Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 050 - The Green Box

VIP免费
2024-12-19 0 0 193.5KB 79 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
THE GREEN BOX
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. CONVICT 9638
? CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW PLANS
? CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW TRAILS
? CHAPTER IV. IN SOUTHFIELD
? CHAPTER V. THE DEAL
? CHAPTER VI. THE LOST TRAIL
? CHAPTER VII. THE SHADOW ARRIVES
? CHAPTER VIII. MEN MEET
? CHAPTER IX. MEN OF WEALTH
? CHAPTER X. THE VIGIL
? CHAPTER XI. THREE THREATS
? CHAPTER XII. CRIME BREAKS
? CHAPTER XIII. THE RAID
? CHAPTER XIV. COMING CRIME
? CHAPTER XV. HAWKEYE MEETS THE SHADOW
? CHAPTER XVI. ROWLING GIVES ORDERS
? CHAPTER XVII. AGENTS WATCH
? CHAPTER XVIII. THE THIRD CRIME
? CHAPTER XIX. GRIFF DECIDES
? CHAPTER XX. TABLES TURN
? CHAPTER XXI. FRUITS OF CRIME
? CHAPTER XXII. THE BREAK
? CHAPTER XXIII. GRIFF'S STRATEGY
? CHAPTER XXIV. THE PRICE OF CRIME
CHAPTER I. CONVICT 9638
THE air seemed thick within the prison cell. Rays of dull-yellow light from the central cellroom faded on
the threshold, as though shrinking from the confinement of the cell itself.
Bolder was the pallid moonlight that trickled through the window. It formed a whitish splash across the
cell floor - a luminous pool that was marked with lines of black, as grim reminders of the bars between
which the moonlight came.
Eyes were upon that patch of light. Two men were staring toward it, fascinated by this token of the
outside world. Moonlight was the only privilege that these prisoners could share with free men in the
world beyond the penitentiary walls.
One man, his dull face rendered overly pale by reason of the moonlight, was staring from a lower bunk.
His clutching hands - trembling talons - were closed about the side of the iron bedstead.
The other, stationed in the berth above, was gazing toward the floor in patient fashion. Of the two, he
seemed less troubled by his plight.
"Sammy" - the man below was speaking in a wheezy whisper - "Sammy -"
The upper man leaned over the edge of the bunk. His face, crafty as it was hardened, formed a marked
contrast to the peaked countenance of the prisoner below.
"What is it, Ferris?" came the cautious question.
"I - I'm feeling worse." The wheezy man gasped as he spoke. "I - I can't hold out - much longer."
"You'll be all right tomorrow." Sammy's tone was encouraging. "Take it easy, old fellow. They're going to
ship you to the hospital tomorrow. You'll feel like a new man, Ferris."
"Ferris!" The man below gasped his own name. "Ferris - Ferris Legrand. That's my name, isn't it?"
"Sure it is." The man above laughed. "Ferris Legrand - that's you. Sam Fulwell - that's me."
"All right, Sammy." Legrand sighed contentedly. "If it wasn't for you, I'd be done. Done, I tell you!
Everything has been taken from me here - even my name. Ferris Legrand - that's not my name. I'm nine -
six - three - eight. That's it, Sammy. Convict nine - six - three - eight -"
"Forget it," growled the man above. "That doesn't mean anything, Ferris. It's just like a telephone number
or a street address. Forget it."
"I can't forget it! Nine - six -"
A warning hiss from above. The moaning man became silent. His cellmate had detected a sound. The
keenness of his ears was proven a second later.
Click - click - click -
The pacing footsteps of a guard sounded with approaching monotony. A bulky man appeared outside the
cell door. He shot the rays of a flashlight into the little room. He saw two prisoners lying with closed eyes.
He paced on toward another cell and stopped for a second inspection.
Click - click - click -
THE receding beats announced the guard's departure along his rounds. The wheezy voice began again
from the bunk below. Its tones were scarcely audible. The man above leaned further over the edge.
"Sammy" - Legrand's words were disjointed. "Don't forget - all that I told you. You - you know the
place. You - you'll be out of here. You'll get - what I left there -"
"I sure will, Ferris."
"It's - it's all I managed to keep, Sammy. It's - it's worth more than - than all they took from me. They
don't know about it, Sammy! You're the only person that I ever told -"
"Easy, Ferris. You can count on me."
