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

Shadow, their weapons with them.

With quick bounds to the cross passage, The Shadow turned left, away from the conference room. A
wild shot ripped from behind him, fired by one of the sprawled men. The fellow was shooting at
nothingness, for The Shadow had already swung the corner of the passage. But the next sound that
came, though far less threatening than the bark of a gun, was something that promised trouble.

It was the clatter of a doorтАФthe door to Speed's roomтАФand with it came a flood of light. With an ear
trained to danger, Speed Falley hadn't failed to distinguish the muffled shot from the outer passage and to
act on it at once. He was in the doorway, drawing a revolver of his own, his eye scouring the darkness of
the passage.

Behind Speed was Vedo Bron, his face anxious despite its smile. When trouble occurred in Bron's
vicinity, he usually took it to be meant for him.

Even with Speed living up to his nickname, The Shadow wasn't to be found. He'd reached the far end of
the passage and was pressed against the door that led into the Barnacle proper.
Blackness against blacknessтАФsuch was the formula that rendered The Shadow invisible in this pinch.
Seconds more, he'd be easing through that door, closing it behind him without a trace of his departure.
Men would be talking of a ghost; not of The Shadow.

The needed time wasn't given.

A sudden yank took the door from The Shadow's grasp. Men in the Barnacle, watchers posted by
Speed, had heard the shot from behind scenes. The tug they gave the door brought The Shadow halfway
with it, into a shabby barroom occupied by human water rats.

Two men had pulled the door, together; the mutual shout they gave was enough to bring the other
customers full about.

They saw The Shadow, but found it hard to recognize him. He was more than a mere intruder cloaked in
black. In a trice, he became a human cyclone, whirling Speed's men as he gripped them.

Swung full about, the pair were flung hard into the passage, blocking Speed's approaching dash as well
as his path of aim. There were stumbles, oaths from the passage. By that time, The Shadow was away.

WHIRLING into the clustered customers, The Shadow was slugging with a pair of automatics. He
needed such weapons, for his opponents were ready with their own.

The cutthroats who patronized the water-front dive were only too anxious for a brawl, and they carried a
variety of carving tools, from plain dirks to odd-shaped knives that they had brought back from their
voyages.

There were "wanted" men among that tribe; some, perhaps, who believed that The Shadow was upon
their trail. All were the sort who did their dirty work and thought it over afterward. They regarded any
chance invader of these premises as their rightful prey. But The Shadow belonged in another category.

He didn't wait for opposition to come to him; he went after it, instead. As he slugged a path through the
crowd that tried to stop him, his big guns began to chatter with precise effect.