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

sky was the limit. As long as anyone had anything on him he was chained, he was not a free agent.

No, the blow off would clear the air. And he knew how to blow the lid off.

He sat back and enjoyed himself. He had covered every angle. He was sure of that. The private
detectives who were guarding him were the best that money could buy.

He was a little surprised when the headwaiter came to his table. The headwaiter looked discomfited,
which was unusual. Teller blinked up at him.

"Sir, I hate to disturb you but there are some policemen outside who want to see you."

"Probably a tip. Thanks." He started for the front door.

The headwaiter said. "Not there, sir, the back door."

He made his way through the kitchen and out back. In the alleyway behind the club he found two of his
private detectives engaged in an argument with two policemen.

One of his men was saying, "But look here, no flattie is going to push Teller around, he'll have your badge
for this, bud."

The cop said, "What are you getting tough for? He's wanted downtown for questioning, that's all I know.
I got a call in the radio car. Go fight with City Hall if you don't like it."

Teller said, "All right, everyone relax. I'm a good boy. I'll go quietly." To his aides he said, "I think this is
about the paving scandal I put the finger on. The D. A. probably wants to know where I got hep. As if
I'd tell him!"

Teller walked toward the car that was parked at the curb. "Mind if we take my car, boys?" he asked the
policemen.

"Okay by us." The five men got into Teller's car. One private detective drove with a policeman next to
him. In the back seat Teller was flanked on one side by his own man and on the other by the man in
uniform.

There was not much said as the car drove downtown. Down around Canal Street the policeman in the
front of the car said, "Oh, I forgot. Not, the D.A.'s office. He's holding some people incommunicado in
an office building."

"That old stunt?" Teller was contemptuous. "Treat them nice, don't throw them in the can and maybe
they'll spill the beans faster? That never works, I don't know why they try it."

The driver asked, "What building?"

"Down that street. 10 is the number."

They came to a halt in front of an old but still attractive looking building, a relic of the nineties which
looked out of place, cold shouldered as it was by newer buildings.