"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 241 - Vengeance Bay" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

wasn't the first time that Margo had met the adventurous refugee. It was her business to be present on
certain occasions, and to watch others more than Bron. Her businessтАФand The Shadow's.

Famed for his adventures abroad, and the mysterious skill with which he had escaped capture and death,
Vedo Bron had placed himself in a very select category. Of such persons, none, not even Bron, could
claim as many exploits as that supreme master of mystery known as The Shadow.

For years, The Shadow had done more than keep his ways and whereabouts unknown. He had
shrouded his very identity in mystery while dealing with foemen whose craft and technique were quite as
evil as any on earth. During more than a decade, The Shadow had matched wits with the greatest brains
of crimedom and still lived to battle on.

Well did The Shadow know the pitfalls that Bron might encounter in America. Should foreign agents fail
to snare the refugee, crooks of the genus Americanus might succeed. Such a trivial thing as patriotism
would never stir their ratty hearts, and the murder of a man like Bron was something they would relish,
provided they were paid enough.

So The Shadow had been keeping a protective eye on Vedo Bron.

Sometimes the eye was The Shadow's own. As Lamont Cranston, languid New York clubman, The
Shadow often frequented the same places as Bron. But it wasn't in keeping with the character of
Cranston to be always on hand, so there were times when The Shadow delegated the task to others.

One watcher was a young chap named Harry Vincent, whose open manner and clean-cut appearance
made him welcome in every company. The other was Margo Lane, the attractive brunette who was on
the job this evening.

Both Harry and Margo were frequent visitors to night clubs, and took turns at drifting in and out on these
assignments.

Such little matters as the clippings and the drinks were important things for Margo to remember. As she
sat in a corner watching him quite idly, she realized suddenly that Bron must regard them as important,
too.

Though others did not notice it, Margo saw that Bron's suavity was becoming forced; that he let his smile
relax without intending it. His dark eyes were repeating their corner darts; this time, toward a clock
above the bar.

It was nearly midnight, and Bron must have remembered something scheduled for that hour. Finishing one
drink, he politely declined another and rose from his chair, lifting his right hand to stroke back his sleek
hair.

"You must excuse me," remarked Bron. "I have an early appointment tomorrow with Wishwell, the
columnist. He's been writing me up so much, that he wants me to do a guest column on the real inside of
Europe."

Others believed Bron; but not Margo. She knew that no columnist ever made early appointments. Bron
was going elsewhere, and this was Margo's clue to follow. She waited until he reached the door of the
Club Plaisance; then hurried rapidly in the same direction.