Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 022 - The Creeping Death

VIP免费
2024-12-19 0 0 209.12KB 88 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
THE CREEPING DEATH
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. DYING WORDS
? CHAPTER II. THE HAND FROM THE DARK
? CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW PLANS
? CHAPTER IV. AT WESTBROOK FALLS
? CHAPTER V. DEATH CREEPS
? CHAPTER VI. IN THE LABORATORY
? CHAPTER VII. GUTHRIE SPEAKS
? CHAPTER VIII. THE MAN FROM THE ARGENTINE
? CHAPTER IX. MORALES RECEIVES A VISITOR
? CHAPTER X. ONE AND ONE MAKE TWO
? CHAPTER XI. THE DEATH SENTENCE
? CHAPTER XII. THE SHADOW THAT LIVED
? CHAPTER XIII. ARMAGNAC PROPOSES
? CHAPTER XIV. THE MEETING
? CHAPTER XV. DEATH ARRIVES
? CHAPTER XVI. THE NEXT NIGHT
? CHAPTER XVII. THE SHADOW ON THE CLIFF
? CHAPTER XVIII. THE HAND OF DOOM
? CHAPTER XIX. THE SHADOW INTERVENES
? CHAPTER XX. ENEMIES BATTLE
? CHAPTER XXI. THE SHADOW FIGHTS
? CHAPTER XXII. ON THE BRINK
? CHAPTER XXIII. THE SHADOW TRIUMPHANT
CHAPTER I. DYING WORDS
A DOUBLE row of taxicabs and automobiles came to a stop on the street in front of the Metrolite Hotel.
Motors roared and horns honked as impatient drivers waited for the Broadway traffic to clear. They
were in the midst of one of the heavy jams that nightly congest the streets of Manhattan.
In one cab, a man leaned forward into the front seat and spoke to the driver. He was terse in his tone as
he held out a dollar bill and gave an order.
"This is close enough," he said. "Let me out here. I'll walk over to the hotel."
The driver accepted the money; the passenger left the cab and threaded his way among the halted
vehicles until he reached the sidewalk near the Metrolite Hotel. With quick strides he completed the last
yards of his short trip, and entered the revolving door.
The Metrolite Hotel was one of Manhattan's newest and most popular hostelries that specialized in
moderate rates. Its lobby, although not large, was elegantly furnished, and constantly frequented by the
guests. The arrival of one individual was nothing to excite particular interest.
Hence the man who had left the taxicab scarcely looked to either side as he approached the desk and
made an inquiry of the clerk in charge.
"You have kept my room for me?" he asked. "Room 1414 as I requested when I left yesterday?"
The clerk hesitated a moment as he surveyed the man before him. Then he recognized the sober, quiet
face, with its keen eyes and short-clipped mustache.
"Ah, yes," he said. "Of course we have kept your room, Mr. Fitzroy. Here is the key."
"No messages?"
"I don't think so"—the clerk turned to a stack of envelopes— "Fitzroy— Fitzroy -"
"Jerry Fitzroy."
"No messages."
The man with the mustache turned toward the elevator. He walked with briskness and precision. Jerry
Fitzroy was square-shouldered, but slight in build. He carried himself with a challenging air across the
lobby.
THE brief conversation between Fitzroy and the clerk had carried very little information. It had revealed
the simple facts that Jerry Fitzroy had returned to the Metrolite Hotel after a short absence, and would be
quartered in his regular room—No. 1414. Yet that meager information was of great interest to one man
stationed in the lobby.
Hardly had Jerry Fitzroy disappeared; scarcely had the clerk turned to talk to another guest; before a
young man arose from a chair close to the desk and walked to the telephone booths in another part of
the lobby.
Entering a booth, this man called a number and waited thoughtfully until he heard a low, quiet voice on
the other end of the line. This voice announced itself with two words:
"Burbank speaking."
"This is Vincent," declared the man in the booth. "He is back. Same room."
"Report received. No further instructions."
The distant receiver clicked. The young man left the phone booth and strolled through the lobby out into
the street.
