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

Debrossler was stroking his chin. There was a momentary pause. Furbison, tense and quivering, put in a
remark.

“Pardon me again, sir,” inserted the butler, “but you were just speaking of something that I came to tell
you. I think that you are right, sir.”

“About a criminal returning?” queried Debrossler, suddenly interested. “Do you support the theory,
Furbison?”

“I do, sir. I am sure that the Gray Ghost has already returned.”

“To Windler's?”

“No. To this house, sir!”

“You have seen him?”

“Not exactly, sir. It was a flashlight that I saw, blinking in your study.”
“What!” roared Debrossler. “And you stood here like a dead log? What folly, Furbison! By this time, the
scoundrel must be gone!”

“Hardly, sir,” returned Furbison. “Towden is outside, watching the study window.”

Men were on their feet. Debrossler took command.

“Come with me, Pennybrook; and you, Gilden. Furbison, join Towden.”

The banker pulled keys from his pocket.

“We have no revolvers,” he declared, ruefully. “Bah! I should have had the police commissioner leave a
weapon with a temporary permit. But we have canes, in the hallway rack. Stout ones. Arm yourselves
with them. Let us deal with the Gray Ghost.”

The girls delivered alarmed cries. Debrossler silenced them, and Pennybrook added his challenge.

“Let me meet the Gray Ghost,” announced the lawyer. “I have a score to settle with him.”

“We shall all deal with him,” declared Debrossler. “Come! We have no time to lose.”

The three men hurried through the living room, leaving Furbison, anxious-eyed, upon the threshold of the
porch. The butler was shaky. He did not relish the idea of joining Towden in the darkness. As he started
to advance, he heard a call from Debrossler.

“I believe we'll need another cane, Furbison—”

“There's one here, sir,” replied the butler. “Behind this door to the porch.”

Two things happened at once. Debrossler, at the door from the hallway, pressed the light switch.
Furbison, at the threshold of the porch, swung the door behind which The Shadow stood. The butler,
wild-eyed, saw the cloaked figure. He gulped the only identity that came to his mind: