Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 016 - The Ghost Makers

VIP免费
2024-12-19 0 0 597.45KB 105 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
THE GHOST MAKERS
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2002 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
¡¤ CHAPTER I. THE LAUGH OF A GHOST
¡¤ CHAPTER II. SPOOK OR SHADOW
¡¤ CHAPTER III. CARDONA RECEIVES A PRESENT
¡¤ CHAPTER IV. LITTLE FLOWER SPEAKS AGAIN
¡¤ CHAPTER V. THROUGH THE WINDOW
¡¤ CHAPTER VI. DEATH BY ACCIDENT
¡¤ CHAPTER VII. ANITA MARIE ADVISES
¡¤ CHAPTER VIII. THE MAN FROM INDIA
¡¤ CHAPTER IX. THE SHADOW TELLS
¡¤ CHAPTER X. SPIRITS APPEAR
¡¤ CHAPTER XI. ROGUES AGREE
¡¤ CHAPTER XII. THE RAJAH'S SCHEME
¡¤ CHAPTER XIII. BELIEVERS AND SKEPTICS
¡¤ CHAPTER XIV. THE TRAP CLOSES
¡¤ CHAPTER XV. THE HAND OF THE SHADOW
¡¤ CHAPTER XVI. A THREAT IS MET
¡¤ CHAPTER XVII. IN CHICAGO
¡¤ CHAPTER XVIII. THE MAN FROM NEW YORK
¡¤ CHAPTER XIX. SLADE SIGNS
¡¤ CHAPTER XX. IMAM SINGH PREPARES
¡¤ CHAPTER XXI. THE SPIRIT APPEARS
¡¤ CHAPTER XXII. THE CLEAN-UP
CHAPTER I. THE LAUGH OF A GHOST
"I AM Little Flower!"
A thin, piping voice was babbling amid the eerie darkness. As the shrill tones ended, a spectral silence
prevailed.
"I am Little Flower!"
The repeated cry was like a weird echo of the first ghostly call. Then, when the call was no longer
uttered, a low, quavering question came from among the sitters in the darkened circle. "Have you a
message for me?"
It was a woman who made the query. Her tone was one that denoted a sincere believer. The listeners
waited. The voice of Little Flower broke the gloom.
"I have message from J.H.," it said. "He wish to speak to some one that is here. Some one he cannot see.
Some one who love him on the earthly plane. He say he is J.H. He say the one who love him will know -"
"I recognize J.H.," came the woman's voice. "I am the one to whom he would speak. Please, Little
Flower, please bring me his message -"
The beseeching voice ended with a choking sob. The woman in the circle could speak no more. She was
overcome with emotion.
The tenseness of the group continued. The low sobbing of the woman who had spoken was the only sign
that people were in this darkened room—waiting— listening.
"He say he will try to speak," babbled Little Flower. "He say he will try, because she wish. He say he feel
that she is worry. That she need him to tell -"
"I do need him, Little Flower," pleaded the woman. "Tell him that since he went to the spirit world I have
been alone. I need his advice."
"He is talking now," piped Little Flower. "He tell me more now. He say his name is J—J—it is like John,
he say -"
"That is right, Little Flower!" exclaimed the woman. "He has told you right. Oh, my dear Jonathan! He
knew so much about the world—he was so successful—and now, without him to tell me what to do -"
"He see your trouble," pattered Little Flower. "He say his name is Jonathan. He see you worry about the
money that you have. You are afraid you are not wise -"
"Jonathan knows!" bemoaned the woman. "He is speaking from the dead - from the spirit plane. Tell him
that I sold—that I did what he advised—but that now -"
The speaker paused, for the voice of Little Flower was commencing to talk again.
"Jonathan he speak to me," came the shrill utterance. "He say he understand. He tell you all through me.
He say you do well to sell the stock he say to sell."
"That is true, Little Flower!" gasped the sitter. "Only Jonathan could know about it. Speak to him again,
Little Flower. I know it is my Jonathan!"
"He say that you have sold, but you worry about how to buy. You are afraid without him to tell. You
wish to know what you must buy to be sure."
"That is true! That is true!" the woman exclaimed.
"He is on the spirit plane," continued Little Flower's voice, "but he can see earthly plane, too. He see
something that you must buy.
"Yes, he tell me you must buy. It will make you have much money. Very much money, he say. It is a long
name—too long for Little Flower to remember. She cannot understand such big word."
"Please, Little Flower! Please try to understand!"
"Little Flower she cannot say big words. But he say letters. Listen, while Little Flower try to say the
letters: C-O-R-N-A-D-O -"
"Coronado!"
"That is what he say—the same word John—Jonathan, he say. There is one more word. It start like the
first. Little Flower cannot say. She try to spell again: C-O-P -"
The piping voice broke and seemed confused. It became babbling and incoherent; then the spelling
recommenced, laboriously, letter by letter:
"C-O-P-P -"
"Copper!" gasped the eager woman. "Coronado Copper. Is that what he told you, Little Flower?"
"That is what he say. What you say. The same funny big words, that Little Flower find too big to say.
Jon-a-than—he say you must buy it quick. It must be quick—before it come too late -"
"Ask him how much to buy, Little Flower!" exclaimed the woman breathlessly. "How much!"
"I talk to him. Wait. He has hear. Through the ear of Little Flower, he has hear. I tell what he say."
The piping voice became still. There was a long, breathless pause. Then an incoherent jabber of the shrill
voice, and words that were meaningless. Finally, the tones of Little Flower:
"He is say one—one something—one—some-thing—some funny number, he say -"
AS the voice dwindled, and the breathlessness increased, a new sound pervaded the seance room. It
seemed to begin from nowhere, and grow to a terrifying crescendo.
It was the sound of an uncanny, mirthless laugh. A whispered laugh, it lost its eerie shudder and rose to a
loud, mocking peal that drowned the babbling of Little Flower.
Sharp gasps came from the members of the circle. The linked hands of the sitters trembled. That laugh
had sounded like a dooming knell uttered by some fierce power of another world!
The laugh died away; then came a low reverberation, as though the tones had echoed back from space
itself.
A creepy chilling silence followed. Then, Little Flower's babble resumed, incoherent and tremulous, no
longer certain!
"John—Jon-a-than—he try to say—he try to say—one—one-"
With terrifying suddenness, that awful laugh again burst through the darkness. Shorter, louder it sounded.
It broke off in the midst of a weird peal; then, after a second's pause, the same tones were duplicated
with less volume. A longer pause, and another mirthless peal. Then, after a heart-bursting wait, the
uncanny gibe came as a sinister whisper from corridors of nothingness!
Little Flower's last babble did not return. There was a moaning from the medium at the head of the circle.
A man's voice groaned.
"Lights! Lights! Turn on the lights!" came a tense whisper.
Some one complied. With the snap of the light switch, the room was flooded with illumination.
A circle of a dozen sitters was revealed. Both men and women were in the group, and their faces were
aghast. All eyes were centered toward the medium.
A sallow, nervous man, he lay slumped in his chair, with hands and feet bound as they had been arranged
at the beginning of the seance.
A heavy, hard-faced individual arose from the circle and approached the medium. A woman joined him,
and they managed to bring the medium from his trance. Still tied, he looked about, bewildered.
"Are you all right, Professor Jacques?" asked the man beside him.
The medium stared blankly, then recognized the man who had come to his aid.
"Yes, my friend," he said. "Yes, Mr. Harvey. I am all right. A terrible dream came to me in my trance.
Some dreadful, evil spirit seized my soul. It seemed to strike at my heart.
"I see you now, my friends. Ah—Mr. Castelle"—he was addressing a dignified, middle-aged man across
the circle—"I am glad that you were here. You were a skeptic. Now, you have seen how evil spirits can
act. Is it not terrible?"
Castelle nodded slowly. His face was as white and drawn as were the features of the others in that circle.
The medium, gaining new control of himself, glanced from person to person.
"Ah"—he was speaking to a frightened, elderly woman—"it was you to whom Little Flower was
speaking, was it not?"
"Yes, Professor Jacques."
"I am sorry that your message was interrupted. It was too bad, madam, that such should happen on your
first visit to my seance room. It is dangerous, sometimes, for me to gain messages for those who have
never been here before. Some evil is present tonight!"
