Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 147 - The Crimson Phoenix

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THE CRIMSON PHOENIX
by Maxwell Grant
As originally published in The Shadow Magazine, April 1st, 1938.
The Crimson Phoenix entangles The Shadow in claws dripping with the
poison
of international intrigue!
CHAPTER I
TEN GRAND
A MAN was walking slowly along the fashionable section of West End
Avenue.
The morning sunlight was not very strong, yet this furtive little man kept his
hat brim turned down as though to protect weak eyes from the slanting
sunshine.
His eyes were neither weak nor nearsighted. On the contrary, they blazed
with a ruthless light. He knew he was about to do something that would place
his
life in terrific peril. But his avarice and the itching desire for ten
thousand
dollars was stronger than his fear. He intended to deal himself into a grim
criminal game in which he was convinced he held all the aces.
The name of this broad-shouldered little crook was Leo Barry.
The street sign at the corner was marked Du Pont Place. Leo Barry turned
into a quiet street that was, if anything, more fashionable than West End
Avenue. Except for a florist shop on the corner, there was no evidence of
business or trade. Private dwellings lined Du Pont Place, the homes of people
of
wealth and social distinction.
That is, all except one.
Midway down the block was a house owned by the most notorious racketeer
in
Manhattan: "Duke" Duncan!
Duncan lived there openly, sneeringly. He had thought it a great joke to
house himself and his henchmen in such a spot. He had purchased the property
through a dummy. He owned it free and clear, paid his taxes promptly and
laughed
at the real-estate association and the police.
Well-known killers conferred with Duke Duncan and his lieutenant, "Snap"
Carlo. A staff of shrewd lawyers took care of the legal end for Duke. He and
his
gang had turned racketeering into a fine art. A score of brutal murders had
cut
down every trace of underworld opposition to Duke.
It was this powerful figure of crime that Leo Barry was planning to
visit.
He was going to force a private interview for himself. More daring than that,
he
was going to put the heat on Duke Duncan. To the tune of ten thousand dollars!
There was a hollow post at the foot of the front stoop next to Duncan's
brownstone headquarters. Leo Barry crouched warily as he passed it. With a
quick
flick of his hand, he drew a gun out of a shoulder holster and dropped the
weapon inside the hollow post.
He breathed a shuddering sigh as he walked unarmed up the steps to Duke's
front door. He was taking a desperate chance. But to make his impudent
blackmail
demand with a gun on him would have been absolute suicide!
His jaw clenched stubbornly as he thought about the document in his
inside
pocket. He rang the bell.
The door was opened by a butler. The servant said nothing at all. He
merely
closed the door behind the caller and preceded him along a magnificently
furnished foyer.
At one side of the hall, Leo could see a billiard room through an open
door. Half a dozen well-dressed men were knocking the polished balls about.
None
of them took the trouble to glance up as Leo passed the doorway.
But there was one other man who did. He was seated on a chair near the
foot
of the staircase. At his elbow was a small table on which rested a telephone
and
a .45 automatic. He looked like the mildest man who ever breathed - except for
the cold, restless glitter of his eyes.
Leo recognized him instantly. He was Tommy Parr, the most trusted and
ruthless of Duke Duncan's three personal bodyguards.
PARR came forward so noiselessly that he seemed to float on the balls of
his feet. The .45 was gripped in his lean fingers. Parr stepped directly in
front of the visitor.
"I don't know you, pal. What's your name?"
"Leo Barry."
"Want to see somebody?"
"Yeah. Duke Duncan."
Parr grinned by pulling his lips briefly away from even white teeth. His
free hand took ten seconds to make sure that Barry was unarmed.
"You got an appointment with Duke?"
"No."
"O.K. Scram!"
Leo Barry's face was very pale, but he stood his ground.
"You better call Duke on that phone," he muttered. "It'll be tough for
him
if he refuses to see me. Tell him I want to talk to him, personally! About a
murder job - the one for which a guy named Jack Skelly is waiting to die in
the
electric chair!"
Parr's face was suddenly like a cold slab of stone. His finger tightened
on
the trigger of his pointed weapon. He stood motionless for a breathless
second.
Then he turned and went back to the table with the telephone.
