"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 127 - Brothers of Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

A doubled fist was the dick's description, where adjectives failed him.
The two separated, to resume patrol. Each, going in his own direction, was
swallowed by the mist.


THE fellow who had grumbled arrived near a light. It shone from beside
one
of the small outlying buildings. Its glow was feeble and fog-muffled. The
guard
listened. From a roadway that passed the plant came the soft murmur of an
expensive motor, throttled down to faint rhythm.
The noise ended. Soon, the guard heard a slight sound beyond the fringe
of
light. Gripping a gun, he approached the darkness. A blocking figure halted
him.
The patroller whispered:
"Who's there?"
No reply was spoken. Instead, a gloved hand nudged the guard's arm. He
felt the rub of a silky gauntlet. The hand opened. In its palm lay a shining
disk, the size of a half dollar. The token was all that the guard could see.
It
was coated with a luminous substance, that gave it the weird glow.
"All O.K.," whispered the guard. "Go through!"
The fist closed. The figure crinkled forward. Watching, the guard saw the
outline of a dark-gray shape; almost the color of the night fog. The garb was
tight-fitting, although it had a noticeable bulge. The shoulders were topped
by
a rounded helmet that extended over the head above them, in the fashion of a
cowl.
Another motor throbbed. Again, an unseen figure made a crinkly approach.
The guard's whispered challenge was answered by the display of a luminous
disk.
The second visitor went through.
Five minutes later, the company detective resumed his delayed patrol. He
liked this night shift better than he claimed. It gave him the shivers; but it
was worth it. His regular weekly pay was thirty-five dollars. Fifty more came
in a mysterious envelope, delivered by some unknown hand.
That extra fifty was the bribe for letting the strange passers through.
They came at intervals. Who they were, what they were, the bribed dick neither
knew nor cared.
He knew that there were at least four of them; although that number did
not always pass. All looked alike, from the glimpses that he gained of them.
Tight-clad figures, bulgy in their dark, grim gray.
The reason why the number varied was explained by an occurrence on the
other side of the steel plant. There, another company guard was allowing a
second pair of grayish stalkers to pass through. He, too, had recognized
identifying tokens that shone in darkness.
There were four of those visitors who carried ghostly, phosphorescent
disks. Always four; but individually, they chose the route that suited their
convenience. They had bribed a pair of the two dozen patrollers, so that they