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

While they waited, Trame reached into the desk and brought out a sheaf of
typewritten papers.
"You will excuse us, I hope, for the next few hours," he said. "I am
dictating my memoirs to Raydorf. I believe that the public will be interested
in the life of Jerome Trebble, since so few persons have ever met me. Don't
you
agree, Cranston?"
Before The Shadow could reply, Hartley arrived. He was a man past middle
age, frail and gray-haired, who supported himself in the doorway by placing
both hands against the sides. The yacht was pitching slightly in the heavy
sea,
which could account for Hartley's effort to steady himself; but the steward
also
showed signs of feebleness.
His eyes were dull; they had difficulty noting faces in the gloom of the
cabin, where the shades over the portholes were more than half drawn. But
there
was a momentary change of Hartley's expression when he heard Trame say:
"Hartley, this is Mr. Cranston. You will attend to anything he wants."
"Very well, sir." Hartley's brief flicker of emotion faded. "You may
depend upon me."
The Shadow followed Hartley from the cabin. Not once did the steward turn
about as they passed seamen lounging on the deck. There was a good reason why
Hartley did not look back; the steward was anxious not to betray himself.
He had recognized a face in that gloomy cabin; had heard a voice that he
remembered. Hartley was one man who had been many years aboard the Marmora, in
the service of Jerome Trebble. He could probably recall any person who had
ever
visited the eccentric millionaire yachtsman, for guests, during those years,
had
been very few.
Hartley had not forgotten Lamont Cranston.
The steward's change of expression had come when he realized that at last
a friend had come on board; one who might see through the pretenses of Pointer
Trame. He had suppressed that look, hoping that Trame would not notice it.
Right now, Hartley was carefully trying to hide any interest in Cranston's
presence.
Reaching a companionway, Hartley descended, letting Cranston stroll alone
to the rear deck. There, seating himself in a deep steamer chair, The Shadow
finished a last few puffs at the fine Havana cigar that Trame had given him.
The Shadow's eyes roved out across the tossing waves that teemed with
bluish brilliance. He was content to play the calm part of Cranston, here
aboard the Marmora, while daylight persisted.
But when night came anew, his ways would match the darkness that
blanketed
the Atlantic. Then, once more The Shadow, he would pry deep into the affairs
of
Pointer Trame and the crooks who served that bold impostor.