No one could possibly have suspected that this brief episode had taken place. Yet in that brief
conversation, Harry Vincent, agent of The Shadow, had relayed to Burbank, another trusted agent, the
fact that Jerry Fitzroy had returned to the Metrolite Hotel.
UP in Room 1414, Jerry Fitzroy was removing his coat and vest. He placed these articles of apparel on
a chair, and sat down at a writing desk in the corner. He stared speculatively through the open French
window, past a little balcony outside. Then he arose and went to his coat.
For a moment his hand rested upon the side pocket of the garment; then, with a slight laugh, Fitzroy
returned to the writing desk and again pondered.
Although this quiet-faced man appeared neither worried nor hasty, his keen concentration showed that he
was deep in thought, reviewing certain events with the utmost care.
He seemed oblivious to his surroundings, entirely ignorant of the fact that his presence in New York had
awakened the interest of so strange a being as The Shadow.
For the very name of The Shadow was synonymous with mystery. He and those who served him were
the sworn enemies of crime and evil. Where danger and death lurked, there did the hand of The Shadow
appear to thwart and reveal the schemes of insidious monsters!
Again, Jerry Fitzroy returned to his coat. He brought out a pipe and a tobacco pouch, filled the pipe, and
lighted it. He stared from the window, puffing; then, his plans apparently completed, he laid the pipe upon
the desk and drew open the drawer.
Fitzroy picked up a sheet of hotel stationery. As he started to draw the paper from the drawer, it slipped
from his fingers. He gripped the sheet again, and laid it on the table. He reached for the pen. It dropped
from his grasp as he placed it with the paper.
The man's forehead furrowed in a puzzled manner as he looked at his left hand and slowly moved the
fingers. Fitzroy laughed, in a hollow manner. He raised the pen in his right hand, and dipped it in an
inkwell. He stared at his right hand. It, too, seemed numb.
Shrugging his shoulders, Fitzroy attempted to write.
Now his puzzlement became concern. The letters that he scrawled upon the paper were illegible. He
dropped the pen and looked at both hands. He tried to move his fingers. He failed.
Shaking his wrists, Fitzroy attempted to restore normal action to his hands. The shaking became
mechanical. The wrists, too, were rigid!
The man's forearms pumped up and down like pistons. They slowly lost their motion. With hands
helpless upon his knees, Fitzroy gasped and moved his shoulders up and down, a look of horror clouding
his features. The motion of the shoulders ended.
With a hoarse cry, Fitzroy attempted to rise from his chair. His body strained under the effort. He gained
his feet and tottered; then, as his legs succumbed, Fitzroy fell headlong upon the desk!
Directly before his terror-stricken eyes lay the telephone. With panic overcoming him. Fitzroy swung his
head and knocked the instrument on its side. The receiver fell loose from the hook.
"Help me"—Fitzroy's words were blurted—"quickly—a doctor! Room 1414 —I may be dying!"
With that, the man lost his balance and rolled away from the desk, falling heavily upon the floor. He lay
there, gasping, his head moving from side to side, his eyes bulging with horror.
MINUTES were moving by. The form on the floor had gained the rigidity of a corpse—all but the head,
which moved from side to side with the monotonous motion of a pendulum.
Help! When would it arrive?
The head turned upward as the ears, still hearing, detected a sound at the window. The eyes, wildly
staring, focused themselves upon a living being. Stepping through from the balcony was a form in black.
For a long, weird moment, Fitzroy viewed the personage who had entered. This strange visitor was
garbed in a long, flowing cloak. His face was obscured by a slouch hat. All that Fitzroy could see were
two piercing eyes that glowed from mysterious depths as they viewed the plight of the man on the floor.
With the grip of death upon him, Fitzroy fancied that he was entering another world. The very sight of this
phantom brought confusing thoughts to his terror-racked mind. The figure was stooping toward him!
Then came an interruption. A noise outside the door—a rattle of the lock —the door of the room was
opening. Vaguely, Fitzroy saw the black form turn swiftly and merge with the outside darkness of the
balcony.
Fitzroy tried to change the direction of his gaze, to look toward the door of the room. He failed. The
muscles of his neck were paralyzed!
Men were in the room now—men who knew nothing of that strange visitor who had disappeared—men
who saw only the pitiful shape of Jerry Fitzroy, prone upon the floor. They were stooping over this victim
of an outlandish malady. A house detective and the hotel physician—both were looking into those glassy
eyes.
Jerry Fitzroy's gaze was rigid. The muscles of his eyeballs were no longer functioning. His ears were
scarcely hearing. The questions of those who had come to aid him were like distant voices, faint and
obscure.
With an effort, the dying man attempted to respond. His lips moved, but no sound came from them. He
seemed to sense the lack. He forced out words despite the invisible grip that seemed to clutch his throat.
Yet even those words were articulate only in part.
"Tell—mark—secret -"
"Secret mark -"
The terse response came from the doctor.
Jerry Fitzroy's lips moved; then ceased. Only the eyes remained open; eyes that were seeing, for a light
shone in them. Then, gradually, that light faded. The eyes still stared, but they did not see!
The physician arose from beside the body and stood with folded arms. He turned to the house detective.
"You heard what he said?" the doctor asked.
"Yes," replied the detective. "'Tell mark secret.' Something about a secret mark."
As the doctor nodded, the detective strode quickly to the window. He flashed a light along the balcony.
The glare revealed nothing. The detective stepped back into the room.
The doctor was examining the dead man. He seemed a trifle puzzled by the twisted rigidity of Jerry
Fitzroy's body. He shook his head doubtfully.
"A strange form of paralysis," he declared. "It must have ended muscular activity completely before it
affected the brain. I shall call the police and have them send a medical examiner."
He paused as he jiggled the hook of the telephone. He spoke thoughtfully to the detective.
"Remember those words," he said. "Those words about a secret mark. They may be important. Only you
and I were here to hear them."
The detective acquiesced with a nod. He thought that the doctor was correct. Yet both the sleuth and the
physician were but half right. The words that Jerry Fitzroy had uttered were important; but they had been
heard by another than these two.
From the darkness of the balcony, The Shadow had been listening. Somewhere —not far away—The
Shadow, too, was pondering over the significance of those dying words!
CHAPTER II. THE HAND FROM THE DARK
A SECRET mark?
The questioner was Detective Joe Cardona of the New York force. Standing beside the desk in Room
1414 of the Metrolite Hotel, he put the inquiry to the house detective and the hotel physician.
"Tell mark secret," declared the doctor. "Those were the only words we heard him say."
Cardona paced up and down the room. He looked toward the open window. He stared at the body on
the floor, which the medical examiner had just inspected. Cardona walked to the writing desk and
curiously surveyed the small collection of articles that had been taken from Jerry Fitzroy's pockets.
Two objects commanded Cardona's attention. One was a French coin— a gold twenty-franc piece. The
other was a mottled brown feather.
"Outside of these"—Cardona indicated the two articles—"there's nothing of importance except those
papers that show this fellow's name was Jerry Fitzroy. But a foreign coin and a bird feather—why was he
carrying them?"
No one answered the question. The medical examiner was approaching to make his report.
"An unusual form of paralysis," he declared. "A natural death. I see nothing to indicate violence."
The house physician nodded to show his agreement with his medical colleague.
"All right," said Cardona gruffly. "I'll be here a while. You stay" - he nodded to the house
detective—"and we can talk this over."
As a matter of routine, Joe Cardona knew that all that remained was to order the removal of the body of
Jerry Fitzroy. Yet before he sent that rigid form to the morgue, the detective was desirous of learning the
answer to the questions that perplexed him.
The Metrolite sleuth watched while Cardona walked across the room and stared out upon the balcony.
Cardona had a high reputation in New York. He was a crime solver in a class by himself. But here was a
case that had no evidence of crime.
Cardona sat at the writing desk. He studied the unfinished scrawl that Jerry Fitzroy had begun. He
grumbled in a dissatisfied tone. A man of intuition, Cardona sensed foul play, even though he could not
trace it.
At last Cardona shrugged his shoulders. He reached for the telephone, intending to call and give orders
for the removal of Jerry Fitzroy. At that moment, the phone bell rang. Cardona, answering it, heard the
voice of one of his men.
