"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 269 - The Golden Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

closed up his home to go to Washington, he had dismissed all his servants, including the butler!

Before Bartley could turn to scrutinize the face of this husky-voiced stranger who had moved so nimbly
behind him, he was given a violent push. The shove sent him plunging forward from the dark vestibule
into a darkened entry hall.

He tumbled flat on his face. Instantly, his assailant flung himself fiercely on top of him.

Bartley tried vainly to squirm away. A blow on the back of his skull filled his brain with a dazzle of flame.

With a groan, Hanson Bartley lost consciousness.

WHEN he recovered, he found himself sitting immovably in an armchair. Tight bands fettered his ankles
and his wrists. It was impossible for him to stir. The room in which he sat was pitch dark. He was unable
to see anything in that total blackness.

He moaned.

The sound was a signal to hidden enemies. A bright light appeared in the darkness. It was a beam from a
powerful spotlight. It focused on Bartley's face. Its brilliance kept him from seeing clearly the two men
beyond the light.

He knew there were two men because he could hear them whispering together. The whispering was
followed by a calm chuckle.

"There is no need to worry, Mr. Bartley," a voice said. "My associate struck you with a padded weapon.
You will find - after we release you - that you have suffered no fracture."

The voice was muffled. It was impossible for Bartley to recognize it.

"Your friend, Dwight Nugent, is still in Washington. I used his voice because it was the simplest way to
lure you. I'm using his house for this interview because I happen to know that there isn't one chance in ten
million for Nugent or anyone else to interrupt the important demand I am now going to make."

"Demand?" Bartley faltered.

"Listen carefully! You are the honorary administrator of Mercy Hospital. You have complete charge of all
gifts and donations that come in from men like Dwight Nugent and other wealthy patrons. I have made it
my business to find out about this. Mercy Hospital takes in more than a million dollars in gifts annually.
Am I correct?"

"What of it?" Bartley gasped.

"Just this! For every dollar you take in, you are going to pay me half! It will be very easy for you to obey.
As a public-spirited friend of the hospital, serving without pay, you will never be suspected of fraud. You
will receive instructions later on when and where to turn over my share. Do you agree?"

"No!"

Mercy Hospital was dear to Hanson Bartley's heart. Under his benevolent control its finances had