"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 281 - Town of Hate" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

"All except Zeke," announced Clem. "I was right when I said he wasn't hiding in the shed. He was just
acting smart, figuring no pine tree was going to get hit. Well, Zeke was right, for oncet--only he was
wrong, too."

Steadying his hand, the old innkeeper made the rounds of the glasses and poured his customers the
contents of the bottle. Finding that he had a last inch for himself, Clem delivered a wise smile and
declared:

"Here's drinks on the house-- what's left of it!"

There wasn't anything left, in the way of drinks or house. The last rafters of the old tavern were falling into
a fiery pit as Clem swallowed the final drops from his bottle. It was singular how rapidly that fire had
spread and completed its annihilating work.

Lamont Cranston had a word for it which he spoke in an undertone that only Margo Lane was close
enough to hear.

That word was: "Thermite."

IV.
THE coroner's inquest was over. Its verdict was death through misadventure. In local parlance, this was
interpreted to mean that Zeke Stoyer had gone and busted his fool neck.

Of less importance, legally, was the destruction of the Old Bridge Inn. Indeed, that incident was taken
entirely for granted. The old tavern had "gotten it" after all these years. The law of averages had simply
caught up with it.
Even old Clem Jolland was reconciled to that opinion. Having lived in the inn for half its hundred years,
and weathering previous storms along with the tavern, Clem was the man who certainly should know.

Lamont Cranston was present at the inquest with Margo Lane. Studying the corners of the courtroom,
Cranston observed Herbert Creswold. He was bent in earnest conversation with a pudgy-faced man
whom Cranston had seen around the local hotel. Cranston knew the man's name and why he was in
town.

"Ralph Lenstrom," Cranston undertoned to Margo. "They say he has fifty thousand dollars that he's
willing to invest in a new industry planned by Preston Brett."

Margo's eyes went surprised.

"Does Brett need money?"

"And badly," defined Cranston. "Why do you think I came to Lamira?"

"Why--why--" Margo caught herself and reduced her tone to a whisper. "I thought you intended to look
into mysterious happenings here, such as riots at the mill and unaccountable fires that have ruined so
many farm-houses."

"So I do," acknowledged Cranston. The coroner's gavel rapped a conclusion to the inquest. "That's why
I'm posing as a big investor. It will enable me to talk frankly with a man who may know what's in back of
everything."