"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 148 - Serpents Of Siva" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

SERPENTS OF SIVA
by Maxwell Grant

As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," April 15, 1938.

The Shadow is ensnared by the mystic power of the East, when Serpents of
Siva entangle him in their deadly coils!


CHAPTER I

WALLS OF DEATH

THE taxicab swung from the avenue, rolled past the lighted front of a big
apartment house. With that, the bleak darkness of the side street engulfed it,
save for the twinkle of the cab's tail-light that formed a feeble, fading dot.
A chill wind swept that forgotten street, like the icy fingers of a
death-devil clutching for human prey. The gust whistled, whimpered through the
open windows of the cab, but the lone passenger did not notice it.
He was too busy, craning toward the blackish tomblike fronts of
brownstone
houses. His squinty eyes were looking for a number, while his pudgy lips
muttered oaths because he could not see it.
They were all alike, these houses - old, dingy, almost-forgotten, in a
portion of Manhattan so neglected that even the street lamps were inadequate.
Then, like a rift in that monotonous wall line, came the spot that the
passenger wanted. He snarled for the driver to stop the cab. It halted in
front
of a door that had a light above it. That glow came through a glass transom
that
bore the house number.
The passenger alighted. He paid the driver and ascended the high steps.
Fumbling in the darkness, he found a bell button. When he pressed it, his ears
caught a melancholy response from a distant bell. There was something ghostly
in its tone; it seemed as rusted as the clank of ancient chains.
A chill caught the visitor. He glanced along the street; the lights from
that back corner looked far away. He was impressed by the grim solitude of
these steps; for only that light above the door showed life. The houses on
each
side were stark and vacant; ghoulish vaults that squeezed this ancient mansion
between their barren walls.
There was the grate of a bolt, the screech of hinges. The door swung
inward; though the way was partly blocked, the visitor shouldered through.
Anything was better than that chilly outside darkness, where the wind warned
with its whispers.
Reaching the hallway, the visitor stood in the light. His peaked face
showed sallow, with its squinty eyes and twitchy lips. Those marks, however,
were due to dissipation; for the visitor was youthful. In that last quality,
he
differed from the man who had admitted him.