He paused, as his eye, moving farther around the circle, rested on a tall, hawk-faced man who was
observing him with fixed, unchanging gaze. A frown appeared upon the forehead of Professor Jacques.
There was something about this silent individual that made the medium suspicious. The hawk-faced man,
alone of all those in the room, appeared unperturbed. His hands, long and slender, were resting on his
knees. His face was as firm as a stone chiseled countenance.
Professor Jacques was unable to meet those stern, unyielding eyes. The medium looked again at the
hands.
Upon one finger, Jacques observed a strange, mysterious gem, that glowed like an undying ember. Its
deep-purple rays changed to vivid crimson. That stone had the sparkle of living fire.
The medium fought against the fascination of that gem, and turned to the man beside him, the heavy-set
man whom he had addressed as Mr. Harvey.
"I think I am all right, now," he said. "I am glad that you are here, Mr. Harvey. You and these others
know and understand the dangers that confront a medium. I shall rely upon all my sincere believers"— he
swung his head around the circle, dodging the gaze of the hawk-eyed man—"to see that no one in this
group causes a disturbance.
"I shall try again to commune with Little Flower. But first, I shall seek the manifestation of a friendly spirit
that will protect us all against the evil forces."
HE nodded toward his bonds. The nearest sitters, now calm again, examined the knots to see that the
medium was securely tied. The hawk-faced man did not move from his chair. He sat still, with his bold
eyes directed straight toward the sallow medium.
"Join hands," ordered Professor Jacques. "The circle must be complete while I am within it. Will you, Mr.
Harvey, turn out the lights and then join the circle? Thank you."
The final statement was made while Harvey was on the way to comply with the request. The lights went
out, and the voice of Professor Jacques sounded solemnly in the darkness.
"My strength has returned," he said. "But before I again commune with Little Flower, I shall call upon
Temujin, the powerful, friendly spirit, to stand beside me. Often has he been of aid. Coming from the
spirit plane, he can strike mortals as well as evil spirits.
"Should any one leave this circle, I cannot be responsible for his safety. Hark!"—the medium's voice
became a prolonged moan—"I can hear the whisper of Temujin. He is beside me. I feel his powerful
presence -"
As the medium's voice became indistinguishable, a suppressed gasp went around the circle. Hovering in
front of the medium's form appeared a phosphorescent dagger—a sinister weapon wielded by an unseen
hand!
"I feel Temujin's presence," came the medium's intonation. "It is above me —beside me—protecting me!
Let mortals beware. Let them beware! No force of evil can enter this room. Bound spirits of the other
plane beware Temujin!"
The medium's voice became a groan. When that groaning ceased, all knew that the voice of Little Flower
would manifest itself.
The threatening, luminous dagger made hands tremble in the circle. Yet its presence was welcome, for
with it here, that unearthly mockery of before could not return.
The medium's groan was dying. The falsetto babble of Little Flower was wavering through the stillness.
The phosphorescent dagger was almost motionless as it shimmered slightly before the medium's head.
"I am Little Flower -"
The babble ended as the chilling tones of a creeping mockery gathered through the room. It seemed as
though some unseen powers were gathering the vibrations of the air together, to hurl them into one
tremendous taunt!
The rising sound increased above the subdued gasps of the sitters. It grew louder than the babble of Little
Flower's voice. It burst like the crest of a mighty wave—a startling, mirthless cry of wild, outlandish
laughter!
Chairs fell backward as sitters clambered to the floor. Screams came spontaneously from the lips of
frightened women.
The phosphorescent dagger trembled as though the unseen hand that held it was startled by that
reverberating cry. Then it flashed in a menacing swing, as though seeking a hidden enemy.
As the dagger wavered, something shot out of the darkness and gripped an arm beside the swinging
blade. A loud, harsh oath was uttered.
The dagger was whirling, trying to escape an unknown grasp, as though two mighty, invisible forces were
locked in supernatural conflict!
Now came a vicious curse from another voice. The mocking laughter burst forth in quick staccato as the
dagger rose high above the floor. Amid the laughter came the thud of a falling chair—wild curses—the
fierce sounds of a human struggle in the darkness.
