"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 314 - Model Murder" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

MODEL MURDER
Maxwell Grant
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? CHAPTER I
? CHAPTER II
? CHAPTER III
? CHAPTER IV
? CHAPTER V
? CHAPTER VI
? CHAPTER VII
? CHAPTER VIII
? CHAPTER IX
? CHAPTER X
? CHAPTER XI
? CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER I
PASTORAL as an old paintingтАФthe mountainside, trees, grass, and motionless cows were the only
witnesses as the freight train came curving down from the top of the mountain. Leaving the tunnel behind,
the locomotive pulled the endless lines of flat cars and reefers, of coal hoppers and cattle cars around the
switch-back and down, twining a serpentine path through the landscape.

Then, above the sound of the trains rattling and puffing, there came a louder sound wheezing as though
some ancient nature god were having an attack of asthma.

Following on the heels of this mighty sound came that of a crash which drowned out all the sounds of the
train. Then it shuddered away into nothingness and again the only sound was that of the freight train going
on about its business.

The final stage was shocking. Near the very tip of the mountain through the black hole that was the mouth
of the tunnel, a strange, scrabbling thing made its way from the darkness.

Blocking the entire aperture, the white thing with five mobile extensions stretched out and curled around
the track that fed from the tunnel. The white of the object changed slowly to crimson. The tips of the
extensions curled up and then went flaccid. Across the tracks, huge and frightening, lay a hand.

The hand dwarfed the tracks. It was wider than the tracks, longer than the locomotive that still chugged
its way down to the base of the mountain as though nothing had happened.

The cows standing stock still, the trees unmoved by any breeze, the billboards unmarred by weather, all
were silent spectators.

The freight train speeded up as it hit the straightaway. Gone now were the endless curves. Ahead lay a
clear stretch of track with nothing but highballs along the route.
Now Death was the only occupant of the scene.

Walking from exhibit to exhibit, Lamont Cranston's face was relaxed. His mouth curved up in a smile of
pleasure. It was a delight to see the ingenuity and handicraft of the members of the Hobby Horse. There