"Even Mildred doesn't know," gasped Legrand. "My - my poor daughter. I was - was afraid to tell her. I
wouldn't have told you, Sammy - except that I'm going to die. I - I had to count on you -"
"You'll be all right." The man above was studying Ferris Legrand's pale face. Tired eyes had closed.
Legrand could scarcely mumble. "It won't be long before you're out. I'll have what you want -"
The man who called himself Sam Fulwell stopped him abruptly. Again he assumed a listening attitude. His
face was grim and tense. His eyes centered on the moonlight that showed the outline of the cell window.
They remained focused there, staring.
The square of light had changed. Across a corner near the cell door lay a shrouding edge of blackness
that broke the luminous space. The firm-faced man stared toward the door. Seeing nothing, he gazed at
the window. The moonlight showed in full intensity. There was nothing there to block its path.
Again the keen eyes wandered to the floor. The blackness that obscured a portion of the moonlight was
still in evidence. To the startled gaze that viewed it, the patch of darkness seemed grotesquely like a
human silhouette! Yet there was no one at the door of the cell - no one that the observant prisoner could
see.
"Sammy!" Legrand's wheezy whisper bore an anxious note. "Sammy! Are you sure I told - I told you all
that you need to know? If you're not sure about -"
"Sh-h!" The whisper was fervent from above.
"What's the matter?" wheezed Legrand. "There's nobody coming, Sammy. This is the last chance I'll have
to talk to you."
"Keep quiet, Ferris." The order was fierce. "I know everything. Don't say another word."
"But maybe I forgot something. You only know what I've told you. You've got to listen, Sammy -"
"Sh-h!"
Sammy's eyes were still glued to the unmoving patch of blackness. Despite its lack of motion, that splotch
might indicate a living presence. The man in the bunk above was anxious to hush his cellmate.
Legrand, in turn, was quite as anxious to proceed. His condition was delirious. His fevered mind was
seeking to deliver its old message through dried lips. Mumbling words came from the lower bunk. Again,
a warning whisper sounded from above. It would have failed, but for a stroke of fortune.
Click - click - click
The guard was returning to the cellroom.
Legrand, like Sammy, heard the pacing footsteps. With a weary sigh, the peaked man in the lower bunk
rolled over on his side and lay silent. Despite his fevered brain, he knew the meaning of the clicks and
followed the rule that he had learned - that of silence when the guard approached.
THE guard was slow on this trip. His clicking steps were interrupted as he stopped at different cells.
They came closer; his bulky form blocked out the feeble light from the central room. His flashlight
roamed through the cell where Ferris Legrand and his fellow prisoner were stationed.
The beams showed the man called Sammy. He was raised upon one elbow. His eyes had been staring at
that motionless patch upon the floor. Now they met the flashlight's glare, and Sammy's left hand rose.
"What's the matter?" growled the guard.
Sammy pointed to the bunk below.
"Mighty sick," he replied in a low tone. "Maybe he won't last the night out -"
The guard threw a flash toward Legrand's bunk. He saw the pale face; he observed closed eyelids. He
clicked off the flashlight and lowered his growl as he spoke to the man in the upper bunk.
"He's asleep now," asserted the guard. "He'll do till morning. They're coming for him at six o'clock."
The guard paced away. Sammy, still leaning on his elbow, stared hard at the moonlight on the floor. The
guard's form had not obscured it. All the while, the blackened silhouette had remained. It was still there
now!
Sammy peered below. He could barely distinguish the whiteness of Legrand's face. The sick man was
asleep. The guard had told the truth.
The man above dropped his elbow. He continued to stare over the edge of the upper bunk, watching that
patch of moonlight and the strange shadow that had somehow come across its path.
Long minutes passed. Legrand's breathing was wheezy for a while; then it faded. The sick man was
slumbering quietly. A hard, satisfied smile appeared upon the face above. The convict who called himself
