"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 324 - The Black Circle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

Fred didn't mind the drizzle. He was used to a lot of it in San Francisco, where he came from. It was
rather exciting trying to find his way back into New York from the very midst of it. But Fred wanted to
get to Times Square, among other places, and he knew that the Seventh Avenue Subway would take him
there. So the only intelligent thing to do was to stop somewhere and inquire the way.

Greenwich Village, around midnight, can prove to be quiet and almost desolate, once anyone is out of
sight of its main drag, which is Eighth Street. In his tour of the alley, Fred found himself banked by old
houses which had been converted into apartments, where the lights were dim. There was not a sign of
any public place until Fred turned a corner and spied the sign of Jim's Coffee Pot. The place had a
basement entry under a set of stone steps which looked about like all the other stone steps that Fred had
been tripping over while he stalked the Village.

So Fred entered the Coffee Pot, intending to spare himself a dime for a cup of coffee and add a tip of the
same amount in return for directions to the Seventh Avenue Subway.

The tiny lunch room had four tables and a short counter that was set slightly at an angle. At one of the
tables sat two men in tuxedos who were arguing with a girl across from them. Fred couldn't see the men's
faces for they were turned away from him but he saw the girl's quite plainly. She was good-looking and
quite drunk. She was on the brunette side and her features were cute and perky. She had languid, dark
eyes, which she kept closing, as the men talked.

Behind the counter, his elbows propped between the cash register and the telephone, was Jim, a bland
character with a round face that had a flat, fish look, as though it had met too many punches. This was
explainable as he appeared to be of the inquisitive type, too inquisitive from Fred's viewpoint, judging by
the sharp, unfriendly glance that Jim threw his way. It certainly wasn't the sort of expression that the
well-trained restaurant proprietor should wear, if he expected to stay in business.

"Sorry, mister," was Jim's greeting. "The place is closing up. No more service tonight."

Before Fred could say that he only wanted directions to Seventh Avenue, one of the men spoke from the
table.

"More coffee, Jim," the man said. "We've got to give her another cup if we expect to get her out of
here."

"Better make it two cups," chimed in the other man. "Two cups for the girl, I mean."

Pouring two cups from a large coffee pot, Jim threw a surly glance at Fred. Then, deciding he'd set a
precedent, Jim turned to another pot and poured a cup for Fred, too. Jim shifted as he served Fred's
coffee, hence Fred didn't get a look at the man from the table, as he came over to pick up the girl's two
cups from the counter. Fred had good ears though and he caught the conversation that followed, though
the men spoke in undertones.

"Let's quit arguing, Kay," said one man. "You say you've quit, so all right. You've quit. Give us your
marker."

"Can't give you the marker." Kay's voice carried a tired tone. "Told you I threw it away."
"We thought you were kidding," put in the other man. "Quit the stall, if you are. We've got to have that
marker."