"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 226 - The Blur" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

along. Only tell them to go light on the furniture because they won't find any gambling paraphernalia...
You think my place is a gambling joint? No, no, commissioner. It's just a friendly social club -"

Hanging up, Tex turned to Terry, with a nod.

"He'll be over," assured Tex. "Your tip was straight. You get your grand, and maybe a bonus. We'll settle
afterward. Meanwhile, come along - you too, Dunvin - and see how smooth my system works."

IN the grill room of the Cobalt Club, Commissioner Ralph Weston was undergoing a series of facial
contortions for the benefit of his ace inspector, Joe Cardona.
Weston had a broad face that could go purple, almost to the tips of its military mustache, and his
complexion was showing its chameleon traits. Cardona, however, showed no signs of emotion. The
stocky police inspector had a swarthy face that very seldom varied.

"Somebody has tipped off Tex!" stormed Weston. "We're going over there, inspector, to find out who
did, if we don't learn anything else!"

"They say Tex's joint is usually crowded," responded Cardona. "It won't be easy picking one guy out of a
crowd."

"Then you'd advise calling off the raid?"

Cardona shook his head.

"We're all set, commissioner," he said. "We can move in on Tex a lot faster than he thinks. Maybe fast
enough to catch him, yet. Besides, perhaps that call of his was a bluff."

"A bluff? How?"

"Maybe Tex isn't fixed to clear out the equipment in ten minutes flat," suggested Cardona. "That's all the
time it's going to take us to breeze in on him. The longer we talk it over, the better Tex may like it."

Commissioner Weston sprang to his feet, grabbing up a hat that lay on the chair beside him. In his hurry,
he overlooked his new alpaca overcoat, which was hanging on a wallhook behind his back. Cardona
didn't notice the omission, for he was picking up his own hat and wasn't wearing a coat.

On the way to the door, Weston halted abruptly.

"Where's Cranston?" he demanded. "I thought he said he'd be back."

Cardona shrugged. He'd long ago given up trying to keep tabs on Weston's rather eccentric friend,
Lamont Cranston.

"I wanted Cranston along," groused Weston. "He'd know the right names of some of those habitues at
the Century Casino. Where could he have gone?"

A clicking sound supplied a possible answer. It was the muffled impact of billiard balls, meeting one
another. It came from beyond a closed door that opened off the grill room. Weston took a step in that
direction.