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

interest in the sanitarium for he was convinced that Eric Henwood never had
stayed there. As a proper blind, Erie would naturally have picked a place
where
he wasn't known; naming a sanitarium was equally smart, because it had fitted
with Eric's story.
What Dick now regretted was that he hadn't driven here instead of coming
by train. He could have made it in less time, even with night driving, and he
wouldn't have to wait until afternoon for another train to come along and take
him away front this forgotten region.
The railroad was on the east side of the river and beside the station ran
a rutted road that showed some gravel patches as it climbed into the fog bank
representing the hills on the right. A short stretch of road led down to the
river and there Dick saw a ramshackle excuse for a pier with a cable running
out over the river, into even thicker fog.
Probably an old-fashioned ferry for taking cars across to a good road on
the other side. To anyone but Dick Whitlock, that cable would have looked
anything but ominous, but Dick was allergic to cables and all that they
represented.
A frank gentleman named Doctor Greug had refreshed Dick's mind on a cable
adventure across an Alpine gorge, and Dick couldn't help but be wary, even of
this innocuous river cable. Moreover, last night's whistling death, caused by
an arriving bullet, was a further reminiscence of the sort that Dick didn't
like.
Pacing inside the station, Dick kept staring through the grimy window,
with the rather sickening hunch that should some menace come out of the fog,
it
would be from the river, at the exact spot of the cable crossing.
 Maybe the cable was to blame for what happened. At least it kept Dick's
mind away from other sources of danger. The wheeze of an arriving car, on the
road beside the railway track, was something that Dick attributed to the local
mail-man, only to find himself wrong.
Too many foot-steps on the platform; the peculiar creaks that accompanied
them, were the elements that warned Dick too late to avoid the consequences.
The door suddenly clattered inward and with it came two men, who seemed
to
be shaking off the fog. Both carried knives, as was to be expected, for they
were the same pair of Apaches who had so persistently crossed Dick's path.
This time they weren't alone.
Shouldering through the doorway behind them was a man with a
nicely-polished rifle whose ugly face answered the exact description furnished
by Doctor Greug. Here was Leo Dolbart, scar and all, leering in such distorted
fashion that it was difficult to tell where his mouth ended and the scar
began.
Behind Leo, Dick saw the person who was the arch-traitor of this
occasion:
Irene Breslon.
This wasn't a time to be thinking of beauty; nevertheless, Irene was
something to delight the eye, as she stood there in the doorway, her brown
hair
catching the struggling sunlight with a radiance all its own.