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

downstairs.
"No mask," spoke The Shadow, as if in answer to Joan's thought. "I am not
the man who was mistaken for your uncle."
An inspiration, that one. Joan had at last found someone willing to
support
her belief. She didn't realize, at the moment, that stress of circumstance
could
have caused The Shadow to pretend agreement with her opinion. Almost ready to
accept The Shadow as a friend, Joan lowered gun hand slightly.
The Shadow let his weight relax against the door. He was almost ready for
a
lunge, and take-off from the door would add impetus to his forward shove. He
was
gauging the move perfectly.
He needed to grab the gun and suppress Joan's cry, all in one swoop.
After
that, it would be easy; he'd quickly make her listen to reason. The Shadow
didn't want to spoil the business that he planned with Nevlin.


SHOULDERS against the door, one foot slightly raised, The Shadow was
motionless one moment; in the next, he became a whirling figure. But he didn't
begin a forward surge. Instead, The Shadow surprised himself. He went
backward,
so suddenly that he didn't realize what had happened.
Nor did Joan. She thought that The Shadow actually vanished. The door,
itself, seemed to swallow him - which, in a sense, it did. Only the door was
gone, too, like The Shadow. In place of both was vacancy, represented by the
open doorway.
Nevlin, ready to leave his room, had yanked the door inward, bringing The
Shadow with it. Relieved of his underpinning, The Shadow thought the floor had
come up to meet him. He was really in a whirl, but he didn't try to stop it.
Instinctively, The Shadow rolled to get clear of the gunshots that he knew
would
come.
Joan was pulling the trigger of the revolver and it was spurting into the
darkened room. The Shadow was rolling one way and Nevlin was dropping back in
the other direction.
Nevlin had turned out the lights; hence Joan didn't see him. She was
thinking only in terms of a black-cloaked foeman who was gone.
Gone so completely that the girl was actually frightened by the sound of
her own shots. She ended with three and made a half turn toward the stairway,
gasping with alarm.
Nevlin saw her in the light of the hallway; savagely, he drove out
through
the doorway, gun in one hand, suitcase in the other. His pale face, coming
into
the light, was merciless in its expression, and he was shoving his gun toward
Joan, intending to deliver shots that wouldn't miss.
Then Nevlin was performing a somersault as surprising as The Shadow's,