"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 128 - The Shadow's Rival" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

up
from the basement."
"Yeah, and Plugger Kilgey down there, with a cover-up crew. Trigger men
in
a pill-box waiting to chop down anybody who barges in on us. It looks swell;
still, I don't like it!" Chink sat down in his chair. He picked out one of his
tough-visaged companions. Giving a nudge to the door at his left, Chink
ordered:
"Get up to the roof, Herk. Take over Dave's lookout. Send him down here."
 Herk hurried to obey Chink's order. When the door had closed behind him,
Chink thought over his previous statements and made an amendment.
"Maybe I'm wrong about the bulls," he declared. "They've been knocking
off
a lot of small-timers lately. That's probably luck. The bulls are dumb clucks,
mostly. But there's one guy that ain't. The Shadow!"
Mention of the name caused listeners to share Chink's concern. Scourge of
the underworld, The Shadow was dreaded by all men of crime. Mysterious,
invisible, he revealed himself only as a fighter cloaked in black. His
arrivals
occurred at times and places that crooks least expected.
"Why's The Shadow been laying off us?" demanded Chink, hoarsely. "I'll
tell you why. He's got something up that big sleeve of his! We gotta be on our
toes or first thing you know, The Shadow will be dropping in on us!"


THOSE words were not only a correct prophecy; they were to be actually
realized, precisely as Chink had stated. Already a scene was set as The Shadow
wanted it.
The roof that topped the loft building was as secluded a spot as any in
Manhattan. Herk and Dave, exchanging guard duty, were commenting on that very
fact. Situated among lower structures, in a poorly built section of the city,
the loft building commanded an excellent view.
The roof was surrounded by a high parapet. Poking their chins above the
rail, the two crooks chuckled at their security.
"I don't see why Chink's jittery," gruffed Herk. "Nobody can come up from
the cellar; and it's a cinch nobody's going to land here."
"Not unless he's got wings;" returned Dave. "Look down there, Herk, at
the
next building. It's two stories short of this one. And thirty feet between."
The two walked to the trapdoor that led to the stairs. Dave went down.
Herk paused to strike a match on the tinned surface of the closed trapdoor. He
was lighting a cigar, preparatory to taking over lookout duty.
It was then that motion occurred above the roof of the adjacent building.
In their survey of that roof, the lookouts had ignored a high water tank at
the
rear corner. Mounted upon high metal stilts, the tower came above the level of
the loft building.
Running from the conical peak of the water tank was a thin line of blue
steel wire; a mere thread, unnoticeable in the darkness. That stout but
slender