"We just arrested a man in the lobby," was the information. "He came in here, asking for Jerry Fitzroy -"
"What's his name?" demanded Cardona.
"He won't tell us. Wants to talk with you -"
"Bring him up."
Cardona smiled grimly as he hung up the receiver. Here might be a clew. An unknown visitor, coming to
visit Jerry Fitzroy after the man had died.
The house detective waited with interest. He wanted to see Cardona in action, grilling this man whom the
police had arrested.
THERE was a knock at the door. The house detective opened it to admit two plain-clothes men who
were bringing in a stocky, heavy man whose swarthy face was emotionless. Cardona studied the man
who had been taken into custody.
"See what he's got on him," he ordered.
The plain-clothes men made a quick frisk. They brought forth a businesslike automatic, and handed it to
Cardona. The detective stared at the captive.
"Carrying a gun, eh?" he demanded. "What do you know about this?"
The swarthy man was staring at the still form of Jerry Fitzroy. Cardona prompted him with another
question.
"What's your name?"
"You are in charge here?" the prisoner asked quietly.
"Yes," declared Cardona.
"May I speak with you privately?"
A look of perplexity came over Cardona's face. The request was an unusual one. Cardona suspected a
ruse. At last he nodded to the plain-clothes men.
"Go on outside," he ordered. "You, too"—he nodded to the house detective —"and wait by the door.
There'll be no trouble here."
As the men obeyed, Cardona drew a revolver from his pocket and motioned the prisoner to a chair in
the corner of the room. A few moments later, Cardona and the swarthy man were alone. Cardona was
glowering and suspicious; the suspect was calm and expressionless.
"Spill it," ordered Cardona. "Your name -"
"Victor Marquette," came the response, in a quiet voice. "I don't suppose that you have ever heard of
me. I keep well under cover. I am a secret-service agent."
"With the secret service -"
While Cardona spoke Vic Marquette calmly drew back his coat and turned back the inside of his vest.
Cardona saw the badge that gleamed there.
"That is why I wanted a private discussion," announced Marquette. "There are certain reasons why I do
not want my identity known to any but yourself."
Cardona, knowing that the man was genuine, calmly pocketed his revolver. Marquette's words explained
why he had been carrying an automatic.
The secret-service man's next statement brought a new revelation.
"I am also anxious," added Marquette, "that Fitzroy's identity should not be known. He is—or was—a
secret-service man also."
"Ah!" Cardona's exclamation denoted understanding. "You and he were working together."
"No," responded Marquette, shaking his head. "Fitzroy was working alone. I did not know he was here.
But I received a call a short while ago, telling me to meet Fitzroy here at the Metrolite Hotel."
"A call from whom?"
"I do not know. Probably some one whom Fitzroy had instructed to call me. I came here, only to be
arrested by your men. I was amazed to learn that Fitzroy was dead. How did he die?"
"Paralysis. Natural death, apparently. But if you think -"
"I suspect nothing"—Marquette was thoughtful—"but I should like to know any peculiar circumstances
-"
"Fitzroy spoke before he died," interposed Cardona. "He said something about a secret mark -"
"A secret mark -"
"Yes." Cardona drew a paper from his pocket. "This is what the hotel physician and the house detective
said. Fitzroy, just before he died, was trying to speak. His words could not be understood, except these
three: 'Tell mark secret.' Those words seemed to be part of a sentence -"
"Wait a moment"—Marquette was smiling—"I think I understand. I know what Fitzroy was trying to say.
'Tell mark secret'—with little gaps between -"
"Yes—with gaps between."
"In full, 'Tell Victor Marquette of the secret service'—or something to that effect."
CARDONA was thoughtful for a moment. Then he slowly nodded. He saw the connection.
"You've got it!" he declared. "He wanted to get in touch with you. That was the idea, eh?"
"Of course. Fitzroy knew I was in New York. He would naturally have tried to communicate with me.
Did you find any articles upon his person?"
Cardona pointed to the writing desk. Marquette arose and went in that direction. Cardona indicated the
gold coin; also the feather.