His voice rustled over the wire. When he hung up, there was almost a
trace
of humor in the rasp of his voice.
"You got a reprieve, pal. Up them stairs - and walk ahead of me."
Barry ascended slowly, his feet making no sound on the rich carpet. On
the
top floor, Parr turned him down a long hall. Passing an open door, he was
startled to see a breathlessly beautiful woman in a filmy lace negligee,
reclining on a lounge. Her henna-stained toes were extended lazily in front of
her on a small footstool. A maid was clipping her toenails. This was Dolores
Maguire, Duke Duncan's woman.
She yawned as Barry's gaze flicked toward her. She made no effort to draw
the parted negligee across her bosom. Her bold eyes met Leo's with no more
expression than if he were a worm.
The next instant, Tommy Parr was knocking on a steel door at the end of
the
corridor. It slid open. The inside was an anteroom to a closed chamber beyond.
Two gunmen were sitting on hard chairs, their faces alert. At a desk, a
heavy-set, swarthy fellow lifted lidded eyes and gave Barry a cold scrutiny.
Then:
"Spill your business and make it brief! I'm Snap Carlo."
Leo didn't need to be told that. Snap's grim photograph was in the
newspapers almost as much as Duke Duncan's. He was Duke's chief lieutenant.
According to veiled rumors in the underworld, Snap Carlo had his ambitious
eyes
fixed on Duke's leadership - and the shapely Dolores Maguire as well.
Leo Barry repeated his cool demand to see Duke. Snap listened. Then his
thick lips writhed briefly over a small metal box on his desk.
"Wanta see him, Duke? Or do you want the punk attended to?"
"Bring him in. He's got me curious."
The voice was Duncan's. It issued apparently from the smooth surface of
the
rear wall. The wall slid suddenly aside, revealing a square opening. The two
gunmen made up the rear of the grim little parade.
THE private office of Duke Duncan was flooded with harsh, blinding light
that fell full on Barry's face and made him blink. But the glow where Duncan
sat
was soft and diffused. His pink, close-shaven face looked almost sleepy. Snap
Carlo was a big man, but he looked small alongside the sinister Duke.
The two gunmen moved respectfully into the background. Snap remained at
Barry's side. A knife appeared in his swarthy fingers. Snap rather fancied
himself as an expert with cold steel. He was not a stabber, but a thrower.
Barry took a bulky envelope from his pocket. He laid it on the desk in
front of Duke Duncan. He knew that a single false move, a wrong intonation in
his voice would doom him to instant death.
Coolly, he accused Duke of committing the murder for which a young man
named Jack Skelly was now awaiting death by electrocution. The proof of it was
in the typewritten document lying on the polished desk. The original of those
photostatted pages was in a bank vault, where Barry had secreted it under an
assumed name. The price for the copy and the original was ten thousand
dollars,
payable at once. In cash!
"Blackmail, eh?" Duncan breathed. "You really think you can get away with
it - on me?"
"I think so," Leo said shakily, "or I wouldn't have been stupid enough to
come here."
"Take him, Snap!"
Carlo leaped forward with a hiss of murderous pleasure. His stubby
fingers
clutched Barry by the hair, bent his head back. The blade of the knife
glittered
above the drawn flesh of the blackmailer's throat.
Barry made no effort to fight his executioner, but his yell was like the
bleat of a terrified animal.
"Don't - don't, till you read the evidence!"
The knife blade nicked Leo's gasping throat. A trickle of blood ran down
inside his collar. Then Duke Duncan spoke curtly.
"Wait! Let him alone, Snap!"
Carlo's mouth snarled. The two gunmen looked puzzled. But there was no
disobeying Duke's command. Leo Barry rested a trembling palm on the desk in
front of him. He watched Duncan reading the typewritten pages.
He saw Duncan's eyelid twitch as the racket chief read the final
paragraph
of the document. It was on that apparently unimportant paragraph that Leo
Barry
had staked his life.
Duke chuckled suddenly. He laid down the sheets of paper.
"Looks like you've got the goods on me. You're a smart guy, Barry! What's
your price for the original evidence in your bank vault?"
"Ten grand." Leo mouthed huskily. He had thought over the price, too,
during that last tense week of nerving himself. Not too much to enrage Duncan;
not too small to make him suspicious.