Sam Fulwell closed his own eyes. Five minutes later, unfaked snores proved that he, too, was asleep.
The watchful prisoner had found no need for further vigil. He knew that Ferris Legrand would talk no
more tonight. The riddle of the blackness in the moonlight needed no further speculation.
All was quiet in the prison cell. On the morrow, Convict 9638 would be removed. He, himself, had
voiced the seriousness of his plight. His cellmate had meant it when he had doubted that the man in the
lower bunk would last through the night.
Convict 9638 was dying. His dried lips had made their last utterances. His end was near; and with his
passing would go the secret that he had told only to his cellmate.
The man called Sam Fulwell was nearing the end of his term. He could sleep contentedly, for soon he
would be free. When the doors of the penitentiary clanged behind him he would depart, carrying with him
the secret of Ferris Legrand!
CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW PLANS
BLACKNESS moved in the patch of moonlight. The silhouette, hitherto motionless, withdrew toward
the darkness of the wall. The convict in the upper bunk did not observe it. Even if he had still been
awake, his eyes could not have distinguished the shape that stood in the darkened corner of the cell.
Nor would his ears have heard the soft swish that came from that darkness. A figure was moving there;
so quietly that neither sight nor hearing would have detected it. Blackness edged the moonlight and
moved beyond. A firm hand gripped the central bar of the cell door.
The light from the central room was blocked by a spectral shape. Gloved fingers silently opened the
barred door without a clang. A figure slipped softly into the gloomy light beyond. A door closed and
locked as quietly as it had opened.
A phantom shape was gliding across the floor of the central room, moving steadily toward a corridor
beyond. Drowsy convicts, lying in their bunks, neither heard nor saw the passing shade. Eyes would have
bulged had they observed this creature of the night. The weird being that had entered Ferris Legrand's
cell to station himself unseen was one whom all men of crime regarded with terrified awe. Coming into
the empty, lighted corridor, this personage was revealed in full.
A tall figure clad entirely in black. Body shrouded beneath the folds of a flowing cloak; visage hidden
between upturned collar and the brim of a slouch hat. Keen, blazing eyes alone in view. These were the
characteristics of the secret visitor who had entered the penitentiary and found his way within a locked
cell.
This being was The Shadow!
Master hand who battled crime, The Shadow traveled everywhere. Clews to evils of the past; inklings of
impending wrongs - these were the traces that he sought with unerring skill. No barrier could balk The
Shadow. He had proven that fact tonight.
Click - click - click -
A guard was coming from a side passage.
With a quick glide, The Shadow merged with a patch of darkness beside a fire-hose. The space was not
sufficient to conceal a human form, but this chameleon of the dark required no more than a background.
The Shadow's tall form blended with the darkness and caused the shaded patch to appear no different
except in size. So effective was the ruse that the pacing guard marched by without a momentary thought
that eyes were watching him.
While the clicking footsteps still resounded in the long main corridor, The Shadow emerged from his
temporary spot of hiding and glided swiftly to the side passage from which the guard had come. He
reached a door, unlocked it softly, and entered a small room, closing the door behind him.
A LIGHT switch clicked against the wall. A single incandescent revealed a plainly furnished room. It was
evidently a guard's quarters.
The Shadow crossed the room and faced a mirror. His hat dropped from his head; his black cloak
dropped to the floor.
Beneath his sable-hued garb, The Shadow was dressed in the uniform of a penitentiary guard. His
features, dull and heavy-jowled, were those of a man of middle age. Brightly reflected in the mirror, they
seemed masklike.
Peeling off his black gloves, The Shadow pressed finger tips against cheeks and chin. His false features
changed a trifle as the fingers molded them.
