"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 250 - Death About Town" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

NEITHER agent saw The Shadow enter the Galba Building, because he didn't use the door that led in
from the street. The Shadow chose a better route, one that Joe Cardona had unwittingly provided.

Close against the darkened wall of the building, The Shadow squeezed his fingers between the slats of
the grating that Joe had pried loose earlier. Lifting it, he slid to the space beneath and let the grating lower
silently into position.

Noiseless, too, was The Shadow's attack upon the cellar window. It was held by a catch, but The
Shadow soon worked it open. Clanking sounds came from above: a detective tramping across the
grating. There was a pause as the detective inspected the space with a flashlight.

By then, The Shadow was through the window, fixing the catch from within. The patrolling detective
gained no glimpse of the human shape in black.

From there, The Shadow went directly to Laverock's office. Since it opened on a court, and the building
was deserted except for the night watchman; who was keeping to the hallways, The Shadow turned on a
light. He began an inspection of Laverock's files, hoping to find some clue that Cardona had missed.

All the while, The Shadow listened for footsteps, and finally heard their beat: the heavy tread of the night
watchman. He turned out the light, waited until the tramping sound reached a stairway, and then restored
the light, to resume his search. His ears tuned to the situation, The Shadow kept close tabs on the distant
sound of the watchman's departing footfalls.

Sometimes, The Shadow's very faculty at distant concentration could trick him. This was one of those
occasions. A creeping sound, much closer, was subdued enough to escape The Shadow's detection, until
it was too late. The creep was outside the door of Laverock's office. It ended when the door suddenly
slapped inward.

Wheeling from behind the desk, The Shadow saw the man who lunged through the doorway. There was
no mistaking his short build and his blunt face, which showed a glare approaching fury. The man who had
thrust himself into the office was James Laverock.

Though the police had appropriated Laverock's revolver, the man was still armed. He was carrying a
weapon that could be classed as an antique, a Sharps four-barreled pistol that dated back to the '60s.

Such a weapon, the final development of the "pepper box" style of gun, was noted for its lack of
accuracy, but at this close range, it could hardly fail to miss a target of human size.

Laverock voiced a triumphant snarl, pleased by the luck which had enabled him to trap an intruder in his
office. It happened, however, that Laverock was luckier than he knew. The Shadow's hand, sweeping to
his cloak, was actually gripping an automatic, ready to flip its muzzle in Laverock's direction - when
something caused the cloaked figure to relax.

That something was Laverock's glare. In the man's eyes, The Shadow saw more than a murderous glint;
he caught a calculating flash which told him that Laverock would go easy with a trigger, if such policy
promised results. Playing a sudden hunch, The Shadow let his hands move away from his cloak and
come up toward his shoulders.

It was a better plan, on The Shadow's part, than shooting it through with Laverock in a quick fray that