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

Turning toward the vestibule through which he had shoved his way, the
visitor saw a white-haired man with wrinkled face, whose eyes made little
beads. Lips were withery beneath a high-bridged nose. The old man's attire was
of simple black, including the thin bow tie that showed against his pointed
collar.
The sallow visitor managed a smile.
"Hello," he greeted, in a hoarse voice. "My name is Jack Sarmon. I've
come
to see Morton Mayland."
 The old man gave a dry smile. It didn't please Sarmon. He had no liking
for flunkies who thought themselves important. He squinted shrewdly, waiting
his chance to show this fellow his place.
"May I inquire," clucked the old man, "just why you wish to see Mr.
Mayland?"
"Sure," returned Sarmon. "I want to talk to his granddaughter, Lucille.
I've heard the old man raises a squawk about people coming to see her. But he
won't, in my case. Not when he knows why I'm here."
The white-haired man made no reply. He reached for the visitor's hat and
coat, hung them on a hook beside the stairway. Beckoning, he conducted Sarmon
up the stairs. Steps creaked as they ascended; along the way, Sarmon saw
clusters of cobwebs. Then came a long hall; finally, a door.
The old man knocked; held his head tilted, until he received a reply.
Opening the door, he motioned the visitor through.


JACK SARMON stepped into a well-lighted, comfortably furnished living
room, to face a girl who had risen to receive him. She was alone in the room -
a fact that puzzled Sarmon, particularly when he recognized her.
The girl was Lucille Mayland. She looked beautiful when Sarmon faced her;
in fact, her appearance was more striking than he had remembered. That,
perhaps, was due to her well-chosen costume.
Lucille Mayland was a pronounced brunette; her black hair had a ravenish
glisten, against which her skin showed very white and clear. Her costume,
tonight, consisted of black lounging pajamas with sandal slippers to match.
That get-up was admirably suited to her.
Sarmon saw darkish eyes beneath thin-penciled brows; a nose that was thin
but well-formed; lips that had just the right ruddiness, above an oval chin.
There was calmness in Lucille's manner; she evidenced it in her low-modulated
voice.
"Hello, Jack!" Lucille placed a long, black cigarette holder to her lips,
puffed a slow curl of smoke. "You have come to tell me something about
Courtney
Renshell?"
Sarmon nodded. He couldn't find his voice right then.
"Whatever it is" - Lucille was frigid - "I do not care to hear it. I am
no
longer interested in anything that concerns Mr. Renshell!"
"I am, though!" blurted Sarmon. "I've got a lot of things I want to talk
to Court about. He's a good friend of mine -"
"Then why not see him yourself?"