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

Renright delivered an exclamation, as he thrust forth his hand. Harry received a powerful grip.

“You're a friend of Jim's?” queried Renright. “One of the California crowd I met that night?”

“I've just come East,” returned Harry. “Jim told me to look you up. I called the Merrimac Club; they told
me you were a member here.”

“I used to be; but I'm seldom around Holmwood any longer. I'm living out at Narrowneck. I belong to a
club out there. How would you like to go along with me, Vincent? They're holding a shindig to-night. You
can stop over at the club.”

“Great! I'm on a vacation. I've been aching to find somebody who knew Jim Dinsey. All of his friends
seem to be out of town.”

“Come along with me, then. I'll show you a good time. Wait until I check out of here.”

Harry followed Renright into the club. At the desk, Renright obtained his key and spoke to the manager.

“I just applied for a gun permit,” laughed Renright. “I think I'll join the ghost hunt. It's a break for me; I've
always wanted to have a revolver for target practice. This Gray Ghost business makes it easy to get
one.”

As soon as Renright was gone; Harry told the manager that he would check out later. He remarked that
he was going to Narrowneck with Renright; that if he did not return, he would send some one for his
luggage and his car. To make sure of no complications, Harry paid his bill.

When Renright returned, Harry met him. They strolled out together. Renright gained no inkling that Harry
had registered as a guest at the Holmwood Beach Club. Nor did he suppose that the coupe near his own
belonged to Harry.

They entered Renright's car and drove away. Heading toward Narrowneck, Renright began to chat
about Jim Dinsey. Posted regarding their supposedly mutual friend, Harry kept up the conversation.
Matters were working as he wanted them.

Of all persons who might be the Gray Ghost, Renright was the most eligible. From now on, Harry's lone
task would be to keep close beside the suspect.

CHAPTER VII. A BROKEN TRAIL
IT was dusk in Manhattan. City lights twinkled beneath increasing gloom. But in one secluded spot,
complete darkness already persisted.

That was The Shadow's sanctum. A hidden abode somewhere in Manhattan, it was a place of utter
blackness; except when its master was present. Thick, Stygian gloom pervaded this mysterious room. It
ended with the sound of a click.

A bluish light appeared suddenly, to shine its shaded beams upon a polished desk. Beneath those rays
appeared long, white hands. The Shadow was in his sanctum.

Report sheets fluttered to the desk. Keen eyes began a study. Agents had done their work. Day was
ended; The Shadow's turn had come.