"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 140 - Racket Town" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

A TRIO of friendly greeters welcomed Cardona on the station platform. Joe
had met them in New York.
The spokesman of the greeters was a man named Walton. He had his car at
the station; he took Cardona in the front seat and put the other two men in
back. Just as the limited was pulling out from the station, the sedan started
along a street in the same direction, following the line of the railroad
tracks.
 "We're going out to Mayor Carley's," explained Walton. "He's giving a
small dinner for you, Cardona. After that, he'll probably talk about the mess
here in town."
"Any new developments?" questioned Joe, "since I saw you in New York?"
"No," returned Walton, "and that's the worst of it. The money's being
drained from every business; and where it's going, or how, nobody knows. That
is, nobody who's willing to talk."
Walton paused, shaking his head, as he eyed the street ahead. The
headlights showed a tree-lined avenue. There were houses on one side; on the
other, a high hedge that screened the railroad.
"There are strangers in town," declared Walton, "but they have money and
look respectable. No, we can't accuse them of these rackets. In a way, the
whole thing seems to have started locally. It began with a huge real-estate
smash.
"Old Warren Knightson was the cause. He owned many properties; held
options on others. He controlled building-and-loan associations. Every one
followed Knightson's lead, until, suddenly, every enterprise of his went
broke.
From then on -"
Walton's words ended. Without warning, he was confronted by an emergency
that threatened sure death to himself and every one in the sedan. Joe Cardona
clutched the sill of the opened window, his own right foot jamming at an
imaginary brake pedal.
At twenty-five miles an hour, the sedan had reached a corner that was
obscured by trees. It had the right of way; but that wasn't going to save the
passengers from a trip to the cemetery.
A bulky truck was roaring down a slope from the right, about to cross the
avenue. To the left, that cross street went over the railroad tracks, where
there were no gates; merely a warning signal that was starting its blink while
a huge bell jangled.
The truck driver was aiming for the tracks before the train came. The
sedan was rolling squarely into his path.
Cardona saw the truck driver yanking at the handle of a huge emergency
brake that had no effect whatever, for the truck was weighted with a load of
crushed stone. Walton couldn't swing left, for his speed was too great to make
the turn. The move would have wrecked him on the railway tracks, in the path
of
the limited.
He saw the warning lights; the steel tracks burnished by the glare of the
locomotive's searchlight. His foot on the brake pedal, Walton realized that he
was heading for a deadly stop, for the truck was almost upon him. He did the