"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 064 - The Death Sleep" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

"This silence is worse!" protested Doring. "I am sure, sergeant, that there are four people in the
apartment. All were laughing and talking. Then came silence."
"Perhaps they jumped out the window," suggested the superintendent, in a worried tone. "I don't see any
other answer."

"We came through the alleyway," returned the sergeant. "I left an officer down there. If you were right
about some people being in there, Mr. Doring, it's a sure bet they're still there."

"Then batter down the door," urged Doring.

Before the sergeant could reply, an elevator arrived and a swarthy, stocky man strode forth. This arrival
needed no introduction. One glance showed that he was the man they all expected: Acting Inspector Joe
Cardona.

It took Cardona less than one minute to render a decision. With blunt questions, he gained answers that
added to the information Doring had given him over the telephone. Cardona turned to the police
sergeant; then nudged his thumb toward the door of Tanning's apartment.

"Smash it," ordered Cardona.

The bulky sergeant launched himself shoulder forward. The door quivered. A husky bluecoat joined the
attack. As the men struck the door together, the hinges crackled. This time, Cardona shot forward
between the two officers and sent the barrier clear. Half sprawling, Cardona staggered into a little entry.
Officers and witnesses crowded after him.

It was on the threshold of the living room that Joe Cardona came to an awed stop. Though amazed, he
stared stolidly, despite the mumbles and gasps of those who had followed him.

THE only motion in this living room was that of window curtains that wavered slightly in the mild breeze
from a half-opened window. But this meant nothing to Cardona for the moment. His eyes were upon the
center of the room, viewing the strange sight that showed in the mellow light of a bridge lamp.

The illumination shone directly upon a card table in the center of the room. There were four persons at
that table: Seth Tanning, his wife and two guests - the Wescotts. In all his experience as a member of the
force, Cardona had never observed so startling a tableau.

The group still formed the participants in a convivial bridge game. Four tricks had been taken by Seth
Tanning. The little heaps of cards lay beneath his right hand; the man was staring at a fan of cards that he
held in his left.

Across the table lay the spread out cards of the dummy. Mrs. Tanning was resting back in her chair,
holding a half-emptied ginger-ale glass in her right hand. Her gaze was toward her husband; her lips wore
a slight smile.

The other players were looking intently at their friends. They were holding cards; but their expressions
indicated that the play had ceased for a period of banter. They, too, were smiling. Had this group been
active and in motion, there would have been no occasion for astonishment.

But every position was one of absolute rigidity. Each of the four was as stony as a statue. To Joe