"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 107 - The Sledge Hammer Crimes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

There, leering Aztec gods would greet him. Shelves of ancient pottery would attract him. Glass cases
filled with beads and trinkets would compel a long inspection. For the Mayan Museum was crowded
with ancient relics brought from Yucatan and Guatemala.

THE curator's office was at the rear of the museum. It was small and cramped, because all larger rooms
had been devoted to exhibits. Despite the confines of his office, the curator seldom left the little room.
The endless task of cataloguing kept him constantly busy.

Lewis Lemand was the curator of the Mayan Museum. He was bald, rotund, methodical and easily
annoyed; especially by visitors. But on this particular afternoon, Lemand had a visitor in his office; and
the man was one whom he was glad to see.

This was Prentiss Petersham, the attorney who represented the Mayan Museum. Tall, sharp-faced, with
outthrust lower lip, Petersham had an overbearing air that resembled the expression of an Aztec idol. He
looked as though he were trying to mimic some statue that he had seen on his way to the curator's office.

An odd pair, Lemand and Petersham. As odd as the museum itself; as bizarre as the curator's office,
which was lined with photographs of Mexican ziggurats and pictures of recent excavations in Guatemala.
But neither the curator nor the lawyer were gifted with a sense of humor. Each admired the other for his
solemnity.

Petersham was speaking, while Lemand listened, owlish. The lawyer's tone was gruff; but it expressed
keen disappointment.

"It's too bad, Lemand." Petersham shook his shocky mop of gray-streaked hair. "Too bad. But nothing
can be done about it. The Luben Expedition made some rare findings in Yucatan; but the entire lot is
being shipped to the Aztec Museum, in Chicago."

Lemand was slowly tapping the glass top of his mahogany desk. His lips showed a wince.

"I know how you feel about it," gruffed Petersham. "The new relics have great value. They should
logically have come here. It must be a blow to you, Lemand."

"It is," admitted the bald-headed curator. His tone was a saddened drawl. "And yet, in a sense, it is not
unfortunate. I am overburdened, Mr. Petersham. Frightfully overburdened!"

"Overburdened? Why? If you need new assistants, the board of directors will supply them."

"That would not help. It is responsibility that overburdens me."

"Responsibility for the curios that are already housed here?"

"Yes." Lemand nodded. He had ceased his tapping on the desk. "Particularly because of the pure gold
relics that are in the lower exhibit room. They are of immense value, Mr. Petersham."

"Why should they concern you? No visitors are allowed below. That lower exhibit room is as strong as a
vault."
"Quite. Well protected, too. It has a burglary alarm system of its own; one that is automatic. The doors
are protected by a time lock. And yet—well, I am apprehensive. I want no more burden than I have. I