"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 101 - The Gray Ghost" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

marked the terminus of the Holmwood branch. Cardona leaned from the window and beckoned to two
men who stood near the lights of the station platform. They approached and shook their heads.

“Two women went in on the last train,” reported one. “Nobody got aboard this rattler. There it
goes—pulling out.”

Weston and Cardona watched the two-car train slide from the platform. When the red cars had gone,
they saw the station agent walk into the waiting room to close up for the night. Weston ordered the two
watchers to board his automobile. The commissioner's machine pulled away.

The rumble of the electric train had faded in the distance. All was silent about the platform where small
lights, spaced apart, made but a pitiful glow against the blanket of surrounding night.

It was then that a figure stepped into view. The solitary arrival appeared tall and conspicuous upon the
deserted platform. Commissioner Weston would have been perplexed, had he remained to witness the
approach of this lone personage. The commissioner would have recognized his friend, Lamont Cranston.

The law, sure that it had identified the Gray Ghost as Culden, had been content to depart with that one
clue.

The Shadow had decided to remain in Holmwood.

CHAPTER IV. THE SHADOW'S TRAIL
“WAS that the last train to the city?” The station agent looked through the wicket as he heard the query.
Closing the office for the night, he had not detected footsteps in the waiting room. Peering, the station
agent nodded as he viewed the features of Lamont Cranston.

“Too bad, sir,” he said. “You'll have to take a cab down by the restaurant. It's a couple of miles over to
another line, where you can board a midnight train.”

The Shadow nodded. He paused to light a cigarette.

“Not many late passengers use this station, I suppose.”

“That's right, sir. Not going into the city, anyway. There'll be some out, though, on the train that arrives
here at eleven-fifty.”

“You close the office before that train arrives?”
“Yes, sir. Nobody buys tickets at the end of a trip.”

The Shadow gave a quiet chuckle at the man's logic. The station agent began to consider himself a wit.
Affably, he leaned on the ledge inside the wicket and began to talk of the most important news that had
come to Holmwood.

“Did you hear about the murder, sir?” he queried, in an awed tone. “Some killer got old Hiram Windler.
They say it was the Gray Ghost!”

“The Gray Ghost?”

“Sure! Everybody's been talking about him for the last few weeks. He's been robbing houses right and