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

about and walked toward the inner office. He stopped long enough, however, to
speak to a dull-eyed stenographer, who sat at a typewriter in the corner
erasing mistakes that she had made in an insurance report.
"I expect another caller, Miss Deems," declared Thelden, dryly. "His name
is Howard Dembrick. Usher him into my office, when he gives his name." Then,
gesturing to a daily calendar, Thelden added: "You had better make a note of
it, Miss Deems. The name is Howard Dembrick."
Reaching the inner office, Thelden closed the door in his slow-mannered
style. From then on, his attitude changed. His long lips spread in an ugly
grin; his teeth gave a choppy, vicious bite, as he chewed off the tip of a
cigar.
Flicking his cigar lighter, Thelden stood by the window gazing
contemptuously toward the tiny human figures that trod the broad sidewalks
surrounding Philadelphia's massive, graystone city hall. He watched them going
in and out through the arched portals that offered passage to an inner
courtyard, the convenient short-cut that many persons used.
Those pedestrians reminded Thelden of ants, in and out of their hill. In
his opinion, their courses were as haphazard as those of insects. He didn't
care what purposes inspired them. Thelden was callused in that regard.
His gloating brain was obsessed by the desire to reach out a hand and
crush masses of those pygmy figures. That, of course, was impossible; and
Thelden was sane enough to recognize it. But his smile told that he at least
knew ways in which human beings could be eliminated one by one.
It was unfortunate that Harry Vincent was no longer present to observe
that leer. From it, The Shadow's agent might have learned the truth.
George Thelden, though not the big-shot who manipulated crime, was the
actual murderer of Louis Rulland!

CHAPTER III
THE NEXT VISITOR
IT was after five o'clock when Howard Dembrick arrived at Thelden's
office. The visitor was a portly man, whose wide face bulged outward from
beneath a derby hat. At Thelden's invitation, Dembrick hung his hat on a rack.
Seating himself, he planked his fattish hands upon the insurance broker's
desk.
"I'm a real estate operator, Mr. Thelden," announced Dembrick in a rumbly
voice, loud enough to be heard in the outside office. "I've got an option on a
couple of blocks of homes, and I want fire insurance for all of them."
Thelden pressed a buzzer, summoning Miss Deems. The next fifteen minutes
were spent in fixing the insurance rates on the houses mentioned. The whole
amount totaled twenty-five hundred dollars.
Dembrick wrote out a check for that amount. Thelden added it to a batch
of others, gave them all to the stenographer, telling her to deposit them in
bank. Thelden's bank evidently had night hours, for Miss Deems left the office
a short while later.
When the outer door had closed, Dembrick shoved a big hand along the
desk, straightened his thumb and fingers, so that Thelden would notice them.
The insurance broker placed his own hand beside Dembrick's, spreading it in
similar fashion.
Each hand crawled forward, doubling its little finger from sight. Perhaps