"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 109 - The Golden Masks" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

“I received another letter,” announced Froy, in a worried tone. “It came a short while ago. There was
time to bring it here before eight o'clock.”

“Let me see it.” Froy handed an envelope to Lengerton. The latter noted that it was addressed to Burris
Froy, 582 Exton Avenue, New York City. With shaking hands, Lengerton pulled the letter from the
envelope; he scanned typewritten lines. Mechanically, he returned the letter to Froy.

“It specifies no new terms,” declared Lengerton. “It is simply a reminder that I must have the cash ready
by eight o'clock to-night.”

“That is all,” nodded Froy. “However, there is only half an hour remaining until eight o'clock.”

“I know that, Froy. The cash is here. I shall leave the office before eight.”

“Your decision is a wise one, Lengerton. I am sorry, though, that circumstances forced you to make it.”

With this statement, Froy pocketed the letter. He turned about and went out through the door. He closed
it behind him; Lengerton heard the footsteps fade away, then the muffled closing of the outer door.

MINUTES ticked by, while Lengerton continued his incessant pacing. Seven such minutes had passed
when the glass-paneled door again opened. A droopy-faced man entered, stared in surprise at the sight
of Lengerton.

The arrival was Lengerton's secretary, Sampler. It was plain that he had not expected to find his
employer in the office. Stammering, Sampler stated that he had come for a file of shipping reports that he
had intended to take home with him. The man's confusion was obviously honest. Lengerton cut Sampler
short with a sudden remark.

“Sampler,” declared Lengerton, “I am going to take you into my confidence, regarding a most serious
matter.”

Sampler nodded solemnly.

“Yesterday,” reminded Lengerton, “a man named Burris Froy came here to see me. You remember him,
Sampler. You ushered him into this office. He is a serious-looking chap. Very wealthy. A director in
several banks.”

Sampler repeated his nod.

“Recently,” declared Lengerton, “Froy received an anonymous letter which he saw fit to show to me. It
referred to certain securities that I purchased by proxy. Shares in Intercontinental Air Lines.”

“You own such shares?” gasped Sampler, amazed. “Why, they have doubled in value, Mr. Lengerton!
But—but Intercontinental Air Lines are expanding so rapidly that they threaten the shipping business—”

“Exactly,” interposed Lengerton, tersely. “That is why I chose to control Intercontinental Air Lines. My
shares cost me five hundred thousand dollars. To-day, they are worth a million!”

“But—but if it were known that you owned those shares—”
“My standing in the shipping business would be ruined. That is why the letter was sent to Froy. It is