Shadow was helpless.
Wisely, the master-spy had foreseen that ordinary bonds could not hold
The
Shadow captive; and that formidable prison bars would be useless. Creelon had
adopted a surer course. He had deprived The Shadow of physical power. Like a
Philistine chieftain, Creelon looked upon The Shadow as a shorn Samson whom he
could taunt and scorn.
Soup finished, The Shadow sank back wearied, but less under the influence
of the hashish. He noted a perceptible increase in the speed of things about
him. His own actions must have been more normal; for Creelon spoke in an
undertone to Jarruth.
The servant reached for a glass of greenish liquid, thrust it toward The
Shadow's lips. It was coming slowly, but the result was inevitable. Jarruth's
approaching hand, with all its fancied slowness, was speedier than the closing
of The Shadow's lips. The glass reached The Shadow's mouth. Its pressure
forced
his head backward. He tasted the bitterish liquid; felt it gurgle as it
reached
his throat.
The Shadow's captors were relying upon this new dose of dope to keep him
helpless for the remainder of the day. With a short laugh from his level lips,
Hugo Creelon turned and stalked from the room. As he looked back from the
doorway, the master-spy saw The Shadow slumping off balance, to be caught by
the rough arm of Jarruth. Jarruth jolted the prisoner deep in the easy-chair,
as Creelon closed the door.
Outside The Shadow's room, Creelon followed a short hallway that was
blank
on the right; but had two doorways on the left, with another straight ahead.
He
stopped as he saw a warning light blink from a bulb above the end door of the
hall. Creelon opened the first door on the left. He stepped into a space that
was like a darkened closet, but with a flight of steps. He closed the door
behind him; pressed his way through curtains at the top of the steps.
Creelon was behind a sheet of plate glass. Through it, he could see the
interior of a large reception room, furnished in ornate style, with heavily