"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 260 - The Money Master" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

his recognition of something that he'd missed.

Having arrived too late to witness Wip's gyrations on the fire tower, The Shadow had supposed that Bert
and Emmart were merely engaged in protecting Brune against the outside gunners. Here was evidence
that they were in pursuit of a killer when they appeared upon the fire escape. Since both detectives were
gone, it was obvious that they had taken up the trail anew.

Out through the hall, The Shadow reached the fire escape and descended. He could hear the wail of a
police siren, indicating that gunfire had been reported; nevertheless, he paused to probe the sidewalk with
a tiny flashlight. The licking beam revealed a blotch of moist blood, with another blob farther along.

Soon the darkness of an alley swallowed The Shadow, except for the blinking gleams of his well-guarded
flashlight. Mere drops of blood were The Shadow's present trail, marking the route that Wip Jandle had
taken. But The Shadow's moves along that path were slower than those of Bert Cowder and Gregg
Emmart. Wip's stalkers were progressing two blocks to The Shadow's one.

A dozen blocks away, Wip stumbled into a doorway, reached for a knob and found it. His strength was
spent, for the only thing that carried him onward were a few steps leading down into a basement.

Clutching the precious box, Wip crawled for a table and pulled the cord of a lamp. He stretched his hand
for a telephone, but his fingers slipped from the instrument. Groaning in mortal agony, Wip folded on the
floor.

Footsteps paused outside the door, then entered. Hands gripped Wip's shoulders and drew him up into
the light. Blinking, the dying crook saw the faces of Bert Cowder and Gregg Emmart.

"You're through, Wip," informed Bert smoothly, "but you haven't got me to blame for it. Those rats ran
out on you, instead of taking you to some medico who could have patched you up."

"That's right," agreed Emmart wisely. "I'll tell you why they lammed. It was the big-shot's orders, because
he wanted to get rid of you."

Wip's eyes, like his dying snarl, evidenced complete disbelief. Picking up Brune's cash box, Emmart
handed it to Cowder. Looking about, Bert saw a can opener lying on a battered table Jabbing the opener
under the weak lock of the tin box, Bert made short work of it. He flung the lid back and let Wip have a
look.

Inside were a few papers, an assortment of silver coins, and a few loose bills of foreign currencies.
Seeing those meager contents, Wip propped himself on one elbow and gave a rattly snarl.

"Shep Ficklin... he's the guy you want." Wip's words began to come in gasps. "He sent me... to pick up
what I could find. There wasn't nothing... except that boxтАФ"

Slumping quite as suddenly as Brune had, Wip Jandle rolled dead. Taking it as something quite to be
expected, Bert and Emmart proceeded with other matters. Bert concerned himself with the contents of
the box, while Emmart began to write down notes in his book.

"Shep Ficklin," mused Bert. "That's a real surprise. He's been out of circulation a long while, ever since
his rackets went bust. Guess he saw some easy dough, trimming refugees. Only he didn't make much this
trip. This foreign dough can't be worth more than a few hundred bucks."