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

delivered to me at the Apollo Club, saying that it was important for me to see
her."


BRYLAND produced the note in question; showed it to Creelon and added it
to the fake love letters. He started to put the batch in his inside pocket;
stopped because of a sealed envelope that bulked there. The Shadow saw an
avaricious sparkle in the eyes of Hugo Creelon. The spy knew that Bryland's
big
envelope could contain the NEC.
"I shall place these letters where they can be found," asserted Bryland,
"if any one - suspecting my meeting with Nina - should search my apartment. I
shall have no trouble covering my visit here. Martha Leeth and I are
supposedly
at the theater this evening."
"What about the girl?" quizzed Creelon. "Will she support your story?"
"She does not have to," chuckled Bryland. "I took her home instead of to
the theater. I purposely made her angrier than before. That put her in a
tantrum. I told her that she was a snippy child, that I would telephone later,
to receive her apology. She retorted that she would not answer the telephone,
no matter how often it rang. The rest of the family is away. Calls to the
Leeth
home will therefore be ignored."
Bryland was explaining the exact reason why Vic Marquette had called the
Leeth house without result. Bryland's arrangement pleased Creelon. He waited
to
hear if the thief had more to say. Bryland's silence made it apparent that he
had finished. Creelon spoke. He questioned:
"You obtained the NEC complete?"
"I did," replied Bryland. "Exactly as I took it from Follingsby's
apartment."
"You have kept it intact?"
"Precisely as I found it."
"You have made no copies of it?"
"None. Not only did I lack the time to do so; but I had no reason to make
copies. I might add - needlessly, perhaps - that no one other than myself has
even seen the NEC since I acquired it."
 Creelon eyed Bryland steadily; then questioned in choppy tone:
"What is your price?"
"One million dollars!"
Creelon did not flex a muscle when he heard Bryland's demand. He gave the
price consideration; then snapped his answer:
"Too high!"
Bryland delivered an indulgent laugh; steadied his hands to rise from his
chair.
"It is worth two million," he told the spy. "You will probably receive
more for it. I warn you, Creelon, that my offer will not be lowered."
On his feet, Bryland placed his hand to his inside pocket, gripped the
fat
envelope and added: