"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 243 - Room of Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

The servants had spoken of meeting someone outside Aldriff's den, but
they
had confused The Shadow with the masked man who had been in the room itself.
Hence, Nevlin's present mood announced him as a victim of his own qualms.
Which
was fair enough, considering that Nevlin had played bold or fearful, under
circumstances which should have called for consistency, one way or the other.
Almost finished with his packing, Nevlin turned to the window and looked
below. He went to a bureau, dug a gun from deep in a drawer, and hesitated,
wondering whether to pack it in his pocket or stow it in his suitcase.
He finally tiptoed to the door, and The Shadow eased back into a darkened
alcove to let him pass. Nevlin listened at the top of the stairs to find out
what was going on below. Hearing nothing, he went back into his room and
closed
the door.
Moving forward, The Shadow placed his hand upon the knob, intending to
inch
the door open. The time to confront Nevlin was at hand. The fellow was
planning
flight, in preference to further bluff. What Nevlin did with the gun would be
proof of his final intention. If he put it in his pocket, flight would be his
choice.
Before The Shadow could get a look at Nevlin, he heard a light stir on
the
stairway behind him. Thinking he had moments to spare, The Shadow took time to
properly close the door, easing the knob deftly, so that Nevlin could not hear
it turn.
But the sound that The Shadow heard was much closer than he thought; in
fact, too close.
Swinging to start a sweep to the alcove above the hall, The Shadow
stopped
short. His hand, traveling to the hem of his cloak, became rigid. Any
semblance
of a further move might be fatal to The Shadow, considering the determination
in
the eyes that met his own.
They were brown eyes; they belonged to Joan Kelburn. Eyes that had a
hair-trigger expression, for with her cold gaze, Joan displayed a .32
revolver,
its muzzle squarely toward The Shadow. Joan's finger had taken up the trigger
slack, and was ready to pull farther.
Slowly, The Shadow let his hands come upward and apart, placing himself,
quite helpless, against the white background of the door to Nevlin's room.


CHAPTER VI

ONE WITNESS LESS

JOAN KELBURN had made a wrong guess, like the servants who had met The