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

The Shadow moved. His hands pressed against the wall. A squidgy sound - too soft for the policeman to
hear - announced a vertical ascent. With suction cups attached to hands and feet, The Shadow was
making upward progress, avoiding the windows where lights were showing. His phantom figure neared
the third floor.

Here The Shadow paused. He had reached a small balcony - scarcely more than an ornamental railing -
that projected from an apartment window. He needed the suction cups no longer. Similar rails showed
dimly above. The Shadow's hands gained a hold above. One story - two - he settled upon the fifth-floor
balcony, just outside an opened window. He was outside the apartment of Seth Tanning.

Straight across the alleyway was the roof of the warehouse, marked by a whitened parapet of moulding
stone. Above that was the dull glow of the Manhattan sky. Crouched at the side of Tanning's window,
The Shadow carefully avoided the background of the skyline, for it would have revealed his blackened
shape. His keen ears caught the sound of voices, just within the window. Shifting slightly, The Shadow
gazed into the lighted room.

There The Shadow spied the figure of Wainwright Barth. The police commissioner was tall and slightly
stooped; he carried his bald head thrust forward in eaglelike fashion. Upon his nose, Barth wore a pair of
pince-nez spectacles. His eyes, gleaming through the lenses, were surveying the swarthy countenance of
Detective Joe Cardona, here in capacity of acting inspector.

THERE were others in the room: a police sergeant and two officers; a gentleman and a lady whom The
Shadow was later to identify as Mr. and Mrs. Clark Doring; also another man who proved to be
Handley Brooks, the occupant of a front apartment on this floor. Clyde Burke was not in sight. Evidently
Barth had decided that the reporter must wait outside until the investigation was complete.

"Tanning was seated here" - Cardona was indicating a chair at the bridge table - "and his wife was
opposite. Wescott over here - his wife in this chair. They were rigid, commissioner, stiff as statues. For a
moment, I thought they were dead."

"What made you decide otherwise?" inquired Barth.

"The way they were sitting," responded Cardona. "Holding cards - glasses - like they were in the middle
of a game. Then it hit me that they were asleep - but that didn't answer, either. A death sleep - that's
what it was."

"So you had them removed?"

"Yes. It's only one block over to the Talleyrand Hospital. I sent for an ambulance and took them there in
a hurry. No report from the doctors yet; they're sending for a specialist - Doctor Seton Lagwood - who's
connected there. Knows all about paralysis, sleeping sickness and all that."

"I should have liked to have viewed these subjects," decided Barth. "Nevertheless, Cardona, I must
commend your action in sending them to the hospital even before you called me. Now that I have
arrived, I shall sift this mystery. Let us proceed with those who first arrived."

With this assertion, the commissioner turned to Clark Doring and his wife. The two began to tell their
story. Wainwright Barth adjusted his pince-nez and cocked his bald head to one side as he listened.
When it came to fathoming mysterious events, the police commissioner imagined himself without an