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

customers had been tossing chips around, Terry felt sure that the cash must amount to a quarter million
dollars.

Tex was personally taking charge of the heavy funds, for safekeeping, and Terry wasn't the only person
intrigued by the ceremony. The fashionably-dressed patrons were watching in silence, all riveted where
they stood.

Among that throng was Margo Lane; she, perhaps, was the only one who stirred. The girl saw Terry
over by Tex's office, but that was not the cause of her restlessness. Margo's eyes turned the other way,
toward the main entrance of the casino, where a lookout stood on duty beside a wicket in the door.

Her expression eased as she saw the lookout turn to answer a knock from outside. Margo was sure that
Cranston had arrived.

He had.

Opening the wicket, the lookout peered at a calm, hawklike countenance. He recognized the arrival as
Lamont Cranston, an accepted patron at the Casino Club. What he did not see were the garments across
Cranston's arm.

They consisted of a black cloak and a slouch hat, the garb of The Shadow. Cranston was keeping them
below the wicket, and therefore below the lookout's range of vision.

About to open the door, the lookout hesitated.

"Sorry, Mr. Cranston," he confided through the wicket, "but we're making a quick change. I don't think
I'd better let you in until I've asked the boss."

He turned away from inside the door, leaving Cranston a view through the wicket, which wasn't much
larger than a loophole. It enabled Cranston to see the center of the gaming room, where Tex was busy
with the money, but most of the thronged customers were out of range. The Shadow saw enough to
know what was going on, and there was nothing ominous about the scene.

It simply fitted with the conclusion that The Shadow had formed from Margo's phone call: that someone
had tipped off Tex to the prospective raid by the police.

JUST as Tex Winthorp was about to close the suitcase with its hoard of tightly-packed cash, the stroke
came. It was a phenomenal thing, quite different from any event that The Shadow had previously
encountered in his career against crime.

The lights in the Century Casino began to blink.

Off - on - off - on - the rapid changes produced sharp flashes from sudden blots of darkness, producing
a blurred effect that was uncanny. Startled persons, suddenly springing about, were as weird to view as a
flock of stampeded ghosts. Tex Winthorp, grabbing for the suitcase, looked like a ghoul beginning a
slow-motion dance.

Tex's face was no longer recognizable, nor were those of any others present. The whole place was filled
with a man-made twilight that confused the human eye. The Shadow could still make out Tex's figure, but
only while the gambling king stood alone. That status was quickly changed.