"What do you make of those?" he asked.
"The coin"—Marquette was thoughtful—"well, any secret-service man might pick up one of those. The
feather—hm-m-m—it's odd, but hardly significant. But just a moment—where's Fitzroy's badge?"
Cardona looked puzzled.
"We went through his pockets," he said.
"Including his watch pocket?" asked Marquette.
"We may have missed that," admitted Cardona.
Marquette stooped over the body. He reached into the watch pocket of Fitzroy's trousers and brought
out a secret-service badge.
"Fitzroy always carried the badge in his watch pocket," observed Marquette. "Poor Fitz"—he looked
solemnly at the body—"I didn't expect to find him dead."
"There's no evidence of murder," declared Cardona, "but the whole affair looks bad to me -"
"What are you doing with the body?" questioned Marquette.
"Sending it to the morgue," responded Cardona, "unless you have some other plan."
"Send it there," said Marquette solemnly. "The less talk about this, the better. Fitzroy—this is strictly
confidential—was engaged upon certain work of investigation. I see nothing to indicate that he was
murdered. Nevertheless, it would be a great mistake to have it known that he was a secret-service man.
You understand?
"Send the body to the morgue. I shall see to its identification, with very little said."
Cardona nodded. He pointed to the articles on the table.
"You want those?" he asked.
"Yes," said Marquette. "I can assure you that if Fitzroy was involved in any dangerous business, it must
have taken place outside of New York. I may be able to trace his activities. If so -"
"I get you."
Cardona walked to the door of the room. He summoned the men who were outside. They entered,
surprised to see Marquette standing free.
"This man is all right," said Cardona gruffly. "He's an old friend of Fitzroy's. We're sending the body to
the morgue. That's all."
He followed the three, and spoke in a low tone to the house detective. The two were outside the door
during the discussion. Vic Marquette was leaning over the body while they were absent.
With deliberate action, Marquette slipped his fingers into Fitzroy's watch pocket and drew forth a small
slip of paper. His back turned toward the door, Marquette examined the paper.
He had noticed it when he had withdrawn Fitzroy's badge, but had made no comment. The slip was a
railroad coupon, indicating a cash fare paid from a town named Westbrook Falls to New York City.
Marquette was standing by the desk when Cardona returned with the house detective. In his hand, the
secret-service man was holding an envelope.
Within that envelope, he had placed the slip of paper that he had found.
"These two articles"—Vic Marquette picked up the coin and the feather— "may be of some importance.
I shall study them."
He dropped the two objects into the envelope and carelessly laid the latter on the desk. He took the rest
of Fitzroy's belongings and put them in another envelope. Cardona nodded his approval.
"I think," said Cardona, "that we can tell this man the circumstances -" He was indicating the house
detective.
Marquette was thoughtful; then gave his approval. In a low tone, Cardona explained Marquette's
connection with the secret service.
"Nothing is to be said," warned Marquette. "I know what Fitzroy was doing. He probably gained some
results. It will be my job to follow out his work."
POLICEMEN arrived to take the body to the morgue. The dead form of Jerry Fitzroy was carried from
the room. Cardona and Marquette followed, and stood just outside the door.
The envelopes which Marquette had used were lying, unsealed, upon the writing desk.
It was then that a strange incident occurred.
While the men at the door were watching the removal of Fitzroy's body, something moved inward from
the blackness outside the window. A human arm reached toward the desk. A black-gloved hand
plucked the envelope that contained the coin, the feather, and the railway coupon.
A few minutes later, Cardona and Marquette returned to the room. They were preparing to leave. Vic
Marquette picked up the two envelopes. The one that had been removed, was now replaced in its
former position, by the same hand that had taken it.
The detective and the secret-service man went down the elevator together. They shook hands and parted
outside the Metrolite Hotel. They went in opposite directions.
Alone, Vic Marquette opened the more important of the two envelopes. Standing near a light, he quickly
examined the three articles. He smiled as he held the twenty-franc piece. He nodded as he looked at the
railroad coupon; he frowned as he held the feather.
