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

twinge his right wrist gave. Cranston noted it from the corner of his eye.
"Starboard flipper still weak?"
"And plenty," acknowledged Dick. "I used the old left mitt when I handled
that poker. And did I swing it! Say, maybe Irene thought I was a modern
Siegfried, out to slay a parcel of dragons. That could have changed her
opinion
of Friedrich, alias me."
 "Is Friedrich left-handed?"
"How do I know? I never saw the bloke."
"But he must have seen you."
"That's right," nodded Dick. "It's the only way he could have copied my
style. I should have asked Greug about that. He'd know."
"Wouldn't Irene?"
"Yes, she'd know too, because she was around a lot. Things have cleared
in
my mind" - Dick was giving his forehead a habitual sweep - "but I still can't
fit Friedrich into it. Seems that most of my time was spent in self-admiration
in front of a big mirror. But getting back to Irene; she's fallen for
Friedrich, has she?"
"It would appear so." Cranston swung the car between the gates that bore
the name of Rook's Retreat. "Only things are not always as they appear, even
in
mirrors."
"She certainly picked a bad time to stage the rescue act," continued
Dick,
reverting to Irene. "I guess that finishes her with Dolbart's cutthroats. Or
to
be precise, they've finished her - unless a friend of ours went back in time
to
help her."
Dick was practically asking Cranston to give an opinion on The Shadow,
but
Cranston was busy swinging the car where the narrow road bent among the trees.
So Dick took the hint and stared ahead, too, changing his gaze only to wave to
a stolid man who was coming down the pathway from the lodge, and who didn't
bother to wave back.
"Funny about that woodsman," remarked Dick. "The same with the hunters
and
the loggers - even those fire rangers we passed earlier. None of them seemed
friendly."
"Do they usually?" queried Cranston.
"Around this region?" returned Dick. "I'll say. They always used to give
the high-ball. Maybe the section is getting too populated, but that's odd too,
considering the man power shortage. I'll have to ask Foxcroft about it."
"Who is Foxcroft?"
"The old caretaker. Here he is now, coming from the lodge."
Cranston halted the car in front of an attractive lodge built of
half-logs and from Dick's pleased expression it was plain that the place
hadn't
changed. The same however did not apply to Foxcroft, a gaunt man in rough