"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 288 - Merry Mrs.MacBeth" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

waste basket to acquire Thurland's pencilled jottings.

Louder words then came from Thurland's miniature bar-room.

"I'm telling you, boss, these fellows play it safe." Dundee's drink was making him argumentative. "They're
like a night-club crowd, in fact those are the spots where they hang out. Call any of the class joints and
ask for Louie. You'll get service."

"We may not be wanting any of their service," snapped Thurland, sharply. "It might lead back here."

"Not a chance. Whoever answers, you just tell him you're calling for Joe. He'll ask what you want and
you tell him."

"Then he passes the word along?"

"Why not?" Dundee sounded pleased. "The only guys that know about the password are the kind that
pay dough on the line--like me."

"You mean when you have it."

"When I haven't, I don't ask favors. So how about it, boss. Do I pass the word if I need quick action?"

"Very well, Terry, only call me first. If you can't reach me, use your own discretion."

Glasses were settling on the bar and voices were coming toward the door. The figure beside the desk
was on the rapid glide, back to its original curtain. The drape was closing with a slight ripple when
Thurland and Dundee reached the office.

The ship's clock toned seven while the pair were crossing to the secret exit. There, Thurland parted the
curtains and opened the door for Dundee, keeping his hand on the bolt, intending to lock up immediately
after Terry's departure.

There was no one in the fire tower when Dundee stepped there. The mysterious visitor was a thing of the
past, like the clock bells that had told the half hour. As to the future, that same visitor had gathered facts,
both documentary and verbal, that covered the preliminary details of Thurland's scheme to sabotage
Harthorne's show.

Tragedy was hiding behind the farcical title of Merry Mrs. Macbeth. Should it strike, its cross-purposes
would be a twist of strands that only The Shadow could unravel!

IV.
SEVEN-THIRTY and Alan Fenway wasn't amiable.

There was nothing of the Romeo in Alan's tuxedo-clad figure as he paced the living room of Harthorne's
small but ornate apartment, glaring at the other occupants as though they were to blame for Joy's
absence.

Oswald Bodelle was present, as was Fred Guylan, the former encouraging the latter to drink more of
Harthorne's very fine Scotch.