"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 320 - Reign of Terror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

though, till I check."

He bathed the wall of the alley with light. C..O..R..B..A..C..C..I..O Funeral Home, was spelled out
there. He said, "We're on the ball. Hurry up the delivery now."

His voice brought the cat into motion. It scampered away with an irate flick of its tail. He heard it go and
smiled into the blackness. That got rid of the only witness. He then stood still, holding the little flashlight
steady while the other two men made their 'delivery.'

The two men carrying the bundles had no trouble in opening the back door of the place. They entered.
The man with the light turned it off as they vanished into the funeral home. They were back almost
immediately.

They got back into the car. It drove off. The alley was quiet again. For a long time there was no motion.
Then an exploratory paw came over the fence. It was followed by a head. The cat squatted on top of the
fence and looked around. All was as it should be. Satisfied, the cat surveyed his domain.

Nothing else bothered the cat till dawn came up and with it the garbage trucks. He eyed them truculently
for a while and then at last went his lonely way to wherever it is that alley cats hide out in the day time.

Perhaps two hours later the porter of Corbaccio's Funeral Home came to work. He puttered about,
pushing a broom from place to place, hardly disturbing the thin layer of dust that covered the floor. He
ran the shades up, glared out at some neighborhood children who were peeking in between the two
potted palms in the window.

He bowed a good morning to the two morning coated assistants who came in next. They barely glanced
at him. Superior creatures these. They held themselves very straight, walked with almost military bearing,
with composed features. Each of them fussed a bit with the Ascot that flared up under his chin.

The door opened and they practically came to attention as Mr. Corbaccio entered his emporium. They
said in the same tone, and at the same time. "Good morning, sir."

Nodding, Corbaccio said, "Morning. Anything come up?"

"Not a thing." the porter said.

The two young men in morning coats glared at the porter. The insolence of the creature!

"Nothing at all. Good. I'll be back in the office." Corbaccio walked toward the back of the room. "What
about Mr. Clancy and Domique?"

"All embalmed and ready to go at ten." The porter beat the two young men to the punch again.

"Fine." The door closed on Corbaccio.
The porter, grinning to himself, swept, or pretended to sweep, near the two young men. They backed
away with their nostrils curling in dismay.

He forced them out of his way. Back bent, face turned to the floor, he was, in his own way, having a fine
time. He enjoyed baiting the men.