The phosphorescent dagger whirled away in freedom. Striking from above, the blade swept downward
like a dash of meteoric light. Its mission of vengeance ended as the blade was lost in thick darkness.
A terrible scream came from beside the medium's chair. It sounded again, weakly, and ended in a
hideous coughing gasp.
Something thudded heavily, and the glowing handle of the dagger reappeared, poised motionless, only a
foot above the floor.
"Lights! Lights!" came the cry of the medium.
The frantic words were drowned with a new outburst of the demoniac laugh that had brought
consternation to the room. From the walls and ceiling, impish echoes resounded in the blackness. A host
of tiny tongues seemed to be pouring forth a message of sinister doom.
As the taunts died out, the lights came an. Castelle, white-faced, had reached the wall switch. The bright
illumination revealed a startling scene.
THE sitters were scattered about the room all in spots where they had fled for safety. Overturned chairs
bore witness to their mad scramble from the seance circle.
The medium, his sallow face now a reddish purple, was struggling with the ropes that bound him.
Amazing though these sights were, they could not compare with the sight in the center of the room.
There lay the body of Herbert Harvey, face upward—the handle of a dagger projecting from a spot
above the heart!
The man was dead—slain by that mysterious dagger, which no longer shone with phosphorescent light!
While astounded eyes gazed upon the horrible sight, fascinated by the pool of blood that gushed from the
slain form, a weird, uncanny echo sounded from an unknown spot.
It was the last response of the strange mockery that had preceded this frightful scene! No one knew from
whence it came. In the midst of that eerie sound, the medium's bulging eyes swept everywhere. His
struggle stopped as he sought the source of those jeering tones.
He could see no one laughing. Only wild, white faces were in view. They were faces of the startled
sitters. As before, these people were obsessed by fear.
From face to face, the medium glared, forgetful of the dead man on the floor, seeking only that hawklike
visage that he feared.
But the search was in vain. The man with the firm, unyielding eyes was gone. All that remained to tell of
his strange presence was the memory of a weird, sardonic laugh. A laugh so horrible that no one could
believe had come from human lips.
It was like the laugh of a ghost. A mockery so grotesque that only a being from another world could utter
it. An unearthly tone that even the cringing, faking medium believed had come from spirit lips.
Like the laugh of a ghost it had come; like a ghost, it had returned. A man had vanished with it, as though
he, too, belonged in some unknown realm of the universe.
Yet that laugh, ghostly though it had seemed, had come from human lips.
It was the laugh of The Shadow!
CHAPTER II. SPOOK OR SHADOW
MURDERED by a ghost!
Of all the strange deaths that Detective Joe Cardona had investigated, the case of Herbert Harvey,
stabbed to the heart with a keen-bladed knife, was the most mysterious.
To the ace of New York detectives, summoned to the seance room within half an hour after the murder,
the situation presented baffling angles that afforded no tangible solution.
After a night of witness quizzing, after an exhaustive search for clews, Cardona was back to the point
from which he started.
In the morning, the detective was summoned to the office of Police Commissioner Ralph Weston. This, in
itself, was sufficient to arouse Cardona's apprehensions. The police commissioner, despite his fastidious
tastes, was a keen analyst of crime.
Weston relied on Cardona, but he had a habit of criticizing the detective's pet theories on those rare
occasions when he and Cardona went into consultation.
Joe Cardona was a man inured to criticism; with most persons he was quick with a keen retort. But
Weston played on the detective's weaknesses.
Now, as Cardona approached the office, he felt that he was due to encounter a barrage of well-founded
disapproval.
Commissioner Weston, well-groomed and leisurely, smiled in friendly fashion when Cardona was
ushered into the office. The detective knew that lulling smile. He was not deceived by it.
He sat down on the opposite side of the glass-topped table, and watched Weston, while the
commissioner studied a newspaper. Finally, Weston laid the journal aside and looked at Cardona.
"Well?" questioned Weston.
"I know what you want to know, commissioner," answered Cardona solemnly. "This Harvey case.
Well"—he pointed to the newspaper with his thumb—"it's all there. For once, the tabloids have got it
straight!"
