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

prospered. Its medical staff and its technical equipment were famous. To betray it, even under the threat
of death, was unthinkable to Bartley.
"I'll never do it!" he cried. "I'd rather be killed!"

"All very noble," the muffled voice said. "But I haven't the faintest intent of killing you. I need you alive so
you can continue to collect endowment funds. If you refuse, I won't kill you. I will kill Mercy Hospital!"

There was menace in the voice that rasped from the darkness beyond the beam of light that bathed
Bartley's sweating face.

"What do you mean?" Bartley whispered.

"Just this. Things are going to happen at Mercy Hospital that will end its existence - unless you play ball.
There will be a reign of terror there, my friend! Patients will be afraid to enter. Doctors will resign. I will
drive Mercy Hospital to bankruptcy and ruin."

"You're mad!" Bartley cried.

"Not at all. I'm sane. I know the name of every wealthy man who has pledged money to Mercy Hospital.
Dwight Nugent isn't the only patron. There is Henry Kirkland and Lamont Cranston and Peter Verne and
- Shall I go on?"

"Let me think," Bartley whispered.

"No need to think," the hidden voice snarled. "Tonight I'm going to give you a little proof of what I can
do. I will exert some slight pressure on your young friend, Dr. Sutton."

The thought of peril to Dr. Sutton's highly important cancer research made Bartley desperate.

"I agree!" he lied. "I'll do whatever you say."

There was a cold chuckle.

"You are not fooling me, Mr. Bartley. Right now you are lying! You hope to be able to trick me
somehow; perhaps to notify the police. It will do you no good - and it will do Mercy Hospital deadly
harm. You will receive proof of that very soon."

The voice continued sardonically.

"And now you'll have to excuse me, since I will be very busy for a while."

There was a click. The brilliant spotlight on Bartley's face went out.

A heavy odor drifted into Bartley's nostrils. Vainly, he tried to jerk his head aside. Tight hands held him
immovable.

For the second time, Hanson Bartley became unconscious.

WHEN he recovered he was still tied in the armchair in Nugent's living room. Ceiling lights were lighted
now. He was able to see clearly. The room was empty except for the shroudlike covers on all the rest of