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

evening. As for the stores that lined the street, they were receiving their full quota of customers. Judging
from the packages that people were bringing out, business was heavy.

"Yes, Lamira is a product of the past," observed Creswold, from Lenstrom's shoulder, "but that makes
its future all the brighter. Picture that main street with fine stores, more and larger theaters, a huge hotel to
replace this one--"

"It will get them," interrupted Lenstrom, "if Preston Brett has his way."

Creswold's answer was a chuckle. Lenstrom pointed out a sizeable modern mill. It was located where
the main street crossed the narrow Kawagha over an old, clumsy bridge. The mill bore Brett's name and
a horde of workers were coming from it. But that wasn't why Creswold laughed.

"You still think Brett is going to expand his industries, don't you?" queried Creswold. "That, just because
he is making the mill pay, he will soon own the timber and the quarries hereabouts? I'm telling you,
Lenstrom, that Brett has gone the limit--and more."

"How more?"

"Look over among those hills," suggested Creswold. "See those farms and orchards. The people who
own them don't want industry to rule this town. They'll make sure it doesn't."

"If enough of them remain, they may," admitted Lenstrom, "but they seem to be thinning out already.
Look at the ruins of those farmhouses that have burned in the last month."

There was a nod from Creswold as Lenstrom pointed out blackened patches among the farms. Then:

"Don't worry about those," remarked Creswold, cheerfully. "Claude Bigby will see that those farmers
rebuild. They are his friends, you know. Maybe Brett thinks he owns the town, but Bigby claims the
county and it includes the town."

As if by common consent, Creswold and Lenstrom looked off to the hill straight beyond the town. There,
the two houses representing the old and new occupied the same slope, with Stony Run carving the
quarter-mile stretch that divided the two properties.

From this distant observation post, the two buildings appeared quite close together, which made the
comparison the more odious for both. It was plain, however, that Bigby and Brett kept themselves
completely apart. There was no sign of a pathway between the houses. A journey by road would
necessarily be roundabout, for the driveway up to Bigby's began soon after the highway crossed the
river; whereas to reach Brett's, a car would have to follow the road around the base of the hill.

Creswold and Lenstrom were thinking in terms of men, not houses and the outlook was itself an
expression of their thoughts. Looming over the hill, as though to engulf the buildings and their occupants,
was a huge thunder cloud. It represented one of the frequent storms that struck the region. A sharp
crackle of lightning etched the hillside scene; shortly there came a salvo of distant thunder.

"Sounds like Bigby arguing with Brett," laughed Creswold, "I'll bet those two could out-shout the biggest
thunderstorm that ever struck Lamira."

"I've heard about those storms," said Lenstrom, nervously. "How big are they?"