"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 066 - Doom on the Hill" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

"I am speaking from the home of Mr. Breck," stated Harry. "I want to talk to the police - or the
authorities - at once. It is important."

"I'll ring the sheriff for you," came the operator's reply.

Harry edged a glance toward the heavy woman. She was standing in the center of the room, Listening
intently to all he said. He wondered what her reaction would be when she learned that a murder, not an
accident, was the subject upon which he had called the sheriff.

A gruff voice sounded its "hello" across the wire. Harry inquired if he were speaking to the sheriff. He
received an affirmative response. Harry announced that he was speaking from the home of Mr. Breck;
then he plunged into his statement.

"My name is Vincent," explained Harry. "Driving through to New York along the road on the hill. Found
a body in the road! Looks like a murder, sheriff."

"What's that? Murder?" The questions were sharp ones. "You're at Breck's you say? Wait for me. I'll be
there with my men."

"Very well, sir." Harry eyed the woman as he spoke. "I shall be ready to lead you to the place."

"Hold on," came the sheriff's voice. "Do you have a description of the man?"

"I can give it to you when you reach here."

"I want it now."

"All right." Harry felt annoyed by the sheriff's gruff-voiced delay. "The man was about sixty years of age.
Medium height, wiry build. He had gray hair and a thin sort of face, while his eyes - I saw them bulging -
were gray and -"

Harry had forgotten the woman standing in the room. As he reached the final point of his telephoned
description, a shrill cry came from her lips. Looking up, Harry saw her clutch her hands to her heart and
waver toward the floor.

"Trouble here, sheriff!" blurted Harry, into the mouthpiece. "Hurry out!"

HE flung the receiver on the hook and leaped to aid the woman before she slumped. At the same instant,
another figure came dashing in from the door of the room. As Harry caught the woman, he found himself
facing a long-faced, solemn fellow who bore the look of a servant. Together, they aided the woman to a
couch, where she sank against the cushions and began to moan.

"Who are you, sir?" demanded the long-faced man. "What is the trouble? What has happened?"

"Didn't you hear me talking to the sheriff?" questioned Harry.

"Yes, sir." The servant hesitated. "I mean no, sir. I saw you from the door, but I couldn't catch your
words."

"Murder," said Harry, tersely. "On the hill road. The woman was listening to my description of the victim.