"O.K., it's a deal. I'll buy."
SNAP CARLO stared, open-mouthed, at his chief. But Duke apparently did
not
notice his anger or disgust. He pulled open the drawer of a filing cabinet and
lifted out a thick roll of currency tied with a heavy rubber band. Every one
of
the bank notes was a crisp thousand-dollar bill. He stripped off ten and
pushed
them across to Barry.
"Tony - Rocco - you two guys go with this fellow to the bank. Make sure
he
doesn't hand you blank paper. Open the envelope when you get him outside the
bank."
He held up the page in strong, steady fingers.
"If it's exactly like this one, let this mug go free - and bring the
envelope back here.
The pair nodded. But their gaze flicked questioningly toward Snap Carlo.
Snap's face was white with fury.
"What's the idea, Duke? You going soft or something? Don't you know that
if
you knuckle down to a punk like this, you'll -"
"I know plenty!" Duke said, in a queer, drawling voice.
He got up from his desk and walked leisurely toward his henchman. There
was
disloyalty in Snap's swarthy face, murder in the rigid manner in which he
gripped his knife. But Duke's open palm swept swiftly above the arm and knife,
struck Carlo a stinging slap in the face.
"When I want advice from you, I'll ask for it! In the meantime, do as
you're told!"
The mark of Duke's palm made a crimson splotch on Snap's skin. His
knuckles
tightened on the knife. Then, with a convulsive effort of his will, he managed
to force a smile. He put the knife away and bowed with a cringing duck of his
head. He pretended not to notice the sneer on the faces of Tony and Rocco.
The two gunmen slipped in on either side of Leo Barry. They walked him to
the wall. The panel slid open; the trio went through.
Duke grinned at Snap. His tone was entirely friendly, as if nothing had
happened between them.
"Take a look at that blackmail evidence. Maybe you'll see why I think
it's
a cheap buy at ten thousand bucks."
Snap Carlo read it swiftly. The document riveted the guilt of murder on
Duke Duncan. It exonerated completely a young "fall guy" named Jack Skelly,
whom
Duke had framed for the rap. Skelly was now awaiting death in the electric
chair
at Sing Sing.
The police and the newspapers were convinced of Skelly's guilt. The real
truth was known only to Duke's gang - and the clever blackmailer, Leo Barry.
"I still think it would have been safer to kill Barry," Snap muttered.
"I don't! What I'm after is that original document in his bank vault.
When
I get the original I'll have something worth at least a million bucks!"
Duke's heavy forefinger pointed to a paragraph on the last page.
"Read that again - slowly. Notice the name of a guy called John
Marsley..."
"Sure! But I don't see just what that -"
SNAP CARLO was suddenly excited. The innocent paragraph over which he had
skipped in the first reading took on a grim importance. It linked John Marsley
with a killer named "Spud" White, and placed both at the scene of the crime
for
which the unfortunate Jack Skelly was now awaiting execution.
Snap realized now that the document Duke had just purchased doomed John
Marsley to the chair - unless he was willing to buy his safety from Duke
Duncan.
Leo Barry had apparently failed to realize the significance of that innocently
worded paragraph. He had sold for ten thousand dollars something that in the
hands of a resolute criminal would be worth a million!
For John Marsley was a multimillionaire banker. He controlled steamship
lines, railroads, industries. He was a leader in finance and politics.
And Duke Duncan had the evidence to electrocute him for murder!
"You should have socked me harder than you did," Snap Carlo grinned. "I
missed the play completely! I hope you forget the dumb way I shot off my
mouth.
From now on, I'm taking orders and liking it!"
His flattery blended with Duke's complacent chuckle. But his hand rubbed
instinctively at the cheek where Duke had struck him. But Snap didn't utter
any
of the ugly thoughts that seethed back of his smiling eyes. He was thinking of
a
crooked multimillionaire named John Marsley and a chance at a million-dollar
take.
Snap had plans of his own!
CHAPTER II
CRANSTON BUYS A GARDENIA
LAMONT CRANSTON was purchasing a gardenia to place in his lapel. He stood
close to the window of the florist shop, to satisfy himself that the flower
looked well enough in the bright morning sunlight.
