"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 263 - The Devil Monsters" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

THE DEVIL MONSTERS
by Maxwell Grant

As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," February 1, 1943.

The Shadow's prowess as master over all crime is challenged to the utmost
when he meets the strangest creatures that ever walked the earth!


CHAPTER I

WHEN HORROR STALKED

GREAT, swaying trees loomed monstrous in the night, like creatures
beckoning humans to disaster. Tossed by the tempest, those shapes were living
things, hurling themselves forward in fantastic fashion, only to stiffen, then
lunge with new threat.
Veering suddenly, the roadster drove straight for the mass, as though
inviting its embrace. Momentarily, the headlights were blotted out; then a
gateway opening showed a curved drive beyond. Passing beneath the swooping
boughs, the car was literally swallowed by the blackness.
It was like entering a giant's mouth, for from all about came a grinding
sound resembling the champ of mighty teeth. But the driveway continued its
curve as the headlights illuminated the course; while the grind was only that
of intermingling boughs grating under the power of the wind.
High above, the shriek of the storm was lessened, muffled by the very
trees that furnished the horrendous groans. At least, the gale itself seemed
far away, which was helpful. It was soothing here beneath the interlacing
branches, and the car's slackened rate was a pleasant contrast to the high
speed with which it had raced the approaching gale.
Lamont Cranston spoke to the girl beside him. His tone was easy, smooth
as
the motor's purr:
"Still scared, Margo?"
There weren't any lights to display the glance of indignation that Margo
Lane promptly gave. Still, it was an even break for Margo, because Cranston
would easily have seen that her expression wasn't genuine. The girl's face was
still pale, and justifiably so, considering how the car had roared across
shaking bridges and skidded through the mud of landslides on its way to
Glendale.
It was like Cranston to ignore all hazards in reaching a destination. His
policy of speed, hair-raising during the process, had justified itself by its
conclusion. For the road behind was getting worse under the combined fury of
wind and rain. There hadn't been a safe stopping place anywhere along it.
Since Cranston couldn't see Margo's face with its forced expression of
bravado, the girl spoke in a tone which was really firm.
"Scared?" she repeated. "Why should I be, Lamont? We're here, aren't we;
riding along Farman's driveway?" A moment's pause; then, with a light laugh,
Margo added: "If this is Farman's -"
The shriek that interrupted was Margo's own. All her forced courage