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

Another figure looked into the intermittent glow. Blinking lights gave momentary glitters to a gun. As the
two forms met, the revolver muzzle knifed a dart of flame. One figure sprawled crazily, while the other
wheeled to snatch the suitcase from the table.

An unknown had fired that shot, but Tex Winthorp was the victim, amid a twilight expressly arranged for
murder and the escape which the killer intended to make!

CHAPTER III. BLURRED BATTLE
ALL was confusion in the Century Casino. The man who had murdered Tex Winthorp wasn't alone. He
had helpers, who, though few in number, made up for it by teamwork. They were hurling themselves
upon a knot of men who were trying to seize Tex's murderer; and the blurred killer and his pals were
gaining the upper hand.

The swift-blinking lights were to their liking, for they had arranged them. They were slugging down
croupiers and attendants, adding gunshots when the opposition became tough. Tex's faction had
revolvers, too, but they were disorganized, bewildered by the blurry light.

Patrons were diving for the corners, seeking shelter behind the hollow furniture that had been used to
hide the gambling equipment.
Had the lookout opened the outer door to admit Lamont Cranston, the battle might have taken a different
turn. Already, the last arrival at the Century Casino was undergoing a change as speedy as that of the
blobbing lights.

With a single sweep, Cranston had his cloak across his shoulders, the slouch hat on his head, rendering
himself a being in black: The Shadow!

The problem of reaching the battleground came next. Shots through the loophole wouldn't do, there was
no telling who might be tangled in the fray around the fallen body of Tex Winthorp. The flashing lights
were so rapid that faces could not be identified, while the figures themselves darted and jerked like
people in an old-fashioned movie reel. The Shadow, to enter, had to blast the door, and it was a
formidable task.

Tex Winthorp had designed that door to hold off attacks by the law. The Shadow's only chance of
cracking it lay in using bullets from an automatic that he had drawn. At that, he knew it would be useless
to try to demolish the lock. It was specially strengthened to withstand the effects of gun slugs.

The only way was to get at the hinges, which were hidden somewhere in the woodwork. Planting the gun
muzzle against the hinge side of the door, The Shadow probed it with bullets from his .45, choosing the
logical spots where the hinges would be. Thick wood splintered, baring steel that glinted in the blinking
light. Even out here, in the entry, the illumination was that of the peculiar flickering.

Hacking with the butt end of his gun, The Shadow wrecked the hinges that his bullets had revealed. He
shouldered hard, driving the door ahead of him, and plummeted into the main room of the Century
Casino, drawing a fresh automatic as he came.

By then, the whirling brawl had shifted toward the door of Tex's office.

A gun stabbed from the mass of kaleidoscopic figures. It sprawled a man squarely in The Shadow's path.
The victim was the lookout, who had so unwisely hesitated at admitting Cranston. Killers had been