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

The fact that the door began to open, did not immediately disturb him. He rather expected
that The Shadow would look in on him again, to learn what choice he had made. But it
wasn't The Shadow who had opened the door again. George learned that to his utter
dismay, when he heard a light switch click and found himself suddenly exposed to a glare
that came from ceiling sockets.

Standing on the threshold was a girl whose identity leaped instantly to George's brain. He
knew that Sandersham had a daughter, Barbara, whose life of luxury had, for the most part,
been spent abroad.

Protected by the Sandersham millions, Bab—as her few intimates called her—had shown
constant disdain for newspaper photographers. As a result, she had remained somewhat of
a mystery and a very beautiful one, so George had heard.
He was viewing the proof, at present. Barbara Sandersham was wearing a garment that she
probably termed a dressing gown. But the high collar, long sleeves, and sweeping skirt gave
the fur-bordered creation the appearance of a coronation robe. It suited Barbara's poise
and beauty, for she was queenly in her air.

The uptilt of her face caused the light to reflect from blue eyes that were lovely in hue, but
cold in their gaze. Her nose was shapely; beneath it, delicate lips formed an expression of
disdain. Her chin showed a firmness as she lifted it, and never had George seen such a
display of haughtiness.

To Barbara Sandersham, the sight of an intruder on these premises caused her to regard
that person with contempt.

George realized that his own well-groomed appearance meant nothing, under the present
circumstances.
Men could probably adore this girl and be entirely ignored. Others, irked by Barbara's
haughtiness, might overlook her beauty and actually hate her; such persons would also gain
her disregard. But with that blending of loveliness and pride, Barbara had one quality that
George could recognize. It was courage.
In her hand, the girl was holding a toylike automatic, tinier than the one in George's pocket.
Her finger was steady on the trigger, and it was plain that she would not hesitate to use the
gun, should occasion require.

"STAND where you are!" Barbara's tone had a contralto touch, probably lower than her
natural voice. "I shall tolerate no effort to escape!"

The girl stepped farther into the light. George saw that her hair, which he had taken for a light
brown, had a distinct auburn shade. Then he was thinking of his own predicament, for he
saw that Barbara was moving toward the desk, where, by the mere pressure of a button, she
could summon a squad of servants.
"I should like to explain something," began George, in a polite tone. "If you knew why I came
here -"
"The reason is evident," snapped Barbara. "You are a burglar, and I shall treat you
accordingly."

"But I have stolen nothing!"
"The police will decide that, after they search you."