"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 023 - The Shadow's Shadow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

Perhaps duty would arise within a month—within a week—even within a day! Such were The Shadow's
manifold activities that his agents might expect a call almost at any minute!

Harry Vincent was at the door of his room. He unlocked the door and entered. He stopped at the
narrow entrance to the room, and motioned the porter to go ahead while he opened a closet door.

The uniformed man shuffled into the room; then stopped with a startled cry that made Harry Vincent
clutch the door, aghast.

He could see the wizened, expressionless face of the porter. Only the eyes of that countenance reflected
the emotion which the man had experienced. The eyes were staring with fixed gaze toward the other side
of the room. The lips were trembling, but they were now mute with horror.

Springing forward, Harry crowded the porter aside and looked into the center of the room. Then he, too,
stood motionless!

LYING on the floor, beside the bed, was the sprawled form of a roughly clad man. The crumpled
bedspread showed that he had been lying there, but had tumbled to the floor, to spread crazily upon the
carpet. The man's face was turned sidewise; its pasty profile showed the rigidity of death.

Beside the man's body, close to a twisted elbow, lay a small pile of objects that had dropped from the
fellow's pocket. A wallet, a few slips of paper, a cigar—these were evidences that the fall had been
headlong. Harry's quick eye visualized the situation.

The porter still gaped in terror as he viewed the hideous expression of the death-distorted face. It was
Harry's rough shake that brought the attendant back to his senses. There was a firmness in Harry's tone
as he gave the man terse instructions.

"Call the desk"—Harry indicated the telephone beyond the bed— "and tell them what has happened.
Hurry, while I look at this man."

The porter stumbled toward the telephone, avoiding the body as he went. His quavering voice sounded
weakly as he stammered the word that a dead body lay in Room 1408.

Meanwhile, Harry, with the cold air of a man who has often witnessed death, bent carefully above the
sprawled form to make sure that the man was really dead. It required but a few seconds for him to
recognize the fact that life was gone.

Harry did not touch the body, nor did he disturb the articles that lay beside the dead man's elbow. He
knew that this would be unwise until the police arrived.

But Harry used his eyes to good advantage. He quickly noted the features of the dead man's attire: the
shoddy suit, the wrenched necktie, the unstained, stubby shoes.

Then his studied gaze observed something that projected from beneath the under elbow. This was a
manila envelope, that had evidently dropped ahead when the man had fallen.

Harry's eyes were keen as they spotted a scrawl upon that envelope. As he read the inscription, Harry
uttered a repressed gasp.