A suitcase lay to one side of the stand on which the mirror was attached. Into this, The Shadow dropped
the black cloak and hat. In his false guise of a prison guard, he turned toward the door of the room. A
rap greeted him.
"Come in." The Shadow's voice was surly.
The door opened. In stepped the guard who had recently made the rounds through the cellroom.
"Hello, Mike," growled the newcomer. "I thought you'd gone off duty. Just saw the light under the door,
and wondered if you were still here."
"I did go out," retorted the false Mike. "Had to come back though. Forgot my suitcase."
"I thought you always changed duds down at Caffrey's place."
"I generally do. I left a new suit up here though, and forgot to take it out with me. Had to come back with
this bag."
The false Mike had turned from the mirror. The single light was behind his head. His face, though its
features were discernible, remained slightly shaded. The genuine guard had no suspicion that his
companion was an impostor.
Picking up the suitcase, The Shadow strode through the door. He uttered a gruff good night and
continued on his way. He reached an open courtyard, where a bright searchlight was revolving, sending
its huge beam against interior walls.
As The Shadow crossed the court, his tall, slightly stooped form was revealed. The glare showed the
guard's uniform and the face above it. No challenge was given. The passer had been recognized.
The Shadow reached a wicket. He showed a pass card. The guard behind the gate scarcely noticed it.
He grinned as he waved.
"Good night, Mike. Next time, don't forget your new suit."
The watcher pressed a button. The Shadow walked ahead. A man in a tower pulled a release in
response to the signal. A huge gate swung open. The false guard made his exit.
Still playing the part of Mike, The Shadow trudged along a road that led from the huge walls of the
penitentiary. He reached the end of a trolley line. A car was waiting there; but The Shadow did not enter
it. instead, he took a side road, cut along a path, and reached a parked coupe.
Long fingers opened the suitcase. Out came the black garments. A soft laugh echoed from The Shadow's
lips as the tall form entered the coupe. The motor started. The car pulled away.
THE SHADOW had played a simple but effective game. Less than two hours ago, Mike, the guard, had
left the prison. He had gone downtown, changed his uniform to civilian clothes at Caffrey's boarding
house, and had continued on his way.
Twenty minutes after Mike's departure, The Shadow had arrived disguised as Mike. He had entered the
penitentiary; had remained there long enough to make his observations. Like the man whose part he had
played, The Shadow had left for the night. His ruse had succeeded to perfection.
Why had The Shadow paid this visit? Why had he risked the trip through guarded gates and walls into a
cell buried deep in the formidable prison?
The answer came hours later, when a light clicked in a pitch-black room. White hands appeared beneath
the glow of a bluish lamp. A rare stone, The Shadow's girasol, sparkled upon a finger. The Shadow was
in his sanctum.
Two folders appeared upon the table. These were records which The Shadow had obtained from his
secret archives. One bore the name of Ferris Legrand. The Shadow opened it. Clippings and other
papers came to view. The Shadow studied them.
In his vast accumulations of crime data, The Shadow kept records of thousands of cases. Crooks galore
were labeled more thoroughly in his files than they were by the police. Through extensive memoranda,
The Shadow kept track of criminals and their associates. He was always ready when new developments
of old crimes threatened to occur.
The study of the first folder ended, The Shadow turned to the second. This bore the name of Slade
Farrow. The first object that showed when the file opened was a photograph of the man who occupied
the cell with Ferris Legrand.
Sam Fulwell - Slade Farrow. The initials were the same. The latter name was the correct one. Clippings
were lacking in this folder. Letters, however, appeared with differing dates. The Shadow's laugh came
softly through the sanctum.
These facts that concerned Slade Farrow were known only to The Shadow. They gave all the details of
