"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 213 - Forgotten Gold" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

waves to give the illusion of an earthquake.

The telegraph key was clacking in the agent's office. Harry's wire was going to his friend, Clyde Burke,
who, in turn, would relay it to The Shadow. A very simple way for Harry to inform his chief, The
Shadow, that the job in Hillville was about finished and showed good chances of the desired result.

Harry was turning toward the coupe that he had parked near the station platform when the agent poked
his head from the little window and called after him:

"Telegram here for Robert Beverly. Want to take it along, Mr. Vincent?"

Harry accepted Beverly's telegram; pocketing it, he drove away. He knew that the wire was probably
from Morton Selwood, in New York. It might have something interesting to say, but whatever it was,
Harry would learn it from Bob Beverly as soon as he got back to camp. If Harry hadn't done anything
else on this expedition, he had certainly won Bob's confidence.

It was a five-mile drive from Hillville, over roads that sloped between woods of southern pine, before
Harry reached the turn that took him toward the camp. He slackened as he neared the turnoff, watched
another car coming from the opposite direction. It took the very sand road that Harry expected to take.

Harry knew the car and the man who drove it: Bert Peld. An odd sort, Peld - the one sour note in this
expedition. Peld seemed to have a lot of things on his mind other than the search for the lost Aureole
Mine.

Bob Beverly was sorry that he had hired the fellow, but firing Peld was a difficult proposition. Harry
agreed with Bob that it was better to keep Peld with them than to let him leave their sight permanently.

As Harry swung into camp he saw Peld alight from his old car. Hearing Harry's approach, Peld gave a
suspicious stare, and the sunlight offered a good glimpse of the fellow's sallow, pointed face.

Then Peld had started up the path to the high hill, where the whole party was at work. Harry decided not
to overtake him, for there would be no use to start another argument with Peld at this late date.

ANOTHER man had heard the cars approach. Bob Beverly stepped from his tent too late to witness
Peld's return, but he saw Harry alighting from the coupe and waved a greeting.

A cheery fellow, Bob, even when he had a lot of burdens on his mind. His dark hair, rugged face and
steady eyes marked him as the type who would give as much as expected, and perhaps more.

That was probably why Bob liked Harry and didn't like Peld. Harry was a type after Bob's own:
clean-cut in manner, straightforward in action. They were the sort who looked like friends, and a
weasel-eyed specimen like Peld didn't belong in their company. It was a tribute to the patience of both
Bob Beverly and Harry Vincent that they could put up with Bert Peld at all.

Harry handed Bob the telegram. His friend opened it, read it, and passed it back. As Harry expected, it
was from Morton Selwood, and its message was more blunt than ever. It read:


ROBERT BEVERLY,
HILLVILLE, GEORGIA.