"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 285 - Fountain of Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

THIS wasn't laughing time for Johnny Craver. His pockets bulging with wealth that wasn't his, he more
than ever needed a quick way out. The comic result of Claybourne's marksmanship had not been his
fault; nor could Johnny take credit for it. Claybourne's foresight in keeping a loaded gun handy proved
Johnny's own lack of proper calculation toward the future. Nor were those missed shots fully wasted.

A double-barreled roar meant something in a house full of servants. Yet Johnny didn't seem to realize it
as he stood stupidly by the doorway, wondering what had happened to the mysterious rescuer who
revealed himself only as a cloaked whirlwind. Shouts were coming from downstairs, but Johnny didn't
even hear them, the way his ears were ringing from the effects of Claybourne's misplaced fire.

Sweeping suddenly from darkness, The Shadow caught Johnny's arm and whirled him full about. He
wanted to thrust the young fool through the doorway, rush him away from here and arrange explanations
later, but Johnny was slow in catching the idea. So slow that in a trice The Shadow's plan had changed;
he was hurling Johnny headlong out into the hallway, while he personally was taking a long low dive into
the darkness of the trophy room.

Claybourne was launching a new attack, this time with a harpoon that he had found to hand when coming
up beside the wall where he had landed. The sincerity of his hurl gave it a surprising accuracy for the
barbed spear arrowed a path right through the center of the doorway, which was fortunately vacated just
before the shaft arrived.
On hands and knees, Johnny heard the harpoon punch the hallway wall only a few feet above his head,
while from the trophy room came a clattery sound announcing The Shadow's dive had tangled him among
the moose horns on the floor. The shouts that Johnny heard from the front stairs were another factor in
his rising panic. From now on it was every man for himself.

Racing for the back stairs, Johnny reached them just as Claybourne came lunging out into the hallway,
waving his hands and screaming for bigger and better harpoons. Seeing the servants, Claybourne sent
them running after Johnny and joined the chase in person. The back stairs were alive with hubbub when
The Shadow came from the trophy room. Hearing more footsteps pounding up from the front, The
Shadow made a quick glide into the elevator, eased the door shut, and started down.

Always calculating, The Shadow was charting Johnny's course to the dot. Chances for a reasonable exit
were nil, since Johnny's clatter and that of his pursuers would rouse the servants in the kitchens. Since
Johnny knew of the connecting door alongside the grand stairway, he would naturally choose it in a
pinch. By then The Shadow would be in a position to help or hinder him whichever was preferred.

Sometimes The Shadow's calculations could go wrong. Either that, or something very strange was
guiding the actions of Johnny Craver.

As Johnny thrust open a door at the bottom of the back stairs, he found a squad of skillet men awaiting
him. Chefs and waiters had armed themselves to greet the arriving clatter, confident that whoever came
first would be the man to stop. Approached by a half-circle of waving frying-pans, Johnny gave a good
impersonation of a hunted rabbit. He saw two doors: one, unguarded, led through to the reception hall;
the other, cut off by his challengers, opened into the back street.

Instead of taking the route that the kitchen help had overlooked, Johnny drove madly through the circle.
Waving his arms as he ran the gantlet of frying-pans, he warded off the worst blows, but took a few that
staggered him. The kitchen police were close behind him, howling as loud as the wolf pack that was
clattering from the stairs, when a pair of men came lunging in the back way, blocking off Johnny's last
hope of escape.