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

opened the door, she noticed that the driver was absent.
Wondering where the cabby had gone, Barbara looked about. She saw the fellow
come shuffling toward her, flicking away a cigarette. He gave an ugly grimace
that was his attempt at a smile.
"Sorry, lady," said the cabby. "I was just down at the corner, getting
cigarettes."
He displayed a pack of cigarettes as he spoke. That proof of his story was
superfluous to Barbara, for she hadn't doubted the man's statement. It made
her wonder about the cab driver's reliability.
Giving an address, Barbara settled back in the rear seat. During that first
block, she studied the driver's photograph, which was displayed in the frame
that held his cab license. His name was Luke Malkett, and his picture looked
like a rogues' gallery photo.
Peering toward the front of the cab, Barbara could see beady eyes staring in
the mirror. Malkett was watching her in ratty fashion; his manner was another
test for Barbara's nerve. She met the situation with a firm smile. Barbara
decided that she had the explanation for her past qualms. Outside dangers had
been imaginary. The real threat was this sneaky cab driver.
Malkett had spotted the hand bag. He didn't know what was in it, but he wanted
the contents. Maybe he would try to get the Crystal Buddha, along with
whatever else the bag held. Barbara would be ready when he tried it. There was
something in the bag that the fellow wouldn't like.
Waiting until the cab was on the avenue, Barbara opened the bag and cautiously
pulled out a tiny pearl-handled revolver.
Barbara had a permit for that gun; she always carried the weapon when occasion
demanded. Tucking the revolver in a fold of her dress, she began to look from
the window. At times, she managed a sidelong glance to the driver's mirror.
During the previous ride, Barbara had looked frequently through the rear
window. She avoided that policy, at present, because she figured that trouble
could come from Malkett only. That was why she failed to notice the dark coupe
that trailed the cab. That car had come in from the street in back of Bela
Singh's.
Barbara smiled when they swung into the next avenue. The cab had been going
slowly, almost uncertainly; but it hadn't stopped. Probably, Malkett had given
up his half-baked plan. When Barbara saw him peer nervously from his window,
she decided that he was looking for policemen, glad that he had tried nothing
lawless.
Instead, the cabby was looking for another car; and he saw it. The machine was
a touring car, that had just stopped at the curb beyond an elevated station.
Malkett let his left hand stick out as he took another corner. His hand
wigwagged a signal.
The touring car started. It followed close behind the cab, coming in ahead of
the coupe that was keeping a discreet distance to the rear.


THE cab had reached a crosstown street in the Sixties. It rolled westward
across Fifth Avenue and entered Central Park. Barbara had given a West Side
address; hence the trip through the parka was a logical one.
Malkett, however, seemed to have his own pet way of getting to the West Side.
He took odd turns that veered the cab from the course that Barbara expected.