An expression of amazement came over the commissioner's face. Cardona repressed a grim smile. He
had dumfounded Commissioner Ralph Weston!
It was a full minute before the official recovered from his surprise. Then he thumped his fist on the
newspaper and stared at Cardona defiantly.
"Do you mean to say," demanded Weston, "that this tommyrot about a killer ghost is all that you have
discovered in this case? What has possessed you, Cardona?"
"Out of eleven persons present," declared Cardona, "ten bear witness to that fact. Only one offered a
different theory."
"Ten fools!" exclaimed the commissioner. "Ten ignorant, stupid fools who -"
"Have you read their names, commissioner?" asked Cardona mildly.
"Yes," admitted Commissioner Weston reluctantly.
"I found those people very excited," said Cardona, in a quiet tone, "but I wouldn't like to say that any one
of them was ignorant or stupid. They were very intelligent people, commissioner. People who have brains
as well as money."
Weston folded his hands and sat back in his chair. He surveyed Cardona thoughtfully. He nodded slowly.
"Start with the beginning, Cardona," he requested. "I don't want to miss any portion of this case."
"The meeting was going on up at the Hotel Dalban," began Cardona. "That's where this Professor Raoul
Jacques holds his seances, once a week, in a private room, off where they won't be disturbed.
"From what the witnesses say, most of the people were old customers. But they all didn't know
everybody else the professor says he's glad to admit strangers. Claims he can get messages for any one.
"Well, last night, he was getting a contact for a new member of the ring. A Mrs. Henderson—she's in the
list there, in the Daily Classic. Right in the middle of it, there was a lot of wild laughing. They got scared,
and put on the lights. The professor claimed an evil spirit was jinxing the affair."
"Was that when the murder occurred?" questioned Weston.
"No," replied Cardona. "They started in again. The professor claims he called for a good influence to fight
the bad. They saw a knife—a dagger— flashing in the air.
"Then came the laughs again. Some one yelled; they switched on the lights. There was Harvey,
dead—and the laugh was still coming from somewhere. It stopped right after the lights went on."
"Is that where they evolved the ghost theory?"
"Yes. The professor says that two spirits were in conflict, the good and the bad. He claims that Harvey
mixed in the mess, and got the worst of it."
"Preposterous!" exclaimed Weston. "A knife can't come out of nothingness, Cardona!"
"I AM telling you what the professor said, commissioner. I started a cross-examination on the spot.
When you quiz excitable women, they don't begin to cook up stories. I talked to them. Nine people
besides the professor all had the same story. They lay it on the ghost."
"The professor told his story first?"
"Yes, commissioner," said Cardona wisely. "That's the wrinkle. I figured just as you are figuring—that he
was keeping something back. If this spook stuff is a fake, he would be the one to know it. So he would
be the bird to lay it on. But that part doesn't hold."
"Why?"
"The professor couldn't have done it. He was tied to a fare-you-well. Get this, commissioner. Some one
gave the alarm. There were two house detectives there inside of three minutes—good men, both of them.
They pay for good men at the Dalban.
"Nobody went out of that room after they got there. They watched the professor. He was tied in his
chair—and when I examined the knots, they were plenty tight. He didn't have a chance to get out of
them—let alone get back in again."
"You're sure of that, Cardona?" the commissioner queried.
"Positive. It took us five minutes to get him loose. Even a wizard like Houdini was couldn't have got out
of that chair, let alone this professor. He's no weakling, but he isn't husky."
"I don't like his story," persisted Weston.
"Neither do I," returned Cardona. "I think he's stalling. But it's not because he did anything—as I said
before, he couldn't have."
"What is his purpose, then?"
"That spirit racket is his living, commissioner. With nine other people laying it on the spirits, is he going to
say different?
"The point is this, commissioner. He knows some real person did that job— not a ghost. But he doesn't
know who the party is. Get the angle? What happens to his reputation if he lets that out?"
"I understand," said Weston, nodding. "You have landed something there, Cardona. The man must be a
fraud—I believe most of these mediums are fakes. But with this murder happening right beside him—
while he was bound and helpless -"
"That's just it," interposed Cardona, as Weston became speculative. "But don't give me too much credit
until I tell you where I got the tip. I've got something up my sleeve, commissioner."
