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

Lefty nodded. He watched Possum and the visitor go into the inner room. He saw the door close.

He shrugged his shoulders. Possum was boss so far as Lefty was concerned. Never before had Possum
taken a stranger aside for a discussion which Lefty was not to hear, but the gangster accepted the
visitor's wary look as sufficient reason for the unexpected procedure.

There was curiosity, however, in Lefty's demeanor. The big gangster shared that feeling with another man
whom circumstances had also cut off from Possum Quill's conference. Harry Vincent, across the hall, had
heard the words that had followed the ring of the telephone. Peering through the transom, after
extinguishing the lights in his own room, Harry had glimpsed the visitor who had come up from the lobby.
There was no dictograph connection to the inner room, hence Harry, like Lefty, was waiting for some
later word that might explain the purpose of this unexpected visit. Possum Quill had been wiser than he
knew when he had taken the stranger away in order to speak with him.

Within the confines of the little room, Possum was cannily surveying his visitor. He saw a man whose face
he knew, yet whose countenance wore a visible pallor, and whose eyes were furtive and worried. The
stranger, on the contrary, saw Possum's shrewd visage exactly as he had expected to view it.

He sat down on the bed with a sigh of relief. He reached out wearily as Possum extended him a pack of
cigarettes. After one match failed, the man obtained his light and took two reassuring puffs.

“Good to see you, Possum,” said the stranger. “Good to see you, pal.”

Possum Quill smiled.

“Say”—his tone was an easy laugh—“you've got nothing on me. I didn't expect to see you for ten years.”

The visitor's face twitched as it formed a wan smile. A short laugh escaped the man's lips.

The words that Possum Quill had uttered were highly significant. Until a few days ago, there had been
sufficient reason for Possum to believe that he would not have seen this old acquaintance until after a full
decade had passed.

The pale-faced man upon the bed was the very one whose actions had been discussed by Possum Quill
and Lefty Hotz only a few minutes before the visitor's entry.

Possum Quill and Lefty Hotz had made a pair of knaves. There was a third rogue in their company,
now—Zach Telvin, the jail breaker from the Middle West.

A hunted man, an escaped convict, who had just begun a ten-year term, Zach Telvin had come to New
York to find his old pal, Possum Quill.

CHAPTER III. THE DEPARTURE
“YOU'LL help me out, Possum?”

There was anxiety in Zach Telvin's tone as the escaped convict eyed his old associate. Possum Quill, his
face emotionless, nodded in return.

A broad grin appeared upon Zach's face. The expression was a contrast to his hunted look. It seemed as
though the man had gained a new ambition. Puzzlement showed in Possum's steady gaze.