"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 146 - Face of Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

"O.K., Jordy! It's meтАФMarty!"

There was a slight sound; a stir in the darkness. Marty took it as Jordy's answer. Shifting his rangy body
along the wall, he found the light switch and pressed it.

The result stiffened Marty's face into an upward stare.

The lights did not come on with the sudden glare that the rangy crook expected. Instead, there issued a
feeble glow, like an old flashlight with weak batteries.

As Marty gazed, the lights began to increase their power, but with a painful slowness. They furnished a
weak circle around the center of the ceiling; they spread their range until the walls became barely visible.
Then the increase halted.

Marty lowered his stare. His eyes were goggly as they looked straight ahead. His bloated lips no longer
wore a smile.

Seated in the center of the room was a figure that Marty recognized. Not from its shape, for that was
distorted by a darkish, high-drawn garment resembling a Roman toga; but because of the features that
showed above it. They were clearly visible; too much so, to suit Marty.

The face in the gloom shone with a weird, greenish light, that made it more ghostly than human.

Marty needed no more light to identify this being who so mysteriously awaited him. In fact, greater
illumination would have destroyed the illusion that produced Marty's recognition. For the rigid crook had
never seen that visage, except in haunting dimness. No one had ever needed to tell Marty that, in full light,
the grotesque countenance would bear no resemblance to its present appearance.

Gloom seemed designed to make that face impressive. The forehead was a broad expanse of glow;
cheeks made straight, downward lines to a chin that cut square across. Eyes formed deep sockets, but
from them shone beady points of light. The nose looked sharp; the lips straight. Those effects, however,
could be due to well-gauged applications of the luminous dye.

Proof that the disguise had been perfectly arranged came, when Marty gulped two words:

"The Face!"

GLOWING lips contorted into an oddly twisted smile, itself a symbol that Marty had seen before. From
those lips grated the harsh accusation that Marty feared.

"You have sought to deceive me!" spoke The Face. "You know the reckoning that awaits those who
make that error!"

"It wasn't that, chief," blurted Marty. "I only wanted to talk to Jordy, to get the lowdown on the next job
-"

"You talked to others first," came the rasped interruption. "To Orry Leven and Sparkler Broyt. You told
them that you had tired of long idleness; that you intended to engage in crime to-night."
Marty wilted. The Face knew everything. How, Marty couldn't guess. He knew that Orry Leven and