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

so we're takin' you along with us!"
They were shoving Harry toward the outside door. Whiz had his hand on the
knob, when Harry made a sudden break. Isabel saw it; she wrested free from the
man who gripped her. She couldn't get her gun hand clear, but she did manage a
hearty scream for help.
At that moment, aid wasn't needed. Harry was free beside the door, his
gun drawn, aiming straight for Whiz. Capable in a pinch, Harry would have
turned the tide completely if the door hadn't banged inward, thanks to Whiz's
twist of the knob.
With the swing of the door came Keezer, back from the elevator. He had
flagged the bellboy, as Whiz had ordered, and Keezer supplied another bit of
needed work.
He had a gun; instead of aiming, he gave a cross blow with the weapon.
That terrific sledge hooked the side of Harry s head. The Shadow's agent
flopped in loggish fashion.

WHIZ wanted Harry as a prisoner, but he hadn't time to bother with
another captive. That was why he shouted to the thug at the inner doorway:
"Croak the moll!"
 Isabel's opponent bowled her into the darkened bedroom. Whiz and the
others saw his revolver jabbing downward, its muzzle pressing the flesh above
her low-cut gown. In their estimation, Isabel was as good as dead; but they
counted upon that result too soon.
A window slashed upward in the inner room. A swinging form hurtled
through, coming from a window of the old hotel across the narrow passage that
divided the two hotels. That shape took a long, rolling dive upon the floor,
merging with blackness.
All during that move, the arrival never once lost sight of his objective.
He could see Isabel and her adversary plainly, for they were against the light
from the connecting doorway.
In his fist, the intruder held an automatic. He was aiming as he came,
and he seemed to use the gun as a fixed pivot, never once letting it touch the
floor.
Despite the darkness, his eyes had a burn above the gun barrel. His
unseen finger pressed the trigger. The big .45 blazed a bullet for a momentary
target--the skull of the murderous crook whose own gun was about to spell
Isabel's doom.
Shot through the brain, the crook was jolted by the impact of the bullet.
His hand went nerveless; even the reflex motion of his trigger finger had been
halted by that timely shot. Isabel was completely free, amazed by her sudden
rescue.
To the girl, that shot seemed to come from nowhere, for she could not see
the form that had arrived in blackness. That was not surprising. Her rescuer
was cloaked in black, his head topped by a slouch hat.
Arriving to contact Harry Vincent, The Shadow had come in time to
frustrate murder.

CHAPTER VI
CROSSED BATTLE
TO Whiz and the two men with him, the shot from the bedroom meant the end