"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 036 - The Isle of Doubt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

“Zach Telvin,” interposed Possum, again perusing the newspaper. “A slick worker, if ever there was one.
Only don't go spilling that, Lefty. I don't want any smart dick tailing me on his account.”

“You think he'll look you up?”

“Maybe. We were real pals, Zach and I.”

Silent minutes passed. A small clock on the bureau denoted the quarter hour. The telephone bell began to
ring. Lefty clenched his fists, and stared anxiously at Possum.

“Answer it,” ordered the man by the window. “Don't stand there like a dummy, Lefty.”
“Who do you think it is?”

“Punch Baxton, maybe. Find out.”

Lefty picked up the telephone and spoke into the receiver. He covered the mouthpiece, and looked
toward Possum.

“It ain't Punch,” said Lefty. “Some guy wants to talk to you.”

Possum tossed the newspaper aside. He took the telephone and delivered a leisurely remark.

“This is Mr. Quill,” he said. “Who is calling?”

Lefty Hotz could hear the click of the receiver. He saw a flicker of surprise upon Possum Quill's shrewd
visage.

“Come up,” ordered Possum. “I'll be waiting for you. Make it speedy.”

Hanging up the receiver, Possum walked to the door and opened the portal so that the light of the room
showed out into the corridor. He stood there with an expectant gaze.

Two minutes passed—the form of a tall, stoop-shouldered man appeared at the end of the hall. Spying
Possum waiting, the visitor hastened forward. Without a word, he received Possum's handclasp. He
looked suspiciously toward Lefty, who was standing close behind Possum.

“Come in,” said Possum quietly. “This fellow”—he indicated Lefty— “works for me. Glad you showed
up. I'm going out soon.”

THE stranger was dressed in a suit which was new, but ill-fitting. His topcoat, too, had the same
appearance. There was a suspicious challenge in his eyes. Lefty noted it; so did Possum.

That fact explained Possum Quill's next action. The crook invariably discussed all of his affairs in the
presence of Lefty Hotz. This time, however, he departed from his usual rule. He glanced at the clock,
noted that it was barely past the quarter-hour, then nudged his visitor toward the small adjoining room.

“Let's go in there and talk,” suggested Possum. “You wait out here, Lefty. Knock on the door when the
clock hits half past. Not before —understand?”