"Yes?"
"Yes, sir. And you won't find it in the newspapers, either! With ten witnesses shouting that a ghost was
the killer, there wasn't much chance for the one who said different crashing into print, was there?"
"Ah! There was another -"
"Commissioner," declared Cardona gravely, "there were twelve people in that room when I got there.
Twelve, including the dead man.
"The professor had his say. All the others together or apart—said the same. At first, that was. But later
on, I got one man by himself."
"Who was that?"
"Benjamin Castelle, a big-money man. His name's on the list. You've got to figure this, commissioner. All
those folks believe in spooks except Castelle."
"Ah! He is a skeptic?"
"Well, he thinks the professor is pretty much of a square shooter. Castelle says he's heard him tell some
mighty remarkable things.
"But when it comes to ghosts slinging daggers, Castelle draws the line. He saw something there to-night
that none of the rest of them noticed."
"At the time of the murder?" asked Weston.
"No. Before. I told you that there were twelve in the room, including the dead man. Well, Castelle tells
me that there were thirteen!"
"He is sure of it?" The commissioner showed his interest.
"He counted them. The time the lights came on," Cardona went on. "He said the place seemed really
spooky, after they heard the first laugh. He's a bit superstitious, Castelle is. He was looking around, and
just naturally he counted noses. Thirteen there—something he swears he is right about."
"Then the thirteenth person -"
"May be the murderer!"
WESTON stared reflectively. He seemed to be visualizing the scene as he had read of it, and as
Cardona had described it. He looked at Cardona questioningly.
"What became of the odd person?" he asked.
"He must have left," returned Cardona. "Castelle isn't sure, but he thinks there were seven men and six
women in the place. There were six men and six women—Harvey included—when the house detectives
got there. That makes an odd man in the crowd."
"How could he have disappeared?"
"There's a mystery," declared Cardona. "It's pretty near as bad as the ghost theory. When he went, he
must have slid out the door just after the lights came on.
"He had a straight hallway ahead of him. No doors on either side. He might have slipped along to the
balcony above the lobby, then down the stairs at the side.
"Castelle grabbed a telephone, and called for help right after the lights came on. The house men were
there mighty quick. But when you're dealing with an uncertain time element -"
"It would have been possible, however?" interjected Weston. "Possible for a man to have left by the
hall?"
"Possible, yes," agreed the detective. "That was the only way. One door to the room. Windows with
locked shutters. Out through the hall— but if a man made his get-away there, he must have been a
wonder. Nevertheless, Castelle has given me the tip. I figure he must be right."
"About the people in the room," began Weston.
"Commissioner," said Cardona, "there is not one suspect in the lot. Peas in a pod, all except Castelle.
He's a skeptic as you say, but you can't hook up any motive for him."
"He speaks of an extra man. That might be a blind -"
"Not at all," said Cardona emphatically. "Castelle is talking straight. If he wasn't trying to help, he would
have taken the easy route sided with the rest of them. He's right—absolutely.
"There was another man in that room, and he made his get-away. When we find him, we'll have the
murderer!"
Weston picked up the newspaper. He made a study of the names in the list. He started a series of
pointed questions regarding the various individuals. Cardona answered each query in methodical fashion.
Weston dropped the newspaper and extended his hand.
It was a triumph for Joe Cardona—a glorious finish to this conference which he had approached so
摘要：

THEGHOSTMAKERSMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2002BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com¡¤CHAPTERI.THELAUGHOFAGHOST¡¤CHAPTERII.SPOOKORSHADOW¡¤CHAPTERIII.CARDONARECEIVESAPRESENT¡¤CHAPTERIV.LITTLEFLOWERSPEAKSAGAIN¡¤CHAPTERV.THROUGHTHEWINDOW¡¤CHAPTERVI.DEATHBYACCIDENT¡¤CHAPTERVII.ANITAMARIEADVISES¡¤CHA...

展开>> 收起<<
Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 016 - The Ghost Makers.pdf

共105页,预览21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：105 页 大小：597.45KB 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
/ 105
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注