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

reasonably presentable. The rangy fellow had small eyes, quick and darty, like his way of speech; a face
that was blunt and somewhat hardened, but by no means ugly.

The Shadow recognized the man as Speed Falley, an adventurer in his own right, but one whose
activities had thrown him into several tussles with the law. It wasn't necessary for The Shadow to
recapitulate Speed's past; the man himself was doing it, for Bron's benefit.

"You've tagged me right, Mr. Bron," Speed was saying, in his choppy way. "Yes, I've gone where the
dough is, regardless of consequences. In the rumrunning days I was with the fleet, getting my share of the
gravy. Some of the boys here can tell you."

He gestured to "the boys," particularly the older ones. They were men who knew the water, and liked
rough weather in more ways than one. Hardened veterans of run-ins with the coast guard, they
represented an offshore criminal type who didn't care whom they served, and why, provided their own
interests benefited.

But they differed considerably from the thugs who skulked the city streets. This crew, at least, showed
loyalty to their leader, Speed Falley; and the younger members looked as though they had learned many
lessons from the older.

"They don't need to tell me," spoke Bron, in his precise, foreign style. "I met many types of men during
my adventures, Speed. Some of them had dealings with you, in those days, and they all said you were
honest with them."

"So I was," assured Speed. "Other guys were paying them off in counterfeit dough, so crummy it couldn't
be passed on shore. But I paid 'em the real mazuma. Why not? They brought me what I wanted; so I
gave them what they wanted."

Bron nodded, his fixed smile playing as usual.

"I got by those days," continued Speed. "Rumrunning, was through. I'd never been caught, so it was
quits. I switched to straight smuggling; then the bottom dropped out of that racket. The law has nothing
on me, if that counts for anything."

Pressing a cigarette between his smiling lips, Bron fixed his darkish eyes on Speed and held the fellow's
gaze.

"It counts for everything with me," declared Bron. "I want a man whose record can be called clean."

"Mine is near enough, considering," assured Speed. "I'm on shore, partner in this joint called the
Barnacle, and we haven't lost our license. Good enough?"

Considering the statement, Bron nodded; then put his wants in preliminary terms.

"I need a man to take me to Massaquoit Bay," declared Bron. "A man like yourself, Speed, with a stout
crew like yours. I have work to do there, and I shall need protection from certain enemies. Protection is
most important. I spoke of it, Speed, when I talked to you by telephone."

Speed nodded, and gave a short laugh. He reached to a lamp that stood on the crude table and began to
toy with the cord. Speed was pulling the lamplight on and off, while Bron watched, rather puzzled.