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

outward slant as though drawn down by his heavy jowls, and their steely glint matched the gray streaks
of his grizzled hair.

Harthorne confined his booming tone to his cavernous mouth, a habit acquired from shifting wads of
chewing gum.

"We were patronizing the Club Fiesta" Harthorne told Alan. "We talked to the customers, not the hired
help."

"Nice people, weren't they?" inquired Joy, speaking directly to Harthorne. "So interested in hearing about
the show!"

"One chap even wanted to buy into it," nodded Harthorne, brushing Alan aside. "At least he hinted at it."

"You mean Lamont Cranston," confirmed Joy. "He and Margo Lane are the ones who expect us back
for dinner. They said they'd stay right there until we returned."

"Better hurry then," decided Harthorne. "We don't want to be more than half an hour late."

Joy started to rise from the chair, then settled back with a weak headshake.

"I need a few minutes rest," she pleaded. "I always do when I switch from Manhattans to Martinis."

Joy sank back while Harthorne poured himself a drink. He was chatting jocularly about Cranston's offer
to buy into the show, largely for the benefit of Guylan.

"Get rid of that worried look, Fred," laughed Harthorne, clapping the timid playwright on the shoulder. "If
I go broke, Cranston can spare a million to pick up where I left off."

"It's not money he's worrying about," put in Bodelle. "It's rehearsals. Now if Joy--"

"Joy has an understudy," interrupted Harthorne. "She can learn her part rapidly by watching Vera."

"Learn it easy," muttered Joy from her chair. "Just watch Vera. That's what she's there for."

Further conversation was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. Before Harthorne could answer it, a
similar summons chimed from the front door. Leaving the telephone to Bodelle, Harthorne opened the
door and admitted Zachary Verne.

He was an eccentric sort, this character actor who paraded the castle ramparts. Without his ghostly
regalia, he looked fatherly. He removed his broad-brimmed hat with an exaggerated sweep and made a
profound. dramatic bow, only to raise a beaming face and give the group a smile.
Hand clapped to his chest, Verne threw back his shoulders and dipped his long chin into his artist's tie, as
though to deliver some oration. Harthorne stopped him with a gesture toward the telephone, where
Bodelle had begun a conversation.

"It's Terry Dundee," informed Bodelle, turning from the phone.

"He stopped at the theater hoping we'd still be there. Says he's arranged some press stunt. Want to talk
to him?"