"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 141 - The Crystal Buddha" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

the street again, he ignored Barbara's attempt to pay him.
"Want me to wait, don't you, lady?" The man's tone was less growly. It carried
a note of concern. Barbara was struck by the recollection that, after all,
this driver had brought her to her destination. His glances along the street
certainly showed that he would be quick to spot skulking persons. He was
husky; the sort of fellow who could handle trouble-makers.
It might not be easy to find another cab in this remote neighborhood. Barbara
did not intend to remain long at Bela Singh's. She told the cabby to wait.
"O. K., lady."
The cabby was lighting a cigarette as he made the comment. He waited until
Barbara had entered the curio shop. Flicking his match away, he dimmed the
lights in his cab and started on foot toward the next corner, where he had
noted a small cigar store, the only other shop in this block.


MEANWHILE, Barbara Brinby had forgotten all about that cab driver.
A tiny bell had tingled her entry past the portals of Bela Singh's shop. Once
inside, Barbara found herself transported into a fragment of the Orient.
Spread curtains had welcomed her farther, to a room where incense burned ;
where rare, carved furniture was in abundance.
Thick rugs spread the floor, so plentiful that they overlapped. High tables
and shelves were stocked with odd creations in brass; strange lamps, tall
vases and squatty lota bowls. Carved figures of ivory looked like pygmies
among larger statuettes of gold and silver. Those metal images of Hindu gods
had eyes of precious stones that looked alive.
There were curtains all about, their folds so heavy that Barbara could not see
where they divided, until two hands parted them. From the far wall of the
room, a tall man stepped into view.
He wore American clothes; but his darkish features proclaimed him as a Hindu.
In keeping with his native custom, he wore an ornamental turban, tastefully
decorated with gems.
There was something about the Hindu's calm face that marked him as a man more
important than an ordinary curio dealer. What impressed Barbara most was the
contour of those features. Their perfect mold made the man look more European
than Oriental. But the darkness of his skin was deep.
He was certainly a Hindu. That was why Barbara asked: "You are Bela Singh?"
"That is my name." Bela Singh's tone was musical; his bow was graceful. "I am
at your service, mem-sahib."
Bela Singh watched Barbara look around the shop. He had evidently seen others
lost in rapture at the lavishness of this Oriental room, for his face showed
no surprise. But the steadiness of his gaze evidenced that he had gained an
interest in his visitor, and with good reason.
Barbara Brinby was a girl with rare charm. She looked at her best in fine
surroundings. Though her street attire was plain and somewhat rain-soaked, it
detracted in no way from her beauty.
Light-skinned, with hair of a perfect brown that matched her eyes, Barbara
always gained attention. But there was something deeper than her facial
attraction. Barbara had the poise and confidence of a modern business woman.
Keen men had recognized that this alluring brunette could be their equal when
it came to wits. Bela Singh was one such man.