The significance of two articles was plain to Vic Marquette as he went on his way. The gold coin and the
railway coupon held a definite meaning. The feather—despite the fact that Marquette had expressed no
interest regarding it to Cardona—might also be important. What it meant was something Vic Marquette
intended to learn.
One matter perplexed the secret-service man. To-night, as he had told Cardona, he had received a call,
telling him to come to the Metrolite Hotel, to meet Jerry Fitzroy. Marquette had answered that call
immediately.
The message had been sent after Fitzroy was dead—not before! The person who had communicated by
telephone—a man who spoke in a quiet voice—had given no statement of identity. This was puzzling. It
indicated the presence of an unknown person in the maze that surrounded the death of Jerry Fitzroy.
Nevertheless, Vic Marquette was not worrying about the identity of the unknown informant when he
boarded a sleeper for Westbrook Falls, some time after midnight. The secret-service man was content
with the thought that he possessed the only clews to Jerry Fitzroy's actions— and that of those clews, the
most important was his alone.
He had the railway coupon that told where Jerry Fitzroy had been. He, only, had connected the mystery
with the town of Westbrook Falls, wither he was now traveling!
With all his confidence, Vic Marquette was mistaken: A hand from the dark had performed a deed
to-night. That hand had plucked the evidence, had carried it to unseen eyes, and had returned it,
unbeknown!
A gold coin—a railway coupon—a feather! The secret of strange doings rested upon three clews. Vic
Marquette had kept that information from Joe Cardona; but he had not kept it from the hidden figure
who had been shrouded in the darkness of the balcony.
The Shadow, too, knew of those mysterious clews!
His hand had come from the dark to gain them!
CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW PLANS
A BLACK-SHROUDED room, lighted only by the weird glow of a bluish light that shone upon the
polished surface of a flat-topped table. Two hands, moving like pale white creatures beneath the circle of
light. A mysterious gem that glimmered from a tapering third finger.
The Shadow was in his sanctum!
Somewhere in Manhattan, secluded in a spot known to himself alone, this strange being was at work!
Only his moving hands denoted his presence; only the glowing jewel, a fire opal that constantly changed
in hue, revealed the identity of the hands.
To police, as well as to criminals, The Shadow was a figure of mystery. His place lay in that borderland
between the realm of law and the dominion of the underworld. A strange figure—a weird presence— his
very identity was a matter of vague conjecture.
Who was The Shadow?
Many had asked that question. None had answered it!
Those who had encountered The Shadow had seen him only as a figure garbed in black—a tall, sinister
form that came and departed as a phantom of the night.
Time and again, fierce wolves of the underworld had been thwarted by that sinister shape. Fiends of
crime had faced the being in black, had met the burning gaze of eyes deep-set beneath the brim of a
slouch hat, and had died with gasps of terror on their lips.
Minions of the law, too, had experienced the presence of The Shadow. More than once, a black-gloved
hand, thrust from the folds of a crimson-lined cloak, had reached to rescue those who combated the
hordes of evil.
Helpless men and women, doomed to die by the design of criminal plotters, had found salvation through
the timely efforts of The Shadow. Yet none had seen the face of the being in black. In all his missions of
retribution, The Shadow had departed; he was still unknown!
The voice of The Shadow, although a clew to his identity, had never enabled any one to trace him. When
The Shadow spoke, his words were eerie utterances that chilled all hearers. More spectral than the voice
was the laugh of The Shadow. When its mocking tones resounded, evil-doers trembled at the sound.
摘要：

THECREEPINGDEATHMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.DYINGWORDS?CHAPTERII.THEHANDFROMTHEDARK?CHAPTERIII.THESHADOWPLANS?CHAPTERIV.ATWESTBROOKFALLS?CHAPTERV.DEATHCREEPS?CHAPTERVI.INTHELABORATORY?CHAPTERVII.GUTHRIESPEAKS?CHAPTERVIII.THEMANFROMTHEARGENTINE?...

展开>> 收起<<
Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 022 - The Creeping Death.pdf

共88页,预览18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：88 页 大小：209.12KB 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

人际关系 配电装置 动力学连接体 力的合成 高考理综 全宋诗作者索引 公务员考试
/ 88
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注