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

"Can't have it," returned Kay. "Haven't got it."

"You should have kept it," declared the first man. "You know what may happen, don't you, because you
got rid of it?"

Kay's answer was a bleary laugh. Then:

"What happens?" the girl asked. "What happens that wouldn't happen anyway?" She paused to gulp half
a cup of coffee, then added, "Only nothing's going to happen - not to me. I'm not talking, not to
anybody."

Eyes shut, the girl tilted back her head, swallowed the rest of the coffee. A moment later, she let herself
tilt forward and would have struck the table if the men hadn't caught her. Together, they lifted Kay up,
gave her the other cup of coffee, which she took in short, quick swallows. Then, limply, the girl settled in
their arms and together they raised her from the table.

Though a much interested observer, Fred tried to appear otherwise. The men were bringing the girl past
the end of the counter, practically carrying her. She wasn't helping them at all. In fact, she kept slumping
down between the men who gripped her. From appearances, she might have weighed about one hundred
and twenty, but from the way she dragged, Fred decided she must be heavier. Jim noticed the trouble the
men were having and came around from behind the counter, giving a nervous glance at an old clock
which hung from a partitioned wall at the back of the room. Then, Jim was lending a helping hand to get
the girl outside and as he raised her, Kay's hands flipped forward, dropping a purse and a pair of black
gloves from her limp grasp.

Fred stooped and picked the things up from beneath the feet of the men. He handed the purse and the
gloves to Jim, who gave a blunt nod and moved the procession onward. Then, they were out the door
and practically dragging their burden up the steps to the sidewalk, while Fred, alone in the Coffee Pot,
found himself mulling over the things that he had heard.

That business about a "marker" puzzled Fred. The word had a sinister tang, the way the men had spoken
it. Fred wondered how well Jim knew the pair; and if he knew the girl at all. Getting information from the
flat-faced proprietor would be an unlikely thing, though Fred wasn't too sure on that score. Maybe the
fellow would prove garrulous when he returned, now that the annoying customers had left. Perhaps his
talk of having to close up was just a bluff to get rid of the people he had shown out.

Thinking in terms of closing time, Fred glanced at the clock, noted that it registered five minutes of
twelve. Checking by his watch, Fred saw that the clock was slow, for his watch, which he had set when
he arrived in Penn Station, pointed to exactly twelve o'clock. Maybe midnight was Jim's closing hour, so
Fred decided to leave some money for the coffee, mind his own business and continue trying to find
Seventh Avenue on his own. With that thought, Fred pulled some change from his vest pocket. A nickel
slipped from his fingers, struck the floor and rolled to a stop.

Stooping to reclaim the coin, Fred halted, his hand at the very spot where the girl had dropped her
gloves. There on the floor lay Fred's nickel; beside it another coin of the same size, except that it wasn't a
coin at all. It was a brass token, with a shiny center and rim. Between those circles was another, a
jet-black circle of some alloy other than brass.

Pocketing his nickel, Fred picked up the strange token and examined it in the light. It was the same on
both sides and the black circle was slightly raised. The token gave a peculiarly dull plunk when Fred