the man's association with crime. They reached the point where he had gone to jail, preserving his alias of
Sam Fulwell.
The Shadow closed the second folder. His hands produced a map. A long finger followed a thin, curving
line that represented a railway on the large-scale chart. The finger stopped upon a small city: Southfield.
WHITE paper appeared with blue ink. The Shadow's hand began to write. It inscribed a letter in odd
characters, a simple but effective code. The ink dried; The Shadow folded the paper carefully and
quickly inserted it in an envelope.
With another pen, one that contained a darker ink, The Shadow wrote the address:
Rutledge Mann
Badger Building
New York City.
Tomorrow, Rutledge Mann would receive that note from The Shadow. A complacent, chubby-faced
investment broker, Mann served as The Shadow's contact agent. High in his office in the towering
Badger Building, Mann would read the coded message.
The writing would fade immediately afterward. Such was the way with the ink that The Shadow used in
communicating with his agents. But Mann would remember what he had read. He would summon one of
The Shadow's active operatives and would dispatch that man upon the quest which awaited in the city of
Southfield.
Crime long forgotten! Its aftermath was to come. As Convict 9638, Ferris Legrand had languished in a
State prison, hoping for the day when he would be free to return to his old life in Southfield.
That day would never come. Ferris Legrand was dying even as The Shadow studied the facts that
concerned his past. But another would step in to take his place - one craftier than Ferris Legrand.
Slade Farrow, alias Sam Fulwell, had learned a secret from Legrand's dying lips. Its import was
something that only Farrow knew. The existence of the secret, so Farrow thought, was also a fact
unknown.
But Slade Farrow had not reckoned with The Shadow. Suspecting some such secret, the black-gabbed
master had made his strange visit within prison walls. There The Shadow had learned that Slade Farrow
had taken on a mission for the future.
Days alone remained until the clever, hard-faced convict would be at liberty. Then his action would
commence. Secure and confident, Slade Farrow would step forth to begin a new and startling career.
The Shadow's plans were made. Crime was impending in Southfield. Mysterious events, linked with
hidden secrets of the past, were already in the making. Slow, cautious moves would lead to rapid action.
The Shadow was preparing for the events that were to come!
CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW TRAILS
THE upper concourse of the Grand Central Station was thronged with holiday travelers. A tall man,
standing near a train gate, was watching the passers in leisurely fashion. To all appearances, he was
merely a chance waiter amid the throng.
There was something in this personage's appearance that marked him as distinctive. Hastening train
takers were too busy about their own affairs to give more than a passing glance toward the waiting man's
unusual countenance. Hence he remained an unnoticed sentinel at his post.
Keen eyes gazed from beside a hawklike nose. Thin lips remained inflexible. A living statue, this
personage watched the throngs so closely that not a passing face escaped him.
Thirty-odd feet away, a square-shouldered man was pacing back and forth near the same train gate. He
was waiting for the barrier to be flung open, hence he did not observe the hawk-faced watcher who was
observing him as well as the gate. Two sentinels: one's purpose concealed; the other's was apparent.
The tall observer who had rendered himself so inconspicuous was none other than The Shadow. The
square-shouldered man was a representative of the law: Detective Joe Cardona from police
headquarters.
Swarthy of visage, steady-faced in expression, Joe Cardona was a sleuth who prided himself upon his
keenness of observation. His confidence would have experienced a drop had he known that The
Shadow, attired in ordinary garb, was within his view.
Had Cardona been thinking of those about him, he might have observed that watching face with its sharp
eyes and aquiline nose. But Cardona, on this late afternoon, was concerned only with one purpose - the
close observation of a passenger who was expected on the arriving train.
