"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 261 - The Museum Murders" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

Yes, the whole world - and particularly its lower strata - knew what the brownstone museum contained,
though no item, not even the tiniest, had ever been stolen from these premises.

Those facts reviewed, Ewell Darden declared:

"Tonight, our most valued treasures are being packed. Within another hour, the armored vans will carry
the precious crates and boxes to a destination unknown."

There was a buzz of approval among the directors when Darden ordered them to drop their capsules in a
wooden collection box as it passed around the table. He stepped over to an ancient wooden wheel
mounted on a creaky frame, a double wheel with an inner trough. It was a device once used in Roman
lotteries, and from this a chosen capsule was to be taken.

"We shall deliver the selected lot to Carl Croom," declared Darden. "He alone will learn the destination
and guide the vans there. The longer our new treasure house is kept secret, the more time Croom will
have to add protective measures."

As he spoke, Darden looked to his right, where a stranger was seated. He was Clyde Burke, a
self-possessed newspaper reporter who had chanced into the conference. However, the precautions
were such that a member of the press was allowable, though none had been invited. Nevertheless, Burke
was smart enough to act as though indifferent when directors glanced his way.

A telephone rang on the table at Clyde's elbow and the reporter answered it. The call was for Cranston,
so Clyde handed it over. An interesting procedure, considering that Clyde Burke was secretly an agent of
The Shadow, here by his chief's design! For The Shadow had expected a call that might necessitate his
departure, and this happened to be it.

Most casually, Cranston strolled from the meeting. He had another appointment elsewhere, and since
even the result of the lottery was to be a secret, he had no reason to remain.

Cranston moved through the exhibit rooms of the museums, where workers were finishing the crating job
under direction of Carl Croom, the blunt, forceful man who had been selected to convey the treasures to
their new citadel, wherever it might be.

Only the irreplaceable items were to go, hence the museum was still well stocked with exhibits. Likewise,
Croom had personally selected the attendants who were to accompany him. The museum being
overstaffed with elderly guards who dated back to Argyle's day, Croom showed preference for younger
men, though some were newcomers. Those that he'd hand-picked were working with the stacks of
crates.

And Cranston, in passing, noted a clean-cut chap among that select group whose presence was an
excellent addition. The man in question was Harry Vincent, another of The Shadow's competent agents.

Yes, all were well within the museum, where The Shadow's aids were on duty. Cranston's impassive lips
registered a very faint smile as he walked between two standing rows of antique armor that was to stay in
the museum, since it was not of the inlaid-gold variety.

Then, through the outer door, Cranston passed two human sentinels in the form of private detectives. At
the gate, another pair of such watchdogs eyed him as he entered a waiting limousine.