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

"All right," acknowledged Johnny. Then, his own tone calm, he added: "I'm going to the Claybourne
reception tonight. Will I see you there?"

For once, Margo could have sworn that Cranston looked amazed, though the impression might have
been the reflection of her own astonishment. At least Cranston was silent long enough for Johnny to
continue:

"I know. Claybourne is supposed to be my worst enemy. But I reduced him to a pet peeve and now he
doesn't rate at all. Give credit to Noble Elder. He knocks such foolish notions out of you."

"I'm glad to hear it, Johnny," returned Cranston. "Yes, we'll see you at Claybourne's. How about coming
along with us for the rest of the afternoon?"

"And dinner?" added Margo.

"Both out," smiled Johnny, with a shake of his head. "I need a nap - it's the last thing Kirkwood reminded
me about - and I've reduced to two meals a day, both already eaten. But if you're going past my hotel,
you might drop me off."

Shrevvy's cab was waiting, as usual, having wormed itself into a cul-de-sac from which the cab starter
couldn't budge it until Shrevvy sighted the proper passengers. It wasn't until they neared Johnny's hotel
that the young man became talkative.

"Do you know," said Johnny, "the best thing about the help that Elder gives you is that it makes you want
to help others, even strangers that you've never met. For instance -"
The cab stopped as Johnny was drawing a folded slip of paper from his vest pocket. Tucking the paper
away, Johnny opened the door and smiled.

"I'll tell you all about it tonight," he promised. "It can't prove more boring than the usual conversation at
Claybourne's."

With that, Johnny was gone, and the cab was pulling away. Turning to Cranston, Margo said:

"He's doing wonderfully, Lamont!"

"If you mean Johnny Craver," returned Cranston, steadily, "I would say he is doing too wonderfully. He
will bear watching this evening, Margo."

"Is that what Noble Elder told you?"

"Approximately. He said to watch for a crisis, and he was right."

The sudden thought struck Margo that Lamont Cranston might be very right, too. He usually was.

CHAPTER III
IN his sixteenth story hotel room, Johnny Craver uncapped a blue bottle and poured himself a copious
draught of Sapphire Water. Raising his glass, he looked off beyond the narrow stretch of horizon that he
could see between the taller buildings and drank a toast to Noble J. Elder.

"Good old Elder," affirmed Johnny, aloud. "Maybe you're drinking with me at this moment." Johnny tilted