"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 290 - Death has Grey Eyes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

Dick heard him reserve a Pullman berth for a place called Rocky Point, using
Dick's name.
What Dick didn't see was the way Eric slipped the letter under the
telephone. As Eric turned, Dick asked:
"Where is Rocky Point?"
"In the Berkshires," informed Eric. "You'll like it better than that
Adirondack lodge of yours, only you'll go to the Adirondacks later."
Eric handed Dick a folder that bore the name of "Rocky Point Sanitarium"
and with it an application blank that bore the title "Guest Membership." Under
the picture of a grim stone building, Dick saw the legend: "Mental
Therapeutics
Our Specialty."
"Better fill it out," suggested Eric. "You need a rest. It will do you
good."
"And you need a drink," laughed Dick. "It will do you better." Turning
toward the kitchenette, Dick paused to add: "Which will it be - Scotch or
rye?"
 "Neither." Crumpling the application blank with his right hand, Eric was
reaching to his left hip. As Dick swung about, Eric's left hand appeared with
a
glittering revolver. "Stand just where you are," Eric added. "A few feet to
the
right would be better. That's it."
Though ready to take the thing as a joke, Dick was letting his hands rise
and it was well he did, for he saw promptly that the glare in Eric's eyes
meant
business. Then came rasped words in a tone that denoted a different, vicious
Eric.
"What little you've remembered," announced Eric, "is too much. You'll be
guessing things next, about me for example. I was in the R.A.F., yes, but I
deserted before they found me out. I wasn't shot down over Germany, I landed
there, with all the facts I could bring."
Eric's leer vouched fully for his tale of treachery, and that he intended
to add murder to his crimes was plainly evident. Close by the doorway leading
into the kitchenette, Dick found his elbow grazing the front of a dumb-waiter
that formed part of the short passage. He was wondering if he could wheel the
other direction and dive into the kitchenette, but Eric had already
anticipated
the move and was shifting to prevent it.
Moving over to his right, Eric picked up the pipe he had discarded,
hoping
his nonchalance would lull Dick, which it did for the needed moments. Pipe to
his lips, Eric was doing more than get his left hand into full play; he was
sidling past a chair in order to have a straight path toward where Dick stood.
Too late did the purpose strike home to Dick.
Another step and Eric would be able to advance, gun ahead of him, keeping
Dick under such complete control that a dive for safety would be impossible.
It
would then be a death march - Dick's death march.
Eric was right by the window now, vivid in the striped dressing gown that