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

reason."

Marty's nerves were no longer shaky. He shot a question.
"You mean The Shadow?"

"That is correct." Again, The Face spoke dryly. "Beginning with midnight, The Shadow will be otherwise
engaged."

Marty's grin came back. That was the smartest thing The Face did. He handled The Shadow, somehow.
Scourge of the underworld, The Shadow was also a mysterious figure; but he battled crime, instead of
aiding it. No matter how well plotters laid their plans, The Shadow had always been an unknown factor
who might ruin the smoothest scheme. Since The Face entered the picture, all that was changed.

Those who were with The Face never met The Shadow. It seemed, though, that crooks who ignored
The Face were always running into trouble from a black-cloaked adversary who had their number.
Remembering that, Marty regretted his recent impatience. He managed to mouth an apology to The
Face.

"Comment is unnecessary." The Face was moving upward, as the body beneath it rose from the chair.
"Caution is wiser. I have chosen to ignore your error. I shall not do so again."

There was a pause. Fully risen, The Face added:

"You know the penalty?"

Marty nodded. The Face was looking toward the light switch on the wall. Marty pressed it. Dim lights
died. The door opened beside Marty; but the crook didn't hear it. He was staring at the luminous features
of The Face, more shining than ever.

Suddenly, those features were blotted. The Face had turned away. Marty heard a hoarse whisper,
almost in his ear:

"Blimey! The Fyce!"

It was Jordy Fergen. He had arrived in time to see The Face. Jordy had heard about crime's overlord;
but only indirectly. He hadn't been here to experience the shakiness that Marty still felt. Jordy didn't
know how tough The Face could be.

Before Marty could stop the fellow, Jordy blinked a flashlight. It became his turn to stare in awe.

The room was empty. Strange though The Face's arrival had been, his departure was even more
mysterious. The flashlight wabbled in Jordy's hand. The crooked steward muttered:

"Strike me! Let's get out of this grisly 'ole!"

It suited Marty. As they crept downstairs, he had his answer. There was an old closet in the room; its
wall was thin. That was why Marty had always kept the closet door locked. The Face, learning of the
hide-out, had probably chiseled through that wall.

He was gone, through another room and out, before Marty and Jordy started their exit. His visit, though,