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

over from the thunder clap. With a pause, Greug gestured to the door and it
opened at that moment, revealing the man who had parachuted from the passing
plane. As lightning flashed again, Dick saw his own face etched in every
detail, as though a mirror had supplied it in the flesh. Dick gasped the name:
"Friedrich!"
Greug's two followers clicked their heels and delivered a Nazi salute to
the newcomer. His gun trained on Dick, Greug couldn't copy the move, but
bowed;
then, at the finish of another powerful rumble, Greug announced:
"Friedrich Von Reichfrid, come to take his temporary heritage, to which
he
shall add certain resources our agents have supplied for him. Friedrich left
the
border chalet before you did, Whitlock. He was waiting for me in the car that
took the gully road."
Quite puzzled, Dick kept staring at Friedrich, who obligingly explained
further.
"Our good friend Greug is clever," declared the coming Fuehrer, in
perfect
English. "He decided not to let you die so soon as we originally intended."
"To say 'as soon as' would be better," corrected Greug. "It is the phrase
that Whitlock would use."
"As soon as we originally intended," spoke Friedrich in a tone which Dick
realized was a replica of his own voice. "You were good bait for the Maquis,
Whitlock, and besides, it was better that you should return to America as
yourself."
"To avoid complications," put in Greug, "and for a final check-up, or
adjustment - if necessary."
Something in Greug's tone caught Friedrich's attention.
"You mean it wasn't necessary, Herr Doktor?"
"Not at all. Whitlock behaved quite according to expectations.
Unfortunately Eric failed us. The Maquis killed him."
A spasm came over Friedrich. His expression became a crazed distortion
that Dick could never have duplicated. Breaking into German, Friedrich
delivered it in the piping shriek that the Swiss locomotive had so aptly
imitated. Then, calmed by Greug's cold gaze, Friedrich subsided.
"We were able to dispose of Eric's body," stated Greug. "To have it found
in Whitlock's apartment would have left you the heritage of becoming a
suspected murderer, mein junger Fuehrer. Unfortunately the Maquis stayed too
close for me to liquidate Whitlock, so I told him to come here."
Vicious, triumphant was the leer that a sweep of lightning livened on
Greug's face. In opposite was the morose gaze that Foxcroft gave to Dick, who
realized now how helpless the old caretaker must have been.
"Don't be downhearted, Foxcroft," admonished Greug. "We shall allow you
to
collaborate, as you have to date."
Foxcroft turned a pleading look toward Dick, who nodded his approval of
the caretaker's action in accepting the only terms by which he could have
aided
Dick. In the whine of wind, the fierce batter of the rain, Dick could sense