The gate swung open. A flurry of persons began to come through the exit; then came teeming crowds. A
plainly dressed man, his face drooping and discouraged, came along in the wake of the throng. Following
him was a sturdy stroller who glanced in Joe Cardona's direction. The waiting detective nodded. He
sauntered off on the first man's trail.
THE SHADOW, ever vigilant, had recognized the droop-faced arrival on the instant. The man was the
one whom The Shadow had seen in the cell at the penitentiary - the one who had learned Ferris
Legrand's secret. Slade Farrow, alias Sam Fulwell, had arrived in New York.
Joe Cardona, as he started after the arrival, did not notice the hawk-faced personage who also took up
the trail. Together, the detective and The Shadow were taking up the pursuit of one man. Joe Cardona
was checking up on an ex-convict whom he knew as Sam Fulwell. The Shadow was taking the path of
Slade Farrow.
The trio passed unnoticed amid the crowds that were spread beneath the star-studded ceiling of the
huge-domed concourse. Farrow was leading the way toward the subway.
The express platform was crowded; nevertheless, Joe Cardona did not lose sight of his man. Farrow
took a downtown train. Cardona and The Shadow followed. At Fourteenth Street, Farrow alighted.
As he followed the shambling ex-convict up the steps, Joe Cardona felt that a hunch was working. The
swarthy detective expected to trail his quarry to the badlands. He was sure that Farrow was headed in
that direction.
On the street, however, the jailbird pulled the unexpected. He stepped directly into a taxicab, gave a
growled order to the driver, and rolled away. Cardona, close behind, duplicated the order. He leaped
into a second cab, flashed his badge to the driver, and pointed to the taxi ahead just as it was jamming
into traffic.
"Follow that cab!" ordered the detective.
Cardona's promptness was not followed by the last of the three. The tall, keen-eyed personage who had
come from the subway stood staring through the dusk as he saw Cardona's cab pull away in pursuit. A
thin smile appeared upon The Shadow's firm-set lips as he waited.
Farrow's cab shot off through traffic. Cardona's taxi sped after it. Traffic, coming the other way, was
beginning to move out of the jam. From between two cars, a furtive man stepped forth, hurried to a cab
that was just about to move, and entered.
The man was Slade Farrow. The ex-convict's manner had changed. From a beaten, shambling individual,
he had become a quick-footed traveler. He had sent Joe Cardona off along a blind trail.
Farrow, however, had not deceived The Shadow. The tall watcher, stepping out into the street from
which traffic had just moved, reached a spot beside Farrow's new cab just as the ex-convict barked a
destination to the driver. Picking his way to the far curb, The Shadow walked swiftly to the nearest
avenue and took a passing cab uptown.
The Shadow's cab pulled up at the exclusive Cobalt Club. Its tall occupant alighted. The doorman
saluted.
"Good evening, Mr. Cranston," he said. "Are you going in the club, sir, or do you want your car -"
"Call my car, please."
The doorman signaled. A big limousine pulled over from across the street. The chauffeur raised fingers to
the visor of his cap as the doorman opened the door to allow Mr. Cranston to enter.
"Uptown, Stanley." The Shadow uttered this order in a quiet tone, through the speaking tube to the
driver. Then, as the limousine pulled from the curb, he added: "Take me to the Aristides Apartments on
West Ninety-third Street. Park near there."
AS the limousine swept up Park Avenue, its calm-faced occupant settled back in the cushions and lighted
a cigarette. The glow from the tip showed brightly in the gathered gloom. As Lamont Cranston,
multimillionaire, The Shadow was playing one of the roles that he most frequently chose when in
Manhattan.
The real Lamont Cranston was a globe-trotter. He seldom visited his magnificent estate in New Jersey,
although he maintained servants there during his absence. During these long periods while Cranston was
away, The Shadow, master of impersonation, posed as Lamont Cranston whenever he so desired.
The Shadow had finished his cigarette long before the limousine reached Ninety-third Street. Darkness
