"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 015 - Green Eyes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

Brakes ground as the eastbound limited slowed. A crying gasp sounded on the observation platform. It
rose to a crescendo that was completely obscured by the noise of the brakes and the passing train.
Finally it sank to a gasping moan.
The observation platform was dark. The brakeman who climbed over the rear railing noticed nothing as
he swung his lantern over the right side of the platform for an increase in speed.

The limited picked up speed on the easy down grade to Truckee. The brakeman, his work done, turned
to go into the car. His red lantern swung within a foot of the chair that Laird had been occupying. The
light showed the huddled, motionless form of a man. His head was forward on his chest. His breath was
coming in short, audible gasps.

The brakeman set down the lantern and shook the huddled body. There was no response. Quickly the
train hand swung the helpless man into the closed part of the car, and dropped him on a long couch.

The light in the car showed a horrible sight. Stephen Laird's chest was covered with blood. His coat and
vest were ripped to shreds. He had been brutally stabbed!

The brakeman dropped to his knees to support the gory victim, and shouted for the porter. The latter
brought the conductor, who tried to force water between Laird's lips.

Both the brakeman and the conductor focused their eyes on the crimson sign that stood out like a beacon
against the deathly pallor of Laird's forehead.

The porter ran to try and find a doctor. It was immediately apparent that without medical assistance,
Laird would not live the few minutes it would take the train to get to Truckee and a hospital.

Laird's lips were moving. The conductor bent over, trying to catch something that would give a clew to
the attack.

"Eyes," said the dying man. "Green eyes!"

The conductor reached for a slip of paper. He urged Laird to speak further.

"In the box," was all he could distinguish.

"Yes," said the conductor. "In the box. What box?"

"See -" The words were cut off by a gurgle of blood issuing from Laird's pale lips.

The dying man said something indistinguishable. The conductor crouched closer.

"T - A - G -" A pause, and then: "A -" The pale lips and dimming brain were trying to say something of
such importance that it had to be spelled. The conductor wrote down the letters.

They were the last that Stephen Laird ever said. His mouth opened, and more blood gushed forth. His
fingers twitched twice, and then stiffened.

A physician, hastily aroused by the observation-car porter, hurried in, dressed in trousers over pajamas.
He bent over Laird a moment, and then straightened.