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

"You're talking in terms of earthquakes," retorted Dick. "Now if thunder
knocked something loose from the sky -"
Dick didn't go a word further. Through the window he saw the very
phenomenon he mentioned. With the pound of louder thunder, the target of
sunlight took a missive squarely in the bull's-eye, not in the shape of a
bomb,
but a parachute with a man attached.
Rolling down the slope, the arrival cleared his chute, came around
rapidly
to gather it in before the arriving wind could bustle it. By then, Dick was
over
his surprise.
"What goes on here?" Dick demanded. "Who would be flying over this
country, let alone bailing out? Come on, Foxcroft; If you know, spill!"
Dick's hands were clutching the stammering caretaker but before Foxcroft
could really get a word out, another voice took over, and crisply:
"I can explain, Mr. Whitlock."
Turning, Dick looked into the muzzle of Greug's Luger, with the dry-faced
doctor right behind it.
"You heard half the story last night," declared Greug. "Certain facts
eluded you, and fortunately. It was odd that you didn't put one and one
together to make two: Eric Henwood and his coffin."
Odd in itself that Greug should mention that combination. In telling
Cranston how Greug and his two huskies had packed Eric's body in a handy
six-foot box, Dick had noticed a curious interest on the listener's part, but
hadn't understood why.
"If you had been a trifle less naive," continued Greug, fitting his words
between thunder peals, "you might have realized that the coffin was meant for
you. Unfortunately, we couldn't have bodies found around the place. Having
Eric's was our problem, so we gave it precedence."
Gesturing at the word "we" Greug indicated two men who had stepped from a
doorway leading down into the lodge's slanted, hill-bank cellar. Eric
recognized the pair of the night before and they took over long enough to tell
Greug something in their customary Deutsch.
"Your friend is nicely roped down in the cellar," said Greug, turning to
Dick. "My orders are to keep strangers alive until we have questioned them.
Don't worry" - Greug's gesture referred to Cranston - "because he isn't hurt.
Not yet. If he talks, he won't be."
Getting Cranston to talk might be a problem, but it was Greug's, not
Dick's. Right now, Dick sensed that his own plight was probably worse than
that
of his new friend. As lightning ripped, making the oil lamps of the lodge seem
dull, Dick shot a question:
"You mean you sent Eric to kill me?"
Thunder bashed while Greug waited patiently. Then, as the fierce pelt of
rain began, the doctor answered:
"Certainly. He was our man all along. He was to call me so that he and I
could remove your body as we actually removed his. We couldn't afford to have
you found dead, the way Dolbart and his Maquis would have liked, because -"
Footsteps were pounding the broad porch of the lodge, like something left