"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 137 - Death Turrets" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

Death Turrets
by Maxwell Grant
As originally published in
The Shadow Magazine #137
November 1, 1937

High over the countryside, they loomed ~ sentinels of the doom that was
to befall those within! Only The Shadow could penetrate the death pall that
hung like a shroud over the weird, castle-like mansion!


CHAPTER I.
TOWERS OF DOOM.

THE big, high-powered roadster wallowed to a stop in the muddy parking
space close by the little station of Sunnyside. A young man alighted beside
the single track and picked his way to the rain-soaked station platform.
The rain was coming in a heavy drizzle; the clouds that caused it had
turned late afternoon into a gathering dusk. There was just enough light to
show the grin that appeared on the young man's sallow face when he saw the
faded name painted on the station sign.
"Sunnyside." The name certainly wasn't an appropriate one. It must have
been raining for a week in this vicinity. The stream that flowed under a
little railway bridge was swollen to its limits. Huge puddles showed along the
road, and some of the low fields looked like ponds.
The station waiting-room was gloomy and unoccupied, but warm. An open
stove provided heat and gave a flickering light, which was needed, for the
windows furnished very little daylight.
The young man looked for the ticket window. It was shut, but streaks of
light showed through the cracks of the closed wicket.
Prolonged hammering at the ticket window brought no response. Raising
his raincoat collar about his neck, the young man went out to the platform.
He peered into the lighted ticket office, but saw no one. Looking the
other direction, he spied a building farther up the tracks.
It was evidently a freight office, for there was a box car on the siding
beside it. There was a man there, in overalls, busy shifting some boxes.
The fellow looked up when the young man approached him. He gave a nod,
then said:
"Howdy! What can I do for you?"
"Are you the ticket agent here?"
"Yep!"
"Telegraph operator, too?"
A nod. The young man smiled. He produced a telegram from his pocket and
handed it to the agent. The man read the wire in the light of a lantern. It
was addressed to Roderick Talroy, and the message read:

AM AT FIVE TOWERS NEAR SUNNYSIDE STATION WILL SEE YOU
OLIVE

"Reckon you're Mr. Talroy," declared the ticket agent. "Yep, I sent this