"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 117 - Vengeance Is Mine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

Throckmorton flung his newspaper aside and pounded the table beside him.
Weston looked around to see the old man rising, to stalk in spindly
fashion from the library. It dawned on him that he had violated the first rule
of the Cobalt Club, that called for absolute silence in the library. Weston
spoke quickly to The Shadow.
"Come, Cranston," suggested the commissioner, "let us go to the
grillroom.
We can talk better there."
With that, Weston hurried after Throckmorton and overtook the old man
before he reached the lobby. Weston was complete in his apology; but
Throckmorton did not want to be appeased. When The Shadow joined the pair,
they
were still moving toward the doorway that led to the lobby, Weston's humble
excuses mingling with Throckmorton's outraged cackle.
Close by the two, The Shadow looked out into the lobby. He saw George
Zanwood suddenly stop pacing beside the door. The doorman had stepped out to
the sidewalk; Zanwood hurried to join him. A few seconds later, Zanwood came
back, carrying a bag that looked like a physician's satchel. The tall doorman
was following close behind Zanwood.
The pudgy man halted within five paces. The Shadow saw a puzzled look on
his face; with it, Zanwood inclined his ear toward the bag. He had raised the
satchel with one hand; with the other, he beckoned quickly to the doorman.
It was too late for The Shadow to reach them. Even a shouted warning
would
have been useless, for the uniformed doorman, like Zanwood, had recognized
what
was wrong. He was reaching to yank open the door, while Zanwood was turning to
dash outside with the bag.
 IN that instant, however, The Shadow performed another action. Wheeling,
he launched himself upon Weston and Throckmorton; hurled the pair backward
from
the lobby into the library, bowling them bodily against a table near an inner
corner. As the arguing men sprawled, a huge, glass-shaded lamp pitched from
the
table to the floor, ahead of them.
The shatter of that falling lamp was never heard. Before it had time to
crash to the floor, a tremendous blast sounded from the outer door of the
Cobalt Club. The roar of that explosion drowned all else.
Following Weston and Throckmorton, The Shadow completed a dive that
carried him just free of the hoisted debris that came with the concussion.
Tiled floor and walls were winging from the lobby, like shells in a barrage.
Chunks of shattered chandeliers, pieces of mahogany woodwork, masses of
plaster
came as added bombardment.
Volcanic flame accompanied the blast; walls of masonry shook as though an
earth tremor had seized them. The air quivered with the shock; it left
eardrums
ringing after the thunderous echoes had died. In their corner, Weston and
Throckmorton lay momentarily stunned by the cataclysm.
Flattened on the floor within the library, The Shadow saw that the