"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 185 - Ships of Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

Soon, it was predicted, Balthania would be the absolute possession of the ruling power. Such plight,
however, did not await the Salvador. Counteracting the blue-and-yellow flag above the stern was a
pennant that fluttered from the liner's masthead: a strip of white bearing the letters I.M.L.

Those initials stood for the International Merchant Lines, real owners of the M.S. Salvador.

High in a tower office of a downtown Manhattan skyscraper, the directors of the International Merchant
Lines were watching the Salvador begin her voyage. Dominant in that group was Frederick Falsythe,
chairman of the board.

Though in his sixties, Falsythe was a man of energy, matching his rangy physique. His steely eyes and
square-set iron jaw belied the age that his gray-white hair betrayed. His shoulders, broad and erect,
supported long arms that tapered into powerful hands. When clenched in nervous, grasping motion, those
hands bulged with muscles.

Despite his interest in the progress of the Salvador, Falsythe did not ignore the men about him. Looking
from face to face, the steel-eyed man let his strong lips form a contemptuous downtwist. He saw withery
faces, scrawny bodies.

Big-money men, these fellows called themselves; to Falsythe, they were dried peanuts rattling around in
shells. They were smart, only because they had invested fortunes in an enterprise controlled by Frederick
Falsythe.

As he looked toward the last member of the group, Falsythe stiffened. His lips went straight as his eyes
met a pair as steady as his own. Eyes that peered from a hawkish, masklike face that seemed to spell
impenetrable calm.

Falsythe had almost forgotten Lamont Cranston, the new member of the board. Until today, he had
known Cranston only by name. Falsythe had heard that Cranston was a millionaire globetrotter, who
seldom attended board meetings. A perfect qualification for a director in a company controlled by
Falsythe.

That, at least, had been Falsythe's opinion until he had met Cranston. At present, Falsythe was not at all
sure.

STEPPING from the window, where he had been watching the Salvador's leave-taking, Falsythe sat
down at a huge mahogany desk and rapped the woodwork with his powerful knuckles. Withery
directors forgot the passing Salvador, to give attention to their chairman.

"Gentlemen," boomed Falsythe, "our enterprise is fully launched. Below, you see the good ship Salvador,
bound on the first of many profitable voyages. At another pier a sister ship, the Nicaragua, is being
outfitted for service. A third vessel, the Guatemala, is crossing the Atlantic to become an added member
of our fleet."

There were pleased nods, delighted mutters from the directors, with one exception. Lamont Cranston
simply gazed at Frederick Falsythe, waiting for the chairman to say more. Meeting Cranston's stare,
Falsythe obliged.
"Some persons have wondered," continued the steel-eyed financier, "why we purchased ships built in
Balthania, a country which is the subject of so much controversy. My answer is as simple as it is sound.
Balthanians build good ships, and are anxious to sell them. Our money went further in Balthania than it