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

table, all pertaining to a place called Rocky Point. They were evidence of a
future sort, whereas Cranston was thinking in terms of the recent past.
Lack of a dressing gown and slippers in Dick's closet might be negative
evidence, but they fitted with something very positive, showing on the floor
inside the closet.
Dick Whitlock couldn't have come into his apartment wearing wet shoes if
he hadn't gone out before the rain started. Some visitor was connected with
recent events in this apartment; how deeply it would be The Shadow's business
to learn!


CHAPTER VIII

DICK WHITLOCK was learning the human side of Doctor Kurtz Greug, so far
as
the latter would - or could - reveal it.
They were in the hotel suite where Greug lived and as usual the grey-eyed
man was putting questions, but he was running out of them, hence Dick was
looking forward to a reversal of the process.
"So Henwood came there to murder you?" Greug gave a slight head-shake. "I
am not surprised. Were you?"
"Frankly," replied Dick, "I was."
"But you managed to dispose of him?" persisted Greug.
"No," returned Dick. "The shot came through the window."
"Do you know who fired it?"
"I haven't an idea."
"Did you ever hear of a man named Leo Dolbart?"
Shaking his head at that one, Dick waited politely for another question;
then, finding Greug at a loss, started his own interrogation.
"If it's the same to you, Doctor Greug," began Dick, "could you tell me
just a trifle of what this is all about?"
Greug gave a faint smile.
"You seem to have learned that for yourself," he reminded. "The man who
called himself Eric Henwood was both a spy and a traitor."
"But who is this Dolbart that you mention?"
"An equally obnoxious character, wanted by every legitimate government in
Europe as well as the Undergrounds."
"Then why did he kill Eric?"
"Because he thought that Henwood was you." Greug kept his trace of a
smile. "Hadn't that dawned on you?"
Dick nodded that it had; he merely wanted to corroborate the fact. Then:
"What does Dolbart look like?" Dick queried.
"Very ugly," Greug defined. "He has a long scar here." Running his right
hand from temple down to chin, Greug made the gesture all the more graphic by
giving it a zig-zag. "A scar from a knife" - those eyes of Greug's were cold
in
their significance - "an Apache knife."
"That links him with the pair last night," nodded Dick. "Or does it? If
Apaches are out to carve up Dolbart, they wouldn't be leaguing with him - or
would they?"