"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 172 - Battle of Greed" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

across the room. This was Sandersham's study, as its furnishings testified. Swinging the
flashlight, George saw a handy chair close by. He drew it close to the safe; tilted the
flashlight slightly upward, as he set it on the chair seat.
The light was not quite high enough to suit the gentleman cracksman. The derby hat made
up the difference, when George rested it on the chair and placed the flashlight on the
headpiece. Producing the folded slip of paper from his vest pocket, the young man opened
it and studied its symbols.

He had carefully worked out several combinations, any one of which might logically belong
to Sandersham's safe. With deft, steady fingers, George worked the dial. It was at the end of
his second test that the door yielded.

Coolly restraining his eagerness, the young man drew his handkerchief from his breast
pocket, polished all possible finger traces from the dial, and used the kerchief as a glove
when he drew the door open.
George Ellerby had been conscious of occasional flickers of light that waveringly found the
room. He had attributed them to cars, swinging through Algrave Square; cars with
passengers less considerate than himself, when it came to disturbing the sleeping wealthy.
But he wasn't sure that he had heard a car with the last fleeting drift of light.

Turning off his flashlight, George glanced over his shoulder, at the same time listening
intently. The room was as silent as it was dark. Satisfied, he again turned on the flashlight;
his lips gave a subdued chuckle when he saw the contents of the safe.
There, as he expected, was a tall bundle of currency. Cash, to the extent of a few thousand
dollars, that Rupert Sandersham had left for his secretary, Atlee, to pay household bills and
disburse among the various servants. Like all of Sandersham's business employees, Atlee
was bonded; therefore, he had been trusted with the combination of this safe.

In fact—as George Ellerby happened to know—Rupert Sandersham did not regard the
contents of this safe as important enough to attract burglars. There was no value to the
personal papers that the millionaire kept here; and money up to five thousand dollars was
merely petty cash, in Sandersham's estimation.

To George, however, the boodle that lay in sight was quite a satisfactory return for this
evening's effort. As he discarded the handkerchief, he reached for the cash. His fingers
gripped the pile of money and froze there.
A jarring sound had struck the cracksman's ears; a weird whisper that was certainly real, yet
incredible in its manifestation. It issued from the interior of the safe itself; yet the space into
which George Ellerby had thrust his head and shoulders was not large enough to contain a
full-sized human being!

It came again, a whispered laugh laden with sinister mockery. The very walls of the safe
seemed to voice that mirth.
SWAYING in sudden terror, George gripped the side of the safe. Shivers chilled his body. A
frantic gasp escaped his strained lips; his numbed hand couldn't find the pocket that
contained his gun.

He was ready to shriek for aid, to surrender himself gladly to the first of Sandersham's
servants who arrived, when, like a clamp of doom, a strong hand fell upon his shoulder. It did
not come from the safe, that hand. It came from behind George's shivering back; and,