"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 153 - Murder For Sale" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

MURDER FOR SALE to all who had the price! But there was one who finally
stopped these bargains of death: The Shadow!

CHAPTER I
OVER THE BRIDGE
THE four o'clock express from New York was rolling into Philadelphia.
Hauled by one of the Pennsylvania's huge electric locomotives, it had reached
the North Philadelphia station on the dot of 5:28.
At this precise minute, 5:32, the train was covering the five intervening
miles that lay between North Philadelphia and the main station at Thirtieth
Street.
Harry Vincent pocketed his watch and gazed from the window of the lounge
car. Despite the gathering of wintry dusk, his eyes took in a remarkable
panorama.
At this moment, the express had just reached the high, many-arched bridge
crossing the Schuylkill River. Beyond the curving stretches of Fairmount Park,
Harry could see the Philadelphia skyline, where massed buildings glittered
with office lights and the city hall tower rose above, topped by its statue of
William Penn, that seemed a pygmy at this distance.
Harry's eyes were attracted by the moving lights of automobiles on the
park drives that lined the river banks. As his gaze lowered, he saw a long,
bulky bridge that crossed both driveways and the river.
It was the Girard Avenue Bridge, so well-known to Philadelphians that
they no longer regard it with the curiosity that attracts the eye of
strangers. Built of iron, bulky in shape, the bridge reminded Harry of many
cantilever structures that he had viewed, but with one exception that made it
seem odd.
The top of the bridge formed the actual roadway; the spaces beneath the
cumbersome girders were nothing more than foot bridges. As a result, the
crossing automobiles seemed to be traveling over a long, wide roof.
They were safe enough, it seemed, for the bridge had curbs and sidewalks,
with iron rails along the outer fringes but just as Harry gained that
impression of security, the fact was disproven.
A coupe crossing the bridge took a sudden skid upon an icy patch near the
center. Swinging half about, the car climbed the curb, leaped the sidewalk and
rammed its radiator straight through the iron railing.
Chance had made Harry Vincent an eyewitness to that sudden scene. The
same coincidence enabled him to take in the rapid events that followed.
With the coupe's jounce, the door beside the driver's seat swung open. A
man's figure lurched forth, to strike the sidewalk and recover balance with a
skill that told that the fellow had made a well-calculated spring.
The man was clear of the car as it poised there, half through the rail,
teetering. Harry caught a flash of spinning rear wheels, proof that the driver
had pulled the throttle wide. The rear of the car flopped downward; those
wheels took hold upon the sidewalk. They gave the car a terrific forward
lurch.
Like a living creature, the coupe precipitated itself through the
crumpled rail and disappeared in a long plunge into the waters of the
Schuylkill.
Instinctively, Harry looked for the driver who had escaped that disaster.