"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 304 - Alibi Trail" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

estate
might run into box-car figures if he could ever collect it.
Jerry smiled at the thought of box-cars. Just at the moment, the
headlights were showing a few on a railway siding that flanked this old road.
As for figures, he was wondering how Brenda's would shape up, without so many
furs. Maybe he'd find out, the next time he met the girl, which Jerry had
already decided would be very soon. There were a couple of questions that
Jerry
wanted answered and he was tired of dealing through other people. That was why
tonight he had tried to meet Brenda Van Dolphe face to face and in a sense had
succeeded.
Again, Jerry smiled.
The way that face kept haunting him was something he rather liked, though
that didn't prove he had begun to like its owner. On the contrary, the fact
that the girl had looks was probably another count against her. Her good looks
would logically add to the conceit and arrogance that Jerry fancied she had
inherited from her father, Craig Van Dolphe, whose very name Jerry detested.
Now Jerry was picturing other faces that he had seen along with Brenda's.
He'd remember the sharp-faced man, who was probably Treat, the secretary. The
tall, imposing gentleman must have been Judge Jeffrey, the girl's uncle. He
might be all right, because he came from the other side of Brenda's family.
The
tubby lady couldn't be anyone but Senora Hidalgo, the duenna who had
accompanied
Brenda from Colombia.
As for Brenda's cousin, Captain Platt, he wasn't due in New York until
tomorrow. That was the factor that had thrown off the newspaper men, Platt's
announcement that he was going to meet his cousin Brenda at La Guardia Airport
the next morning. With the sole exception of the photographer who had come to
the obscure landing field on some lucky tip or chance guess, nobody had known
that Brenda Van Dolphe would be arriving in from Havana tonight.
At least no one except Jerry.
Jerry's grin of self-congratulation ended in a frown as he suddenly
reversed his own finding. In the mirror he saw the headlights of another car
coming closer behind him. It couldn't be the limousine, because it had turned
left ahead. Nor could it be the photographer's car, which had sped off on
another road that didn't connect with this one. On a hunch that the other car
might be bringing trouble, Jerry gunned his accelerator.
The coupe, which wasn't too old a model, whipped past the line of
sidetracked box-cars and really began to eat up the narrow road. It was only a
mile until the road swung across the tracks of the Long Island Railroad and
took a short stretch to a trunk highway. Once there, Jerry wouldn't have to
worry about anybody.
Then came the short rising howl of a siren, like a banshee wail at
Jerry's
heels.
So that was it - a police car!
Maybe they'd decided they wanted the camera after all and a fine time
Jerry would have explaining why it was empty now. Or possibly they were just
peeved because Jerry had out-talked them and were goading him into speeding so