"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 298 - The Stars Promise" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

wing-tip collar. Benign until this moment, the "Colonel" turned to throw back an angry glare that was
something more than mere annoyance. A muttered apology from the workman soothed the face above
the fancy collar, but Cranston's eyes, idling in the Colonel's direction, didn't miss the incident.

Apparently Mr. Wing-tip really styled himself "Colonel" and for some reason didn't like the reference. At
any rate, Cranston gained a good index to the Colonel's nature. Until now, the Colonel's face had been
drab, almost expressionless, but the purpling of his features, the narrowing dart of his eyes beneath a
broad, high forehead, were the sort of characteristics to be remembered. So too was the tremble of the
Colonel's lips, which rendered them puffy and naturally so, rather than tight and compressed, the way he
had hitherto retained them.
Continuing, the cab dropped the umbrella lady at the City Market where Jerry suggested that one of the
front-seat passengers get in back, rather than have an argument with any of the local law and order, since
the cops didn't like three in the front, especially along the Boulevard.

But the cab didn't do much rolling along the Main Boulevard. Instead, Jerry wangled it in and out of side
streets, up to beach front hotels and around again, pausing at each hostelry to get out and talk with door
men. Always, Jerry returned with a head-shake, meaning that the hotel in question was filled.

Just why the two work-men didn't object to a tour of Seaview City was something that might have
puzzled a less astute analyst than Cranston. His face retained the constant calm that to persons who knew
him indicated a lot of keen thought behind it, but these workmen didn't know Cranston. If they had, they
wouldn't have been so careless. The one in front kept talking in an undertone to Jerry, which was rather
surprising on so short an acquaintance. The fellow in back kept his arms folded with one hand under his
coat. right where it ought to be if he wanted to grip a hidden gun and keep it secretly trained on
Cranston.

This had the makings of a one-way ride if Cranston started to act nervous, which he didn't. Should the
situation be more than imaginary, the time to worry would be when Jerry gave up trying the hotels and
decided to take his passenger elsewhere, but Cranston wouldn't worry even then. The trip wouldn't get
that far with Cranston, even if Jerry so intended it; but Cranston doubted that such would be the plan at
all.

The runaround was nothing but a stall, in Cranston's estimate. For some reason it wasn't time to deliver
the very special passenger to the hotel where he was expected. So Cranston maintained the patient
manner that properly should be adopted by an appointed representative of Hugo Trenkler.

It worked out as Cranston expected.

Pulling to a stop in front of a fairly pretentious hotel called the Neptune, Jerry gave a nod to a door man
who wasn't looking. Acting as though he'd received a similar response, Jerry turned in the driver's seat,
and announced:

"This is it. One buck."

It was dusk now, thanks to the increasing fog, but the lights of the hotel portico gave Cranston a good
look at Jerry's freckly face, just as a last tally. Paying the dollar, Cranston alighted, carrying a briefcase
that constituted his entire luggage. Instead of handing the briefcase to the door man, Cranston walked
into the Hotel Neptune as though he belonged there, which was quite the thing to do. Scarcely through
the revolving door, Cranston heard the rumble of the cab motor as Jerry jockeyed away.