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

So far so good. Cranston had passed muster with Jerry and the cabby's gun-bearing associates, which
the hard-faced workmen unquestionably were. That deferred future events until Cranston reached room
608 which was his - or Trenkler's - appointed destination.

Entering a waiting elevator Cranston turned to the operator and said: "Seventh."

Well-timed, that order for the wrong floor, Cranston didn't give it until he'd turned around and viewed the
lobby to make sure that no one was close enough to be checking on him. By going one floor above the
sixth, Cranston could approach the latter from a proper vantage and besides, there were some
preliminaries before he visited room 608.

Those preliminaries took place while Cranston was coming down one flight of deserted stairs. With a
twist of one hand he inverted his briefcase while the other automatically drew a hidden zipper in the
bottom. A V-compartment opened between the regular divisions of the briefcase and from it,
compressed garments literally disgorged themselves. With a single sweep, Cranston slid a black cloak
over his shoulders and topped his head with a slouch hat that accompanied it. A pair of thin gloves
completed his new regalia, while the briefcase, a flexible contrivance, disappeared beneath his cloak.

The fringing gloom of the stairway literally swallowed Lamont Cranston, or in another sense, it became
the unseen route for his other self, The Shadow. The same applied to the sixth floor corridor when The
Shadow reached it. He knew exactly where 608 would be and how to get there without encroaching too
much in the light. He'd simply made a quick survey of the seventh floor hallway, knowing that the sixth
would be practically identical.

In fact the sixth floor corridor was made to The Shadow's order, specifically the door of 608. It was set
between two pillars marking the connection of the original hotel and an additional section; hence anyone
stopping at that door could step completely from sight.

Apparently room 608 had been selected for the benefit of clandestine visitors, to give confidence to
strangers such as Hugo Trenkler. All that anyone had to do was unhook the door quickly and spring into
the room.

So The Shadow did neither.

Silently, as smoothly as though engaged in a piece of fine precision work, which indeed this was, The
Shadow inserted his key and unlocked the door without a click. His gloved hand squeezed the knob,
turning it as noiselessly. The door seemed to open of its own accord as The Shadow released the knob
and applied pressure of a single thumb at the hinged side.

The interior of the room was dim, the floor being entirely obscured because the only illumination came
from the fog-laden dusk above the window level. Without a sound, to all practical purposes an invisible
entity, The Shadow entered and closed the door with the same care.

Probing the wall, gloved fingers found a light switch and pressed it. Lights flashed from wall brackets, but
their mild illumination still did not reveal The Shadow, motionless and well-nigh spectral in the gloom just
within the door.

It was by voice that The Shadow signified his arrival and his tone was a whispered laugh, grimly
significant. Perhaps that laugh should have been given an hour ago, when Margo Lane, misinterpreting a
remark by Lamont Cranston, had asked if there had been a murder in Seaview City.