had gathered. The form in the rear of the limousine was practically invisible. Something clicked in the
darkness as The Shadow opened a bag that lay on the seat beside him. A mass of blackened cloth
slipped like a shroud over the shoulders of the pretended millionaire.
Stanley pulled up at the Aristides Apartments. He had made the trip in rapid time. The Shadow had
experienced no delay. The door of the limousine opened. It was by a darkened portion of the sidewalk.
Stanley, sitting stolidly at the driver's seat, neither heard nor saw the phantom shape that glided forth.
The Shadow followed the darkened front of an old building as he approached the glittering marquee of
the Aristides Apartments. He reached a narrow alleyway and paused there. His keen eyes saw a cab pull
up in front of the apartment house. Slade Farrow stepped out. The Shadow had beaten the ex-convict to
his destination.
As Farrow walked into the lobby of the apartment house, The Shadow took to the blackness of the
alley. He found a side delivery door and entered it. He reached the edge of the lobby just as Farrow
approached the desk, which was located near this corner.
"Apartment A-3," informed the ex-convict. "Mr. Farrow is here."
The clerk made a call. He nodded.
"Go right up," he said.
Farrow turned and strolled into a waiting elevator. The door clanged. The clerk, taking his chair, picked
up a copy of The Shadow Magazine and resumed his reading. Little did he realize that The Shadow
himself was here!
WHILE the clerk's eyes were fixed upon the printed pages, the tall, black-clad shape passed directly in
front of the marble desk. Across the deserted lobby to the stairway; such was The Shadow's course. He
was on his way to the third floor, to find the apartment where Slade Farrow had gone.
The ex-convict, meanwhile, had reached his goal. The door marked A-3 was open. Farrow entered it
and closed it behind him. He passed through a tiny, darkened anteroom past a telephone table and
walked in to meet a big, bluff-faced fellow who was standing in the center of the living room.
"Hello, Dave," greeted Farrow, with a wan smile.
"Hello!" gasped the big fellow. "Say, boss - it didn't do you no good to be in stir -"
"Forget it, Dave," laughed Farrow. "That was just a vacation. I had the time of my life."
Dave shrugged his shoulders. His beefy face showed a lack of comprehension. Slade Farrow was smiling
as his steady eyes studied the other man's countenance. Then, spying an open door at the side of the
living room, Farrow stepped through the opening into another room of the apartment.
Busied with their greetings, neither Farrow nor Dave had heard a slight sound at the outer door of the
apartment. That door had slowly opened inward. A figure had entered from the gloom of the hallway.
Shrouded in the semidarkness of the little anteroom, The Shadow was watching and listening. He had
arrived in time to see Slade Farrow enter the doorway at the side of the living room. Now he could hear
the ex-convict's chuckles as Farrow called to Dave.
"Very good, Dave," was Farrow's commendation. "You've kept everything the way I wanted it. My new
suits - these traveling bags - well, well! It certainly seems like home."
"I followed instructions, boss." Dave was seated in an armchair, lighting a cigar. "That's the last thing you
told me. Stick here and be good until you showed up. I had a long wait, though."
"You're a good fellow, Dave," came Farrow's chuckle. "Nothing better than a crook gone straight. I
摘要：

THEGREENBOXMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.CONVICT9638?CHAPTERII.THESHADOWPLANS?CHAPTERIII.THESHADOWTRAILS?CHAPTERIV.INSOUTHFIELD?CHAPTERV.THEDEAL?CHAPTERVI.THELOSTTRAIL?CHAPTERVII.THESHADOWARRIVES?CHAPTERVIII.MENMEET?CHAPTERIX.MENOFWEALTH?CHAPTERX...

展开>> 收起<<
Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 050 - The Green Box.pdf

共79页,预览16页

还剩页未读， 继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

相关推荐

更多
立即下载
分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：79 页 大小：193.5KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-19

开通VIP享超值会员特权

  • 多端同步记录
  • 高速下载文档
  • 免费文档工具
  • 分享文档赚钱
  • 每日登录抽奖
  • 优质衍生服务

作者详情

相关内容

更多

热门标签

高考理综 人际关系 配电装置 动力学连接体 力的合成 全宋诗作者索引 公务员考试
/ 79
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注