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

"I'd ha' swore that was somebody there, crossing the street by them trees! Them arc lights sure throw
funny kinds of shadows."

INSIDE his home, Dynoth had gone up to the second floor. He had passed through a hallway without
turning on a light. Entering a room, he pressed the light switch. The glow revealed a bedroom that served
also as an office, for there was an old-fashioned, roll-top desk in one corner.

The place was stuffy. Dynoth opened a window. He breathed fresh air; then went over by the bed and
opened his suitcase. He began to unpack it, tossing crumpled clothes into a corner of the room.

From downstairs, a clock chimed eight. Dynoth glanced at his watch and noted that it tallied. A few
seconds later, a telephone bell began to ring. There was a telephone on the desk, an extension of the
downstairs telephone. Dynoth answered the call.

A deep, solemn voice drawled a "hello" across the wire. There was a pause, while Dynoth stood rigid.
He had recognized the tone. Lips close to the mouthpiece, he gave a tense reply of three cautious words:

"The Yellow Door."

The response satisfied the speaker at the other end of the wire. The slow, deep voice spoke an order:

"Tell me about the transaction."

"It went through," asserted Dynoth, in his same nervous tone. "I - I - well, I settled the matter according
to the orders you sent me. He - he didn't have much to say when I left him. He - well, maybe he might
have said something within the next fifteen minutes; but nobody could have come there."

Silence. The man at the other end still listened.

"He knew more than I thought he did," expressed Dynoth. "He must have guessed a lot. But he didn't -
he didn't know what I was there for. He didn't figure my part in it. He hadn't talked to anybody before
me."

Dynoth paused. Then came the voice again, with an emphatic question:

"You are alone?"

"Yes," replied Dynoth. "The family is out, as I knew they would be -"

"Be gone," cut in the voice, "by twenty minutes after eight."

"To the Citadel?" queried Dynoth anxiously.

"Yes," returned the voice. "To the Citadel."

There was a click at the other end of the line. Dynoth clung to the receiver, scarcely realizing that the call
had ended. Then, to his ear, came another click. He listened intently, expecting to hear the voice again.
There was no voice.

DYNOTH hung up and planted the telephone on the desk. He went to a bureau, ripped open a drawer