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

THE ex-major did not advance far. His position was a strategic one; near
the middle of the room, he could go farther or retire as he chose. Bryland was
waiting to hear the rest of The Shadow's conversation. His next move would
depend upon what the supposed Cranston told Senator Releston.
There was a half-minute pause while Bryland waited; then the voice of
Cranston, beyond the bedroom doorway. Bryland drew a big service revolver from
his hip pocket, gestured the weapon forward.
 "Hello, senator," he heard The Shadow say. "Yes, this is Cranston...
Calling from my hotel... No, I do not intend to leave for New York. I have
received a threat. A note, here in my room. One moment I shall read it to
you..."
Bryland was crouched no longer. With a long, swift bound, he reached the
doorway to the bedroom. Stopping short, he twisted toward the darkened spot
where he was sure The Shadow stood. Even while he swung, Bryland opened fire
with his big six-shooter.
Those shots were murderous. They showed the efficiency of Bryland's army
training. While on the move, Bryland had estimated the exact limit of the
field
where The Shadow would be. He covered that narrowed space, seeking a hidden
target, just as he had once picked out rebel snipers in the jungles of
Nicaragua.
With each jab of his gun, Bryland moved his hand from left to right, so
that each bullet found a path a half foot away from the one before. Of those
six shots, one was certain to hit any human target that might be in the area.
The spurts of the revolver blinded Bryland momentarily. As he finished
firing into the darkness, he listened, expecting the topple of a body to
follow
the barrage. Instead, the room was silent. Bryland's square-jawed face showed
a
puzzled expression. His deep set eyes blinked as they tried to penetrate the
gloom.
Something was wrong, and Bryland knew it. Ignoring the fact that his
shots
must have been heard, the former officer found the bedroom light switch and
pressed it.
As the glare filled the room, Bryland saw the telephone. It was five feet
away, resting on a table. The receiver was on its hook. Lying on the floor was
an opened suitcase; beyond it, Bryland saw the door that led from bedroom to
hall.
The would-be murderer realized how he had been tricked. The Shadow had
faked that call to Releston. In the bedroom he had placed the telephone on the
table, to keep the extension cord taut and high. Still talking, The Shadow had
gone to his suitcase, opened it and donned garments of black. Resuming his
faked conversation, he had glided to the outer door, opening that barrier
while
he finished.
Bryland had been unable to see The Shadow moving in the darkened bedroom.
As for the sound of the voice - those words spoken in Cranston's style - the