"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 052 - Crime Circus" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

"It looks that way, according to your story. If your dope is correct, Dowdy, Dombo is likely to come out
of some dive with three gorillas at his heels. He'll be starting on the war-path to get Beef Malligan."

The detective paused abruptly. He stalked to the door and shouted for Sergeant Markham. A burly
detective arrived in response to his call.
"Take this fellow back to a cell," ordered Cardona, indicating Dowdy. "We're giving him another night's
lodging."

"I'm gettin' out in the mornin', Joe?" pleaded Dowdy.

"Maybe," responded Cardona. "It will probably be healthier for you tomorrow, Dowdy."

"You mean -"

"That I'm following your tip. I'm leaving the joints alone. But if Dombo Carlin and his gunners start out to
get Beef Malligan, they'll find a wrecking crew tagging them."

Cardona was chuckling at his own plan while Markham was leading Dowdy away. The clatter of a
bucket handle reminded the acting inspector that he was not alone in the office. Cardona turned to see
Fritz picking up the bucket. Mop in hand, the janitor headed toward the hall.

"Good night, Fritz," remarked Cardona.

"Yah." With his dull response, the janitor departed from view.

CARDONA thought no more of Fritz. Joe had important plans that now concerned him. The capture of
Dombo Carlin was paramount.

The dragnet had failed to land the wanted crook and his three gorillas. Raids on underworld dives would
probably prove fruitless. But to intercept Dombo and trail his crew while they were seeking Beef
Malligan seemed a logical and effective course.

While Cardona was planning this procedure, Fritz was shambling along the dismal corridor. The janitor
reached a secluded spot. He opened a locker, removed his overalls and placed them on a shelf.

Hands drew black cloth from the locker. Rising arms released a garment. The folds of an inky-hued
cloak settled over stooped shoulders. Then a slouch hat topped the bowed head. The faint whisper of a
laugh sounded by the locker.

A transformation had taken place. No longer was Fritz, the janitor, in view. In his place stood a tall,
spectral being. Burning eyes blazed from beneath the hat brim.

Fritz had become The Shadow!

With gliding, noiseless tread the phantom figure moved from the locker. The whispered laugh was
repeated as The Shadow made his way to a side exit. A blackened shape merged with the darkness of a
street. From then on, The Shadow's course was untraceable.

HALF an hour later, a stalwart man of chiseled countenance entered an obscure store near an East Side
elevated. He stepped into a telephone booth and dialed a number. A voice came over the wire: