Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 243 - Room of Doom

VIP免费

2024-12-22 0 0 191.41KB 79 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

ROOM OF DOOM

by Maxwell Grant

As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," April 1, 1942.

Murder or suicide? - that was the question The Shadow had to answer as he

began his investigation of the Room of Doom!

CHAPTER I

DEATH ENTERS

THE room that Arthur Aldriff termed his "den" was well suited to the

description. It was a large room, furnished with a variety of curios and

trophies that marked its owner as a man of many pursuits.

Looking in from the door, the square room showed a fireplace on the

right;

above it, a mantel which bore a very ornamental clock, flanked by a pair of

porcelain vases. On one end of the mantel was a model of a trim sloop; on the

other, an ancient English drinking horn.

Above the mantel a mounted moose head gazed with glittering glass eyes;

just beneath the stuffed head was the rifle that had killed the moose, set in

horizontal rack. Flanking the stuffed head were two other plaques, mounted

with

fish that Aldriff had caught.

At the left of the room was Aldriff's desk. Whenever he looked up, he

could

see the moose head; but the creature with the glass eyes did not stare back at

him. Instead, it admired its own reflection in a large and ornamental mirror

that hung behind the desk. Aldriff valued the mirror highly; he considered its

gold filigreed frame to be a fine example of Florentine craftsmanship.

On each side of the mirror were bookcases filled with beautifully bound

volumes that Aldriff never opened. When he indulged in intellectual pursuits,

preferred chess. The evidence stood in a little nook set in the far wall of

the

room.

The nook was a solid-walled cubbyhole, not more than six feet in width

and

depth and only a trifle higher. It contained two light chairs that faced each

other; between them, a chess table with inlaid squares of ebony and ivory.

Chessmen of the same materials were standing on the board, set for a

game.

All that Aldriff needed was a rival player, and he seldom found one. He was

too

skillful for most players of his acquaintance.

There were other objects in the room: framed paintings, larger vases than

those on the mantel, some ornamental lamps, and a silver narghile or Oriental

water pipe. The narghile was a gift from the dealer who had sold Aldriff the

magnificent rugs: Samarkands, Kashgars and Baluchistans, which overlapped one

another all over the floor of the den.

Of course, the room was also furnished with easy chairs, footstools, ash

stands, and such, which made it very comfortable for guests. In a near corner,

at the right of the door, was a special case containing cups and medals that

Aldriff had won in yacht racing, golf tournaments, and pistol competition.

Aldriff kept his golf clubs in that corner, along with a revolver rack,

which contained three pistols and a leather folder holding the permits for

them.

He would have kept his sailing yacht in the room, too, had there been space

for

it. Space lacking, the yacht was moored in Long Island Sound, not far from

Aldriff's home; but the ship model on the mantel was an exact replica of the

craft in question.

One thing in the room annoyed Aldriff. It was a filing cabinet in the

corner to the left of the door. A very cumbersome, unsightly thing, that

cabinet, but it was necessary in Aldriff's business, so it had to stay.

Nevlin, Aldriff's secretary, had made the bright suggestion of putting it

in the corner behind the door, which was something of a help, but it was too

big

for the door to hide.

So Aldriff had decided to buy a screen to cover the filing cabinet, and

Nevlin had located one, a very fine Chinese screen, with gold-leaf decorations

that would go well with the Florentine mirror.

Such, then, was Aldriff's den; in the near corners, trophy case and

filing

cabinet; in the far wall, the nook with the chairs and chess table. On the

right, fireplace, mantel with its clock and other ornaments, and the presiding

moose. On the left, mirror, bookshelves and desk, with Mr. Aldriff in the

chair.

ARTHUR ALDRIFF was a thickset man, with a roundish face that should have

been jolly, but wasn't. Instead, his features were deep-lined with worry,

which

even furrowed the forehead beneath his thin gray hair.

He wasn't even looking at the costly decorations with which he had

stocked

his den; nor did he seem at all delighted by the fact that he was soon to

receive the handsome screen that would make the setting perfect.

There were two windows in the room, one at each side of the chess nook.

They were closed and heavily clamped; they had bars on the outside, as a

protection for Aldriff's treasures.

Through those windows came dying rays of sunlight, cut off by the high

hedge that surrounded the grounds. The fading glow cast long shadows of the

bars

across Aldriff's desk, and at sight of those parallel streaks, the man winced.

The shadows of other bars were creeping too close for Aldriff's peace of

mind. Prison bars, that wouldn't display themselves only at sunset, but would

outside his window, day and night, for years to come.

It wasn't a happy picture - the thought of leaving this fine mansion,

with

its lavishly furnished den, for a tiny cell in a Federal penitentiary.

Reaching into a desk drawer, Aldriff brought out a metal dispatch box,

unlocked it and brought out a batch of papers. He turned on a desk lamp to

eradicate the streaks that worried him, and began to look through the papers.

At moments, his worry changed to an expression of sudden shrewdness, only

to lapse back again. However, his eyes were taking on a scheming sparkle, when

he heard sudden footsteps at the door.

He looked up, somewhat startled, to see a girl standing in the doorway.

She

was an attractive girl - tall, slender, and with a vigor that spoke of outdoor

life. Her face was flushed by the wind; her brown hair had been blown into

stray

waifs that she was brushing back from her equally brown eyes.

But she wasn't worried about making herself look prettier. Her expression

revealed a single emotion: determination.

"I'm Joan Kelburn," the girl announced, in a firm contralto. "I'm sorry

barge in this way, Mr. Aldriff, but I want to talk to you about my uncle. I

must

see you alone."

Rising, Aldriff waved an invitation for Joan to take a chair. Approaching

the door, he motioned at a stodgy butler who had followed the girl from the

front door. The gesture meant for the butler to go away, which he did. Aldriff

closed the door.

"And now, Miss Kelburn?"

"I'll come right to the point, Mr. Aldriff," stated Joan. "It's about

that

stock my uncle is selling. You're in back of it."

"If you mean Pharco Stores," acknowledged Aldriff, "I have guaranteed the

necessary assets. The Pharco chain will be a group of ultramodern drugstores

extending from coast to coast -"

"I've heard Uncle Smead give his sales talk," interrupted Joan. "You

don't

need to repeat it, Mr. Aldriff. I want to know where the money is coming from

start those stores that people are buying stock in. Will it be Magnax money?"

Aldriff gave a quick negative headshake and waved his hands along with

it.

"No, no, Miss Kelburn!" he exclaimed. "The Magnax Corp. manufactures

drugs,

but does not retail them. True, I am one of the three men controlling Magnax -

but the other two, Lloyd Dulther and Hubert Sigby, know nothing about my

interest in Pharco. I planned Pharco as my own enterprise."

"And you can make good on your million dollar promises?"

"I always make good on my promises, Miss Kelburn." Aldriff's worried

expression vanished when he smiled. "Rest assured that everything will turn

out

precisely as planned."

THERE was a rap at the door. Aldriff opened it, to admit his secretary,

Nevlin, a small, officious man who was superintending the moving of a light

but

very large crate, which contained the Chinese screen.

The crate was very thin, but it was at least six feet long and

considerably

wider. The servants who carried it had to tilt it cater-cornered to squeeze it

through the large door.

"How many sections are there to that screen?" exclaimed Aldriff. "A

dozen?"

"Only three, Mr. Aldriff," returned Nevlin briskly. "And now, sir -"

He went to the nook at the end of the room, brought out the chess table

and

put it down halfway to the fireplace. He was going back to get the chairs,

when

Aldriff wanted to know what he was about.

"I'm clearing the nook," stated Nevlin. "The servants can move the filing

cabinet in there, and I shall set up the screen in front of it."

"And ruin my chess nook?" demanded Aldriff. "Outrageous, Nevlin!"

"But you haven't played chess lately, sir."

"That has nothing to do with it! Leave the cabinet where it is, and put

the

screen around it."

Nevlin gave a shrug and dismissed the servants. Using a hammer, he began

open the crate and cut the strings around the packing that contained the

screen.

Since Nevlin required half the floor for the operation, Aldriff ushered Joan

out

from the den.

They came into a large hall, from which he led her through a lighted

reception room to a sun porch on the far side of the house. All during the

trip,

Aldriff was repeating that there was no need to worry.

"You're sure?" inquired Joan, finally, her brown eyes very quizzical.

"Uncle Smead is leaving by plane in an hour, for a long trip. He wouldn't tell

me where he was going."

"He is taking a business trip," explained Aldriff. "Nothing more. A

business trip to the coast, at my suggestion. Ah!" Looking from the sun porch,

Aldriff saw the lights of cars coming in by the dusk-laden driveway. "My

dinner

guests are arriving. I shall introduce you to them and you will join us, Miss

Kelburn."

Outside, the swing of lights produced long, black streaks on the lawn.

Streaks cast by trees and shrubs into shapes that seemed alive. One stretch of

blackness still moved when the lights had passed it, but by then its motion

was

invisible, for it had merged with the thickened dusk.

It arrived close to the sun porch and paused there, below the level of

the

lights. A slight, reflected glow showed the shape in vague outline. It had

human

form - that of a being cloaked in black, with a slouch hat on its head. A

hawkish silhouette was cast upon the shrubbery beneath the windows, as this

creature of the night raised his head and shoulders.

He was The Shadow!

Strange master who hunted down schemes of crime, The Shadow did not

confine

his activities to the lower strata of crookdom. His motto was "Justice for

all,"

and when he detected the beginnings of vast swindles, he ferreted out their

perpetrators.

Arthur Aldriff and his chain-store scheme constituted a case in point.

The

Shadow had noted huge sales of Pharco stock, with no signs of any chain stores

in operation. Having linked Smead Kelburn, the stock promoter, with Arthur

Aldriff, the drug manufacturer, The Shadow was out to learn just how far

Aldriff

intended to back the stock that Kelburn peddled.

ALDRIFF and Joan were turning back into the house, to meet the arriving

guests. Moving from the deserted sun porch, The Shadow heard a stir from the

shrubbery at the rear. He caught a short glimpse of a stocky figure moving

around the corner of the porch. Immediately, The Shadow took up the trail of

the

other prowler.

The man was easy to follow because of his stumbles, though the darkness

was

thick enough to hide him. He went around the rear wing of the mansion, with

The

Shadow on the trail. There, the fellow must have found familiar ground, for

his

clumsy methods ended.

Moving along the far side of the house, The Shadow soon recognized that

the

trail was gone, along with the man who had made it.

The prowler had either ducked into the house itself or had made a quick

dash across a short stretch of lawn to the shelter of a high hedge. Choosing

the

more important of the two possibilities, The Shadow probed along the side wall

of the house and came upon a door, which opened when he tried it.

Inside were a few dark steps, a portion of a vestibule. To his left, The

Shadow saw the door of Aldriff's den, a stairway just beyond it. To the right

was the main reception hall, well lighted, where Aldriff was introducing Joan

several guests. They turned about as the door of the den opened. Nevlin was on

the threshold, announcing that the new screen was on display.

The group came toward The Shadow, but he remained right where he was,

totally hidden in the darkness. He saw them enter the den and go around the

door, to admire the new screen.

Easing out from cover, The Shadow gained a brief glimpse into the room.

After nodding his approval of the screen that The Shadow could not see,

Aldriff

turned to Nevlin.

"You forgot to return the chess table to its nook," said Aldriff. "No,

never mind" - he shook his head as Nevlin made a half turn into the room - "I

always arrange it myself. Besides" - Aldriff's lips tightened grimly - "I

shall

stay in the den a while. I have a matter to decide upon, before I rejoin my

guests."

It was Aldriff who ushered the guests from the den, while The Shadow was

merging back into the darkness of the vestibule. Joan came with the group, and

Nevlin followed, closing the door behind him. From the heavy click, it sounded

as if the door had latched automatically from the other side.

Arthur Aldriff was alone; but a knock on that door would probably summon

him. The difficulty was to reach the door, for the guests were remaining in

the

hall to greet others who arrived. The Shadow was waiting on the chance that

they

would go into the reception room, on the other side of the hallway, in which

case the route would be clear.

All the while, The Shadow was watching the door of Aldriff's den. Others

were glancing toward it, too, particularly Joan Kelburn, whose eyes showed

increasing anxiety as the minutes passed.

Those minutes were slow but they were few. During that time space, it

would

have been impossible for anyone to have opened or closed Aldriff's door

without

the action being noted.

Then, timed by a freak of chance to a lull of conversation, came the

sudden

sounds that startled the guests in the hallway. The Shadow heard them quite as

plainly, for he was close to the den door.

Three sounds, in a slow-motion sequence, each giving the effect that

another was to come, until the third struck a final note.

The first sound was the muffled report of a revolver; the second, the

crash

of a table, accompanied by an odd clatter; the third was the thud of a falling

body upon a thick-rugged floor.

Arthur Aldriff was no longer alone in the locked room. Death had entered,

to join him.

CHAPTER II

THE SEALED ROOM

IT was Nevlin who called for order among the startled, horrified guests.

There were nearly a dozen of them by this time, and men were giving excited

exclamations, while women were on the verge of screams - with one exception.

Joan Kelburn was moving toward the den, a fixed expression on her face.

She

felt that Arthur Aldriff had cheated her of the purpose that had brought her

here: the vindication of her uncle. If Aldriff still had life, the girl

intended

to force a confession of his own guilt from his lips.

It was Joan's move, as much as any other, that prompted Nevlin to

efficient

action. He sprang past Joan, reached the door and stood with his back against

it, calling for others either to join him quietly and promptly or to go to the

reception room across the hall and calm themselves there.

Servants were appearing from other parts of the house, and Nevlin snapped

orders at them. He told them to go outside and make sure that no one had

broken

in by one of the den windows; then to stay there and keep watch, until

summoned

back into the house.

Fortunately, some of the guests were joining Nevlin before the servants

had

time to start. Since people were blocking the route to the vestibule from

which

The Shadow watched, the servants chose other ways to go outside, leaving The

Shadow in comfortable possession of his convenient lookout post.

Nevlin was rattling at the knob of the den door. Finding it latched, he

announced ruefully that Aldriff had the only key. The guests suggested

breaking

it down, but Nevlin preferred to pound away, shouting through the door in hope

of an answer from Aldriff.

None coming, guests hurried away to find implements for breaking down the

door.

Two guests met a servant coming in to report that the bars of the windows

were still tight in place, the panes of glass unbroken, and the shades drawn.

The windows were well up from the ground, but the servant suggested breaking

them.

He produced a fire ax from the closet under the stairs, and the guests,

considering Nevlin in charge, decided to ask the secretary if he wanted the

windows smashed.

At sight of the ax, Nevlin seized it.

"What would be gained by smashing the windows?" he demanded. "You might

see

Mr. Aldriff, but you couldn't help him. We'd have to tear down the house walls

to get those bars out of place!"

Turning to the door, Nevlin poised the ax and took a hard slash at a

panel.

The wood was stout, but the ax blade cracked it. Another slash, and Nevlin

splintered away a chunk of wood. He chopped again, widening the hole.

Motioning the others back, Nevlin tried cautiously to insert his hand

through the splintered space. He drew it back as if stung, expressing the fear

that gripped him.

"There can't be anyone in there except Mr. Aldriff," began Nevlin. "And

yet

He shook his head; pushed his hand toward the hole again, and found that

wouldn't go through. He was stepping back for another slice with the ax, when

Joan pressed him aside. Unsnapping the sleeve of her dress, the girl bared her

slim arm to the shoulder and worked her hand through the narrow space.

Others watched, breathless, admiring her courage, as Joan stretched her

arm

full length and moved her hand within the door until she found the knob.

Turning the knob, she warded back the others, while she withdrew her arm.

Flinging the door inward, Jean was the first to cross the threshold. Her face

was grim when she saw exactly what she expected.

Aldriff was lying dead upon the floor. He was across the room, near the

nook. The two light chairs were turned askew, facing each other at an angle,

allow room for the chess table.

But Aldriff hadn't put the table where it belonged. He had been beside it

when the shot was fired; in falling, he had overturned it, sending the

chessmen

scattering. Finally, he had struck the floor almost beside the table.

In Aldriff's hand was his favorite revolver, the weapon that had caused

his

death. The case was obviously suicide, and Joan, wanting no one to doubt the

point, turned promptly to Nevlin.

"THOSE chairs are just as you left them," declared Joan. "You moved them

around when you took out the chess table. You can see for yourself that Mr.

Aldriff was going to put the table back, when he changed his mind and shot

himself, instead. This is suicide, and I can tell you why!"

Her eyes were blazing at the rest, along with Nevlin. But the secretary;

staring toward Aldriff's body, only shook his head.

"I can't believe it," said Nevlin slowly. "At least, I can't be sure just

yet. Please stand back, Miss Kelburn."

As Joan complied, Nevlin began to peer at every section of the room,

pointing, so that others would do the same. The nook, of course, was empty,

its

flimsy chairs offering no place of concealment. The fireplace caught Nevlin's

eye and he urged the servant to look into it.

Crawling into the fireplace, the servant came out again, shaking his

head.

"The damper is closed, Mr. Nevlin," he said. "And anyway, the chimney is

very narrow.

"I remember," nodded Nevlin. "Take a look behind the desk; but be

careful.

Someone may be crouching there."

The servant hesitated, so two guests stretched across the desk and made

sure that no one was behind it. Nevlin glanced at the near corner on the

right,

and so did others. That corner was empty. Even a midget could not have hidden

behind the small trophy case.

Someone suggested the bookshelves. Nevlin shook his head.

