"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 327 - The Shadow Strikes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

"You think you may have heard the car stop at the same spot perhaps three or four minutes
earlier," Morgan read. He looked at the Bolgers. "Are you sure about that?"
"I'm sure I heard some car stop there a few minutes earlier," Bolger said. "Mary doesn't agree
with me, so I could be wrong."
"And you can't really say if it was the same car?" Morgan pointed out.
"No, I suppose not," Bolger admitted. "But it had a motor that sounded a lot the same."
"Almost every teenager in town has a hotrod," Morgan said dryly. He read farther in the
statement of the Bolgers. "You recognize the victim as a Mr. Jonson who rents a cottage on the
far side of the golf course. As far as you know he's lived here off and on for about a year, and he
played loud music at night."
"Never fished, sailed, or went swimming," Ezra Bolger said. "A very peculiar man.
Unfriendly I'd call him. Just that damned loud music and driving around at night. Can't imagine
what he was doing at that place on foot. Never saw Jonson walk anywhere if he could drive--
"All right," Sergeant Morgan said. "Sign the statement and you can both go.
When the Bolgers had gone, Sergeant Morgan strolled over to the officer sorting the effects of
the dead man. Morgan looked idly down at the small pile that included a wallet, a handkerchief,
a few dollars and some loose change. What he saw made him stiffen. In the pile was a blue
plastic square with the numeral "100" in the center and, smaller, at each corner.
The officer recording the possessions was inspecting the dead man's wallet.
"Hey, Sarge," this officer said, "didn't old Bolger say the dead guy's name was Jonson?"
"That's right, it is Jonson," Morgan said. "I know him."
"Well his wallet says he's Anton Pavlic, and he lived at 146 West Seventy-fourth Street in
New York. Looks like a phony name."
Sergeant Fred Morgan seemed to consider this information. The officer holding the wallet
looked away while Morgan thought. The sergeant deftly picked up the blue plastic square and
slipped it into his pocket.
"Give it to the paper as Jonson," Morgan said as he walked away. "That's how he's known
around here."
"Okay, Sarge," the officer said, and returned to his work. As he recorded the effects of the
dead Jonson, he never noticed the missing plastic square.
5
Across the room Sergeant Fred Morgan grinned to himself. He was sure no one had seen him
pocket the blue plaque. But Morgan never saw the two piercing eyes that watched him through
the window from under a black slouch hat. He never saw the black-cloaked figure glide away
from the window and across the lawn of the resort police station to a long, black car that waited
hidden on a side street of Sea Gate.


2

"ALL RIGHT, Stanley, back to New York. And quickly." The long, black car pulled smoothly
away from the curb of the side street and was soon out of Sea Gate and driving along the Cape
Ambrose highway. In the dark back seat The Shadow removed his ring, the long black cloak, and
the soft slouch hat. Quickly and deftly the special garments were folded into amazingly small
size and hidden in their secret places within the clothes of the man who now sat in the back seat.
The man transformed was, wealthy socialite businessman Lamont Cranston, the well-known and
successful friend of Police Commissioner Weston of New York.
Cranston, his immobile face and half-closed eyes a marked contrast to The Shadow's piercing
gaze, turned to the woman sitting beside him in the back seat. His hawklike features were
impassive, and his eyes steady and quiet as he looked at the beautiful, dark-haired woman.