"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 237 - Alibi Trail" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

with the rest paying the cost. Whatever the solution, whoever controls the M.S.A. will have charge of
huge fund, along with power to distribute them. Which is why the organization needs a canny financier
like Hubert Purnell as its head."

Mention of Purnell caused Margo to glance at her wrist watch. It showed seven minutes after six, and the
Wall Street Wizard still hadn't arrived.

"Purnell is eligible," remarked Cranston, "because he controls certain industrial plants. So, for that matter,
do two other men, either of whom could turn the M.S.A. into a racket. Fortunately, those two are at
odds."

Margo asked who they were. Cranston named them. One was Ralph Lambron, a man whose past had
never quite caught up with him. Rumor had it that he was found among beer runners during Prohibition
days.

With repeal saving him from Federal indictments, Lambron had bought up independent theaters
throughout Pennsylvania, welded them into a chain, and sold stock in it, that dwindled down to nothing
after he dropped the enterprise. Lambron had put the profits, amounting to several millions, into various
factories, which he still owned.

The other man was Andrew Brenz. His name, too, spelled swindle. Operating from the Midwest, Brenz
had established gambling houses all over the country, but always by proxy. It was just coincidence that
Brenz owned factories in those cities where the gambling houses operated. A coincidence, too, that
Brenz loved race horses and owned a very respectable stable that freed his name from any connection
with racetrack scandals and betting manipulations.

Margo was listening, eyes very wide, when Cranston gestured toward the window and said:

"There he comes now."

Margo's watch registered just ten minutes after six, as she looked, expecting to see the wizened face that
she connected with Hubert Purnell. Instead, she observed a powerful man, with strong, square-jawed
face and sharp but deep-set eyes. He was stepping out of an expensive limousine which had a
convertible top. He was followed by a square-set chauffeur, in dark-brown uniform. Margo expressed
surprise.

"Why, that can't be Hubert Purnell."

"I didn't say he was Purnell," reminded Cranston, rising. "I was speaking of Andrew Brenz. He's ten
minutes late for the six-o'clock meeting, and he seems quite put out about something. I'm going up to the
meeting, Margo. You can watch for Purnell."

BRENZ and his chauffeur were one elevator ahead of Cranston; hence, Brenz had made his entry into
the meeting room when Cranston arrived there. Pushing aside the stocky chauffeur, who partially blocked
the door, Cranston strolled in and sat down.

Brenz was standing in the center of the room, waving a folded newspaper at half a dozen manufacturers
who eyed him with mixed doubt and surprise.

"Don't tell me you haven't heard about the scandal!" stormed Brenz. "You seem to regard Ralph