"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 231 - Garden of Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

persons might have attributed to their imaginations, for its traces faded with the air that whispered in from
the screened porch.

Another whisper accompanied the fitful breeze - a grim tone of low, restrained laughter that lacked all
mirth. The tone was from The Shadow's hidden lips.

A slight swish of the gloom-shrouded cloak evidenced that he had crossed the fatal threshold. Through
the great, somber living room, the master of darkness was picking his way to the hallway beyond.

The thing that lay on the hallway floor looked like a crumpled rug bunched into an awkward pile; but no
rug belonged at that spot. There was a twinkle of The Shadow's tiny flashlight as he stooped to inspect
the object. It was the dead form of Harvey, Bendleton's butler.

Instead of examining the body further, The Shadow looked elsewhere for the cause of death. Stepping to
the rear of the hall, he turned on a table lamp and looked above it, to a gilded cage, much smaller than
the one belonging to the macaw on the porch.

The little cage contained a canary, which was lying wilted, on its back, its upraised claws even more
pitiful than Harvey's outstretched hands.

Dead butler and dead canary - both indicated the same touch of doom.

Before extinguishing the lamp, The Shadow noted a package that lay on the table. It measured about six
inches square, and it was addressed to Bendleton's sister, who lived in Philadelphia. The writing was in a
feminine hand, obviously that of Bendleton's daughter, Fay, whose name was in the upper corner. On the
package lay twelve cents: two nickels and two pennies, which were to cover postage.

Moving to the stairway, The Shadow paused there. Stabs of sunlight, from a small westerly window,
revealed the flat top of the newel post, which had circular streaks upon its oak-stained surface, indicating
that this had been the accustomed spot for one of the geranium pots that The Shadow had noticed on the
sun porch.

Going up the stairs, The Shadow entered a hallway even gloomier than the one below. His guarded
flashlight gleamed again, disclosing a shape that even his keen eyes could not have discerned in the thick
darkness of the floor. Another shape that looked like a crumpled rug, but wasn't.

The motionless form was the body of Bendleton's secretary, Jennings.

One hand of this victim was extended and half-closed, as though it had tried to claw the door against
which it rested. The door belonged to Bendleton's study.

Either of two actions might have been the secretary's last effort. Jennings could have tried to knock, or he
might have sought to grip the doorknob and turn it. Either case was an indication that Bendleton was in
the study.

Slowly, The Shadow turned the knob and opened the door inward. A warning sound stirred from the
room - a fierce, low hiss amid the darkness. Strained imagination could have identified it as anything from
a snake's challenge to the snarl of a trapped assassin; but The Shadow remained unperturbed.

He knew the hiss for what it was: the sizzle of a radiator. Under thermostatic control, the heat had come