"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 210 - The Devil's Paymaster" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

voice of a man speaking in a careful falsetto.
"Commissioner Weston speaking. Who are you? What do you -"
"My name doesn't really matter," the voice interrupted, coolly. "If you
like, you can call me Mr. Remorse. Naturally, you want to know what my
business
is. I have none, at the present time. I retired some years ago. I'm a reformed
criminal."
"A criminal!"
Weston choked with anger at the man's colossal gall. But he hid his rage.
He had backed out of the closet, still holding the phone. His finger pressed a
button on the wall, to summon his valet. In the meantime, he tried to
temporize.
"I'm waiting to learn why you called me, Mr. Remorse," he said quietly
into the instrument.
"All right. Listen!"
The voice was still too shrill to be natural, but the words were crystal
clear.
"I won't waste your time or mine. I'm a criminal. A reformed criminal,
believe it or not! I call myself Mr. Remorse because my real name, my
fingerprints, and my record are on file down at police headquarters. The cops
have enough on me to put me in jail for the rest of my life.
"But I don't want to go to jail! I want to undo some of the harm I caused
before I decided to retire from crime. That's where you come in,
commissioner."
"How?"
"I can't restore stolen money directly to my former victims. I need a
go-between; somebody to do the contact work. I've got to use some
public-spirited citizen - or someone whose own life is above reproach - to do
my dirty work - or rather, my clean work - of restitution!"
There was a brief chuckle. It didn't sound sincere. There was nastiness
in
it.
"Who would you suggest, commissioner? Who, in New York City, is the
intermediary I need? He must have leisure, plenty of money of his own, a
reputation for charity and philanthropy. Tell me the name of a man like that,
and I'll stop annoying, you and bid you good night."
"Just a minute. I'll have to think."
Weston's valet had hurried noiselessly into the room in response to the
summons. One glance at the commissioner's face and he knew that something
deadly was going on.
He bent his ear close to Weston's faintly-moving lips. The commissioner
ordered his valet to race downstairs and try to trace the mystery call on
another phone. The man vanished swiftly
"Well?" snarled the high-pitched womanish voice on the wire. "I haven't
got all night to wait! Have you thought of someone?"
"I would suggest that you get in touch with Mr. Lamont Cranston. He's a
gentleman with every quality you have mentioned."
"Thank you. Good night."
"Wait! How are you going to restore this stolen money you spoke of? How
are you going to contact Mr. Cranston?"