"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 133 - Buried Evidence" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

of twenty-five thousand dollars. You spent it recklessly; you were reckless in everything you did. Until
one night, two years ago -"

Rhyde interrupted with a nervous gesture. Then, steadying, he took up the tale himself.

"I drove out to the old hunting lodge," he recalled, soberly. "I had been drinking. I hit the curves at sixty,
like I always did. That's why I crashed the old car that was turned across the road. I killed the driver,
poor fellow. He never had a chance!"

There was silence. Haslock broke it.

"The law was justified in terming it manslaughter," declared the lawyer. "You served the minimum
sentence. You have paid the penalty. A clear future lies before you."

Rising, Haslock stepped from in back of the desk to clap an encouraging hand upon Rhyde's shoulder.

"You have new opportunities," said Haslock. "While you were away, the entire Hoburn estate became
yours. We had to wait, in case Hoburn's nephew appeared to claim it. If he had, the estate would have
been his. But the time limit is ended."

RHYDE nodded. He recalled that detail. It was one reason why he had squandered money while he had
it. Waiting to see if that nephew arrived was something that had given Rhyde the jitters. As he thought of
those past facts, he remembered the nephew's name.

"Dennis Carston," spoke Rhyde, reflectively. "Poor beggar, it would be tough for him to show up right
now, when it's too late to collect. If he does, though"тАФthe young man was earnestтАФ"I'll take care of
him, from some of those millions that I've inherited."

He arose and walked toward the door. Haslock followed; the lawyer showed an expression of approval.


"You are generous, Ludlow," said Haslock. "Too generous, sometimes. I believe you, when you say that
you will help Carston if he ever returns. Meanwhile, think of yourself. Look up some of your old friends."


"I intend to do that," returned Rhyde. "As a matter of fact, I've heard from one already. Herbert
Widdington."

Haslock frowned.

"A ne'er-do-well," was his definition of Widdington. "He may want to borrow money from you."

"Probably," smiled Rhyde. "But I know how to handle Herb. I'll tell him that my affairs are all tied up. I'll
pay the dinner checks; that's all."

RHYDE left the lawyer's office. It was nearly six o'clock when he reached Times Square. Dusk had
settled; Broadway was aglow with light. Rhyde stepped from his cab and entered a garish restaurant.

The place was Brindle's, a popular meeting place for those who were "in the money." Though the cafe
attracted certain big-shots of the underworld, it also had customers of a sporty-sort.