"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 166 - Crime Rides The Sea" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

"I certainly have!" For the first time, Cranston's face displayed signs
of
interest. Then, with a slight smile: "This is a real adventure, striking upon
Trebble's ship."
"You've never met Mr. Trebble?"
The Shadow met that question with a negative headshake. It was the direct
opposite of the truth; but it served a valuable purpose, one that brought a
different smile to the lips of Cranston, when the officer had left. The Shadow
was confident that his answer would produce prompt results.
Jerome Trebble, it happened, did know Lamont Cranston. No matter how
exclusive Trebble might feel on this particular morning, he would certainly be
anxious to see any man who claimed to be Cranston, but who denied ever having
been aboard the Marmora. Jerome Trebble had a definite dislike for impostors,
and was always pleased at a chance to expose them.
 Hence, The Shadow had taken the most direct method to meet Trebble, if
such proved possible.
He had doubts, though, that Jerome Trebble was still aboard the Marmora.
Therefore, The Shadow's claim that he did not know Trebble was doubly
valuable.
It made it easier for him to meet the yacht's new owner, should there be one.


STROLLING out to the deck, The Shadow met the dapper officer when he
returned with the announcement:
"Mr. Trebble would like to see you. Come this way, Mr. Cranston."
They went below and reached a door that The Shadow remembered. A knock
brought word to enter. The Shadow stepped into a sumptuous cabin, that was
half
living room, half bedroom. His gaze went directly to a corner, where a man was
seated at a desk.
That corner had always been Trebble's favorite spot. The Shadow could
remember Trebble sitting there, half hunched, with one elbow propped to hold
his long chin, while his eyes stared through round-rimmed spectacles that were
wider than his thin-cheeked face.
The man at the desk today had Trebble's manner, even to the propped
elbow.
His chin, too, was long like his face; but his cheeks weren't thin. They made
the spectacles look small, and through the lenses, The Shadow could see eyes
that did not belong to Jerome Trebble.
The owner of the Marmora had a blinking habit that gave him an owlish
expression. This man's eyes were sharp; when their lids narrowed, it was not
to
avoid a hurting light. It was a different habit: a manifestation of
shrewdness.
He didn't need the big spectacles that he wore.
He was Pointer Trame.
Those shrewd eyes caught no recognition from The Shadow's expression.
After a close scrutiny of the uninvited guest, Trame decided that he was just
what he claimed to be - a wrecked aviator, rescued from the brine.
In a wheedling voice, an excellent imitation of Trebble's style, Trame