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

draped windows. The gilded furniture was conspicuous against the purple velvet
of the curtains.
The spy watched the door from the hallway. It opened; a bespectacled man
who looked like a secretary bowed a visitor into the room. The arrival was a
woman, of definitely Spanish appearance. Her features were handsome, rather
than beautiful; that was partly due to the haughtiness that seemed a part of
her make-up.
It would have been impossible to guess the woman's age. She looked young;
but her high-bridged nose, her straight cheeks and narrow lips were the types
of features that would change but little with years.
The woman was clad in black, a color that well suited her, for it made
her
olive skin show light by contrast. Her eyes, sparkling in glance, were also
black. So were her thin eyebrows and her hair. The woman was of the extreme
brunette type that is found among the Castilian nobility of old Spain.


ALONE in the reception room, the dark-haired woman looked about
curiously,
as though suspecting eavesdroppers behind the heavy curtains. She glanced
toward
the glass in the wall of the room, but did not see Creelon beyond it. Seating
herself, the visitor produced a black cigarette case that glistened like
polished ebony. With slender fingers that showed long, red-tipped nails, she
drew a satin-tipped cigarette from the case, applied a tiny platinum lighter
and puffed long wreaths of smoke.
Creelon moved away from the big glass. He descended the steps, came out
through the hall. Reaching the next door, he opened it and stepped into the
reception room. The woman was looking in the direction when he entered. Her
thin, ruddy lips formed a pleased smile.
With a bow, Creelon approached. The woman extended her hand; Creelon
received it and bowed again. He took a chair directly in front of the plate
glass, which showed his reflection from a gilded frame. The glass was an Argus
mirror; on this side it appeared to be a silver surface, with no trace of
transparency. It could be seen through on only one side; in this case, through
the back.
"It is indeed a privilege," remarked Creelon, in purred tone, "to receive
as visitor so celebrated a person as Senorita Nina Valencita, whose charm has
captivated the capitals of all Europe."
"Not so great a privilege," returned Senorita Valencita, "as that of
meeting Hugo Creelon, whose name and fame are held as a secret by only the
chosen few."
"Our methods differ," declared Creelon. "Where you mask your intrigue by
appearing openly, I keep both myself and my methods under cover. To you,
senorita, goes the greater credit for playing the more difficult game."
Nina Valencita smiled as she puffed smoke toward the ceiling. Her eyes
sparkled as she looked about.
"I admire your apartment, Mr. Creelon," she said, "particularly because
of
its location. I have never enjoyed the privilege of secret residence in the