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

his Apache crew. It was the only way The Shadow could have rescued Irene
Breslon, who deserved consideration for giving Dick last minute aid.
Or did she deserve that consideration?
His thoughts troubled, Dick put the question to Cranston, while the car
was covering the last stretch of the journey.
"About Irene," said Dick. "What made her risk her own life for mine?"
"That question was answered beforehand," replied Cranston. "At least so
you said."
"Answered by whom?"
"By your good friend Doctor Greug, if the report you gave me was
accurate."
Having told Cranston about Greug's rescue and the subsequent interview,
Dick felt the subject had been fully covered. Cranston's calm statement was
therefore sufficiently cryptic to puzzle Dick. While pondering, he waved to
some logging men who were working at the side of the road; then, as the car
sped on, Dick rejoined:
"But Greug said that Irene was working with Dolbart."
"That wasn't all," reminded Cranston. "He said that Irene was to marry
Friedrich."
"She only pretended that she did."
"Have you asked her?"
"Well, no." Dick gave a short laugh with the admission. "I didn't even
know that Friedrich existed until Greug told me last night. But now, Friedrich
is dead."
"Does Irene know it?"
"Of course not. I'm the one she thinks is dead -"
Cutting himself short, Dick flashed Cranston a look that combined anger
with amazement.
"Say!" Dick's voice came sharply. "You don't mean that dame could have
suddenly fallen for Crown Prince Kraut!"
"Such things have happened," observed Cranston, veering the car to avoid
some hunters who were plodding along the road. "After all, with Friedrich's
future, your money - and your mutual looks -"
Dick had swung to wave a greeting to the hunters; now he was watching
Cranston again, to see if he were smiling, but Cranston's expression was
immobile.
"You mean Friedrich would be a good bet," growled Dick. "That is,
Friedrich as me. Yes, I have money, but not a tenth of what he'd need; maybe
not a hundredth."
"You have enough for a front," remarked Cranston. "It's easier for
wealthy
people to hide their spendings than their earnings."
"So that's why I was hand-picked!" expressed Dick. "Friedrich was going
to
live as me, tapping barrel-loads of dough, and dodging income taxes by only
declaring mine. I like that!"
"It gives us something to investigate," stated Cranston, "now that you're
in circulation instead of Friedrich. Maybe we can learn how the die-hard Nazis
intended to finance their Cub Fuehrer."
Dick drove his right fist into his left palm, winced a trifle at the