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

the preceding night.

Too bad about that phone number. Hawkeye hadn't gotten the clicks right.

He looked around the dark quiet room. He glanced at the papers he'd been working on. The jigsaw was
beginning to come together. That call from Burbank. The arrest of four dope peddlers. The suicide of
one... were they related to the over-all pattern?

Perhaps that evening would tell.

Of course it was too bad about Hawkeye. Bill Martin had evaded even that master man hunter. Martin
had escaped surveillance somewhere up around Columbus Circle. But, it was doubtful if he would be
able to pull the same trick twice. The Shadow's grim saturnine face softened a bit as he remembered how
crestfallen Hawkeye had been when he checked in and reported defeat.

At that it was almost a good sign. Since Martin had been sufficiently on his toes to duck Hawkeye that
meant that he must be a hot lead. Otherwise he wouldn't have bothered with all the double dooring, the
taxi switches and the subway maneuvering that he had gone through.

Corbaccio's name and Martin's were now both double checked, The Shadow looked down at the list he
had prepared. There was one name with a single check next to it and a question mark. Waldo Teller. The
latest columnist sensation. Kiss and Teller, his column was headed. Not since Winchell burst on the
publishing business in the twenties had there been such an overnight success. Teller seemed to know
things before they happened. So far not one of his bombshell items had been wrong.
His column had rocketed the circulation of the New York paper it appeared in. If it had not been a paper
which was staggering along on its last legs, it is doubtful if Teller's column would have ever appeared. The
Shadow had heard that the paper had had to retain a huge staff of lawyers to fight the daily libel suits
which were being brought against it.

But libel suits or not, the column was on everyone's lips. Just as The Shadow had wondered about the
sudden upsurge of business that Bill Martin was getting in the show world, now he wondered about what
kind of backing Teller had that was responsible for his upsurge.

From such deviations from the norm The Shadow was able on occasion to build up an edifice of
deductions that eventually melded together.

He turned off the lone light in the room. His cape back on, his slouch hat pulled low over his eyes, he left
the room. It was dark out now. Dark enough for that eerie figure of the silences, of the shrouded night, to
go about his lonely business.

The headwaiter bowed so low that it seemed doubtful he'd ever be able to straighten up again. He
managed it and said, "Mr. Teller, we are delighted to have you with us."

Waldo Teller, pudgy, sharp nosed, wearing pince nez glasses, sloppily dressed, smiled. He said, "Good
evening, Charles." He looked around the crowded night club. "Nice crowd tonight. I'll take my usual
table."

"Of course sir." Bowing and scraping, the headwaiter made a path through the crowd.

Teller beamed as he heard the whispers behind him. "That's Teller... Waldo Teller... You know..." This