"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 310 - Death on Ice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

"Tut. You know as well as I do that the de Silbis elected him. They run
this place."
"What would you suggest?"
"I'd suggest some investigator who the de Silbis can't bribe to take it
easy and just hush the whole thing up."
He thought a moment and then said, "If you were to ask me whom to call on
to find out what town the legend of the Fool Killer emanated from, or if you
wanted to know how many brothers Jesse James had, I could either find out
myself or know precisely whom to call on. But now... with a situation like
this..." He held his hands out in a helpless gesture.
She snapped her fingers. "I've got it. When I was in training I had a
supervisor who knew a man who specialized in crime detection. What was his
name?"
Brow furrowed in thought, she walked beside the little man through the
cathedral of trees. "Cranley... no... Cranston! Something Cranston. That's
who!
Let's see... I'll call her and ask her to call on him!"
Head held straight now, narrow back firm as a queen's, she walked beside
the man. Once she had come to a decision there was little that could deter
her,
or make her turn aside.


So it was that on a day when Lamont Cranston had made a vow to himself
that nothing would get him out of the warm comfort of his home into the drab
grey misery of the New York streets, the phone rang.
He eyed it for a moment as the bell sent out its clarion call. He sat in
front of an open fire with his feet up in the air propped comfortably on some
andirons of which he was inordinately proud.
 Perhaps if he didn't answer it immediately it would stop its clamor. But
no. The bell rang on and on. He sighed and getting to his feet slipped the
phone off the base.
It was not Burbank. Burbank, the man who got most of the tips that set
Cranston on the trail of crime. Burbank was really his good right arm. But who
could also be a nuisance on a day like this?
Perhaps, thought Cranston when he heard a woman's voice say hello,
perhaps
it's just a social call. The voice said, "Lamont?"
"Yes, who is this?"
"Mrs. Harris."
"Good grief... it's been ages. Are you in New York?"
"Nope, unfortunately. Still out on Long Island and still on duty for that
matter."
"Oh?"
"Yes, Lamont. You see this isn't a polite call. I'm going to have to ask
you for help."
"Oh."
"Now, please, don't sound that way. One of the girls... well it's
stretching it a bit to call Patty a girl, but she trained under me and they'll
always be girls to me, is in trouble... or thinks she is..."