"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 105 - The Yellow Door" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

The driver came to life. He grinned as he looked at his passenger.

"Sure thing, Mr. Dynoth," he said. "I'll get you there quick."

Dynoth chewed his lips; then queried: "How did you know my name?"

"I know everyone in Fanfield," chuckled the driver. "Soon as I heard your voice, I says to myself: 'That's
James C. Dynoth;' and I was right."

He pressed the starter; after a few attempts, the motor rumbled. The car shot away from the station.
Dynoth, jolting in the back seat, looked toward the dim platform. For a moment, he trembled nervously.
He was sure that he had seen a figure standing almost at the spot where the cab had been.

Then Dynoth delivered a tense laugh, that came weakly from his lips. What he had taken for a human
shape was no more than a curious shadow, cast grotesquely by the smudgy station lights.

"COME in from Chicago, Mr. Dynoth?" questioned the driver, pleasantly. "You go out there a lot, don't
you?"

"I was in Buffalo," returned Dynoth, a trifle gruffly. "I didn't make Chicago, this trip."

"Thought maybe you knowed that fellow Peter Gildare," remarked the driver. "The one that was
murdered yesterday. He was in the radio equipment business. That's your line, ain't it?"

"I never met Gildare."

Though the driver did not see it, Dynoth was chewing his lips, cursing the fact that he had ever chosen to
reside in Fanfield. The place was too small a suburb, where a hack driver could know all about every
commuter's business.

"Here we are, Mr. Dynoth. The fare's two bits."

The cab had stopped by a corner house. It was Dynoth's home, a small but attractive suburban
residence. Dynoth alighted. The cab driver nudged his thumb toward the first floor of the house, where
only a few hall lights were aglow.

"The missus is out," he informed. "I took her and your daughter over to a bridge party at Mrs. Dorbin's.
The battery of the car was run down, so Mrs. Dynoth said -"

"Here's a half dollar," interrupted Dynoth, tartly, passing the cabby a coin. "Keep the change."

He strode toward the house. The cabby watched him unlock the front door; then he backed the sedan
and started slowly toward the station. He muttered to himself as he drove along.

"A sour guy! Well, them traveling salesmen get that way. If I was -"

The cabby jammed the rickety brake pedal to the floor; then released it. The old sedan whined, jolted
and jerked forward. The driver grunted, shook his head and changed the tone of his mutter as he
proceeded on his way.