"They're flush against the wall," he said. "No chance of hiding there. We

have only one place left. Will you two gentlemen come from the desk and remove

the screen from the corner behind the door?"

Glistening with its gilded decorations, the new screen commanded all

attention. Shown plainly by the strong light from the desk lamp, the

three-fold

screen looked flimsy; nevertheless, it could be hiding something more than a

filing cabinet.

There might be a murderer behind it!

Two men crept toward the screen, one from each side. As they were

reaching

for it, there was a quick flash of light from the doorway of the room. One man

gave the screen a quick shove and dived away; the other man caught the screen

his arms, flattened the folds together, and landed on it like a boy starting a

sled ride.

Each man went in an opposite direction, and Nevlin, seized by the general

hysteria, drove between them, swinging the fire ax.

Nevlin's blow landed with a clang that nearly floored him. He had smashed

deep dent in the only object that occupied the final corner: the metal filing

cabinet. Dropping the ax, Nevlin yanked drawers from the cabinet as though he

expected to find a killer hiding in sections. With the ax, he prodded the

interior of the cabinet.

No one could have been there, because the drawers had filled the cabinet.

Nevlin's gestures with the ax brought clangs from the cabinet's thin metal

walls. The cabinet, itself, was in the very corner, so no one could be behind

it.

Again, a light flashed from the doorway. Turning, Nevlin saw the reason.

Among the guests was a society reporter, who was taking flashlight pictures.

No one objecting, the photographer made another shot directly into the

room, then walked toward Aldriff's body, turned around and took a flash of the

doorway where the witnesses were clustered.

Noting annoyed looks on the faces of the guests, the photographer

shouldered through them and waved goodbye. Some persons wanted to call him

back,

but Nevlin shook his head. Pictures were a good idea; they proved that the

room

was empty, and that the searchers had probed into every possible hiding place.

Behind the group in the doorway, the hall looked gloomy, as well it

might.

A shape had emerged from the nearby vestibule, to block off the hallway light.

Peering past heads and shoulders, The Shadow studied the room.

BOTH Nevlin and Joan had been ardent in their search - the secretary

anxious to prove there was a hidden murderer; the girl desirous of

establishing

that there was none.

Near the trophy case, Joan sat in a chair that matched the flimsy ones in

the nook, and suggested that Nevlin count noses, to make sure no stranger was

among them. Nevlin turned to the doorway and tallied off the witnesses.

Rather than have the secretary count one too many, The Shadow dipped and

sidled back to the vestibule. He was turning toward the den again, when Nevlin

came out, accompanied by Joan. Others made way for them to pass, then followed

them.

The little group was blocking The Shadow's view of the reception hall,

when

a halt came. Stopping squarely in their tracks, people began to raise their

hands. Slowly, fearfully, they were backing away, returning into the room

where

Aldriff lay dead.

Why?

All were through the doorway, with the exception of Joan and Nevlin, when

The Shadow saw the cause of their retreat. A masked man was confronting them

with a gun; crouched, his body had a thickset look. His voice was forced and

ugly, as he made threatening gestures with his revolver.

Aldriff's death could well be defined as proven suicide, in a room where

murderer could possibly be hidden. But the threat of murder was looming over

others, the very witnesses who could swear that Aldriff had died by his own

hand.

Why this masked man, entering boldly by the front door, was anxious to

enter the sealed room of death, was a strange question in itself. Yet those

who

were shrinking, fearful for their lives, were not in the serious plight that

they supposed.

In the offing was a black-cloaked friend who could save them. No killer

ever lived who could commit open murder in the presence of The Shadow!

CHAPTER III

TWISTED FLIGHT

HIS own gun ready, The Shadow held a bead on the masked man, as the

latter

reached the open door of Aldriff's den. A single spurt from The Shadow's .45

might have sprawled the masked menace on the hallway floor. But the chance was

not a certainty.

The masked man was dealing with bolder customers than those who had first

cringed from his gun.

Joan and Nevlin were backing through the doorway, side by side, and both

showed reluctance. A single misstep on the masked man's part, and one or the

other - perhaps both - would be grabbing for the threatening gun. The Shadow

could not risk a shot that might be intercepted by a wrong target...

He let the three go through the doorway; as they went, the masked man was

between the others, actually using his gun to prod Joan and Nevlin. As soon as

they were in the room, The Shadow took swift strides from the vestibule,

intending to challenge the masked man from the doorway of the den.

One look into the room in question revealed that such a move would still

dangerous to innocent lives.

The masked man had actually moved into the group itself. He was at the

desk, clamping one hand on a box of papers that lay there. He'd overstepped

himself, but had corrected the mistake in time. Half turned, he was swinging

his

gun, motioning persons back. His voice gave an ugly croak.

"So Aldriff got rid of himself." The words came through the draped

handkerchief that hid the masked man's lips. "I had a good idea he'd do it.

That's why I came for these."

He rattled the papers in the box; narrowed his eyes through the slits in

the handkerchief.

"I'm taking this box with me," he announced. "Anybody that wants to keep

Aldriff company can try to stop me!"

A threatening sweep of his gun and the masked marauder was turning toward

the doorway, where he was certain to be stopped, in a very permanent fashion,

the moment he crossed its threshold. The nose of an automatic was like a

magnet

in The Shadow's fist, actually about to draw its prey.

All the people in the room were dropping back, with hands well raised,

Joan

and Nevlin included. The girl's eyes were snapping furiously, but there wasn't

thing that she could do.

Nevlin's gaze, though nervous, showed an opposite impression. Half behind

Aldriff's desk, Nevlin was in the right place to accomplish something, and he

knew it.

Nevlin's foot was out of sight when it hooked the cord of the desk lamp.

Faking a cringe away from the masked man's gun, the secretary took a long back

step with almost the speed of a kick. It pulled the cord and the lamp came

with

it, jumping the edge of the desk and crashing to the floor.

The masked man was lunging at Nevlin as the lamp struck, and the

secretary

was ducking behind the desk. Others were grabbing for the marauder; his gun,

when it spouted, sent its shots upward.

It was shooting so fast that its bullets were exhausted in mere seconds,

and The Shadow, rather than disturb the wild aim, waited where he was until

they

finished.

Then, with a laugh that promised a quick capture, The Shadow started a

lunge into the fray. The laugh was not heard, nor was the lunge completed.

Hands grabbed The Shadow from the hallway. Wheeling in their clutch, he

found himself confronted by servants who had been coming in by the vestibule.

They heard the shots; they saw The Shadow. Their conclusion was wrong, but it

did not help.

There was only one course for The Shadow: to shake off these misguided

opponents and leave the masked man to those in Aldriff's den.

AS for The Shadow's laugh, it was drowned by the sudden smashes within

the

room itself. The masked man, finding his gun empty, was grabbing up the

furniture, and others were returning the favor. The darkness helped the

marauder, and be was making the most of it. The excited guests were mistaking

one another for the man they wanted to grab.

Chairs were smashed, ash stands flung, bookshelves overturned from the

wall. Hands seized the big mirror from in back of Aldriff's desk. As someone

cried: "There he goes!" the Florentine piece was hurled toward the chess nook,

across the prone body of Aldriff. The crash it made was terrific, glass

breaking

in a series of smashes.

Joan, for one, dropped into a corner when she saw the mirror go. It

missed

the masked man, for he suddenly dashed from beside the desk, carrying the box

papers with him.

Nevlin grabbed at him, like a terrier worrying a fox. In his desperate

flight, the masked man forgot the importance of the box he carried, for he

turned and flung it at Nevlin's head. Another man sprang from the depths of

the

room and grabbed the marauder near the doorway.

They looked as though they were playing leapfrog when they went out

through

the hallway, with Nevlin close behind them, yelling for the rest to come.

Meanwhile, The Shadow had whipped into the vestibule, carrying the

attacking servants with him. He wanted darkness, so they wouldn't remember him

too well, and he preferred space where he could deal with them lightly. There

were only three of them, and they showed no skill at cooperation.

The Shadow tripped one going down the steps to the side door. Clutching

another, he slammed him hard against the third, who fell away. The second man

managed to preserve his grip and tighten it, but The Shadow settled that

matter,

a short way from the house.

With a sudden drop, a back flip, and a well-planted foot, he sent the

tough

servant off on a triple somersault across the lawn.

On his feet again, The Shadow made for the hedge, gave a defiant laugh

and

crashed into the branches, only to wheel away again. The rallying servants

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

ROOMOFDOOMbyMaxwellGrantAsoriginallypublishedin"TheShadowMagazine,"April1,1942.Murderorsuicide?-thatwasthequestionTheShadowhadtoanswerashebeganhisinvestigationoftheRoomofDoom!CHAPTERIDEATHENTERSTHEroomthatArthurAldrifftermedhis"den"waswellsuitedtothedescription.Itwasalargeroom,furnishedwithavarietyo...

展开>> 收起<<

Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 243 - Room of Doom.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！

Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 243 - Room of Doom

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: