"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 161 - The Voice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

concern."
"How soon will you exercise the option?" inquired another director, whose
anxious tone showed that he was eager to see the bargain made. "Remember, Mr.
Clume - no time should be lost!"
"Tomorrow," declared Clume, "Carter Dunwold, president of Green Star,
arrives from Europe aboard the Borealic. I shall be the first person to meet
him at the pier."
The directors exchanged pleased looks. One, a canny individual whose face
was owlish, put another question:
"Is Theodore Trenchell behind that syndicate that would like to buy Green
Star?"
"He is," replied Clume, "and he would pay ten million for it. Our option,
fortunately, prevents him. Trenchell has been calling me frequently by
telephone. Probably I shall hear from him before I leave here tonight. This
time" - Clume's jaw gave a triumphant shove - "I shall tell him that his cause
is hopeless!"


THE directors filed from the front door of the room, into a large outer
office. There, Clume shook hands around; the directors picked their way among
desks where some late clerks were still at work.
Clume opened a door on the right, stepped into an anteroom where a
dark-haired girl was busy at a typewriter. Her desk bore a name plate which
stated: "MISS BORION", and her location in the anteroom told that she was
Clume's private secretary.
The girl heard Clume enter. She stopped her typing; her dark eyes flashed
a question that brought a smile from Clume.
"It is settled," he declared. "The directors voted to exercise the
option.
File this, Irene."
Clume handed his secretary the document that bore the order. Irene
scanned
the signatures, then asked:
"Wasn't Mr. Cranston present?"
"No," replied Clume. "Lamont Cranston was flying in from Chicago, and his
plane was delayed. When he arrives, ask him to add his signature. A mere
formality, of course, since all the other directors voted in favor of the
purchase.
"It will not be necessary for me to see Cranston. I shall be busy for the
next hour, going over those western reports that I was forced to lay aside. I
do not wish to be disturbed, Irene, unless" - Clume chuckled - "unless
Trenchell telephones. If he does, switch the call to my office."
Clume's office was directly in back of the anteroom. He opened a door
marked private, went through and closed it behind him. Irene Borion returned
to
her typing.
The big clock in the outer office showed six.
That hour was marking the start of sinister episodes, beneath external
calm. Events, some seemingly unimportant, were shaping a strange future; a
whirligig wherein crime would ride rampant.