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

an advertisement in the newspaper, that promised some result. It was an ad of
Yovell & Company, auctioneers. At one time in New York, Ring Brescott had used
an auction gallery with a similar name as a background for one of his
nefarious schemes. This The Shadow remembered.
Soon, he would be on his way to investigate the local galleries.
Meanwhile, he had another thought regarding Isabel.
Whoever she was, crooks were probably having equal trouble in finding
her.
 PROOF of that very fact was taking place at the present moment. Whiz
Birsch, strolling up Chestnut Street, turned from his course and entered the
Wanamaker store. Halfway through the block-square building, he stopped in the
central concourse, near a huge bronze eagle that was mounted on a large stone
base.
At least two dozen people were grouped beneath the fringes of the massive
statue. This was a common meeting place where Philadelphia shoppers awaited
their friends.
Looking about, Whiz saw a man standing near the glove counter. It was
Keezer, with his right wrist bandaged. Whiz caught the fellow's eye; both
strolled away. They met up in a corner of the book department.
"Any luck?" whispered Keezer.
"No, growled Whiz. "I've seen a dozen dames that might be her, from the
bum slant I got the other night."
"Maybe I ought to take a walk on Chestnut Street."
"Not a chance! There's too many femmes, you wouldn't keep your mind on
the job. Stick by the eagle, it's a better bet. Remember, Keezer, you're the
one guy who could spot her."
While Keezer was returning to his lookout post, Whiz continued to the
Market Street entrance of the store. He took a stairway to the subway, rode a
few stations east. When he came to the surface again, he was on lower Market
Street.
Whiz crossed the broad thoroughfare and entered a doorway that was topped
with the sign: "RIGHTWAY CLOTHING COMPANY".
There were other announcements, stating that the concern sold men's suits
at every price, and that a considerable percentage could be saved by walking
one flight up; but Whiz didn't stop to read them. He had been here before.
The upstairs clothing store occupied half a floor, with long racks of
suits that made the place a maze of narrow aisles. There were two drab-faced
salesmen lounging about, but Whiz passed both of them. On the far side of the
store, he reached the doorway of an office, where a rangy man stood on duty.
Whiz spread his hand, with the little finger doubled beneath. The watcher
saw the ring that Whiz sported, with its chunk of quartz that the crook had
purchased as a "Mexican" diamond. The signal was sufficient, although scarcely
necessary. The guard knew Whiz quite well.
Ushered into the office, Whiz found a bulky man seated behind a desk.
Shrewd eyes surveyed him from beside a flattish nose. Lips formed a
straight, hard line, as the eyes saw that Whiz had brought no news.
The man behind the desk was Ring Brescott, big-shot of the murder racket.


"WHAT about the girl?" demanded Ring, harshly. "Why hasn't any one