The clerk didn't mind his distinguished customer's delay. He was well
aware
that this tall, handsome gentleman was Lamont Cranston, millionaire sportsman
and well-known man-about-town.
The clerk stood discreetly in the background. For that reason, he was
completely unaware of the scrutiny that Cranston was giving a certain house a
few doors away on the opposite side of Du Pont Place.
Cranston's interest in Duke Duncan's headquarters was born of a shrewd
knowledge of crime and criminals.
For Lamont Cranston was The Shadow, crime-fighter extraordinary!
Mysterious
being of blackness, his very name struck terror to the underworld.
Lamont Cranston had been driving slowly along West End Avenue when he had
noticed the furtive figure of Leo Barry. That much was coincidence. The rest
was
a product of exact knowledge.
Cranston knew Barry was a slippery and successful crook who specialized
in
blackmail. He watched him turn the corner into Du Pont Place. He saw him hide
his gun in the hollow post at the foot of the front stoop adjoining the swanky
headquarters of Duke Duncan.
He watched him enter the mob leader's house.
Barry's queer behavior interested Cranston. It seemed incredible that any
one - even a desperate crook - should have the nerve to try to blackmail a
killer like Duncan in his own guarded headquarters. Yet there was no other
explanation. The hiding of the gun confirmed The Shadow's theory. Leo Barry
knew
he was facing sudden death, and was taking no chances of having a gun found on
him.
Meanwhile, Cranston waited in the florist shop, through whose window he
had
such an excellent view across the street. He tried three gardenias before he
was
satisfied. Before he paid for his purchase, Leo Barry emerged from Duncan's
house.
Barry was grinning triumphantly. Two men walked with him. They were the
two
henchmen, Tony and Rocco, who had been ordered to accompany the smart little
blackmailer to the bank.
Cranston, of course, knew nothing, as yet, of what had happened inside
that
sinister house. But Barry's grin was the tip-off that his daring feat had been
successful. He bent furtively and regained the gun he had cached in the empty
stoop post. Neither of his two guards interfered. The trio walked calmly
onward
to the corner and disappeared southward.
Lamont Cranston followed.
He used the fast little car he had parked at the curb. It was a dangerous
type of tailing, but The Shadow's car could be throttled down almost to a
crawl.
And the trio ahead of him hurried along with brisk strides. The Shadow's
surveillance went unnoticed.
The goal of the thugs was the stone portals of the Midtown Trust Company.
Leo Barry went in alone. Rocco and Tony waited outside.
But not Lamont Cranston. He had left his car a block away. He walked
calmly
into the bank, almost on the heels of Barry. The little blackmailer went to
the
rear, to the safe-deposit vaults.
Cranston drifted across to a table and pretended to fill out a deposit
slip. He was able to see Barry over the slant of his arm. The blackmailer had
already emerged from the vault with a tin box. He opened it and withdrew a
bulky
envelope. Then he returned the box to the attendant and started forward.
He was terribly nervous. In stowing away the envelope in his pocket, he
dropped a roll of bills to the floor. One of them was visible as Leo clutched
at
it. It was a thousand-dollar denomination!
The Shadow's eyes grew grimmer. He was aware of Duke Duncan's weakness
for
thousand-dollar bills. It was added proof that blackmail money had been passed
to Barry, and that the envelope contained information of tremendous value to
the
biggest racket chief in New York.
Through the bank window, Cranston saw Barry rejoin Tony and Rocco. They
slid in on either side of their captive and the envelope changed hands.
Tony tore open one end and examined the contents. He and Rocco were
apparently satisfied. They allowed Barry to walk alone to the corner and hail
a
taxi. They themselves turned and retraced their steps toward Du Pont Place.
The Shadow slid swiftly into his parked car. But this time, he didn't
follow the two gunmen. He sped ahead of them. He knew exactly the route they
would take to return to their grim employer.
The Shadow had a daring plan in mind. He intended to intercept them and
read the contents of that mysterious envelope. And he meant to do so without
having Duke Duncan realize that The Shadow had entered this queer tangle of
crime.
The swift little car halted near a garage a block or two away from the
corner of Du Pont Place.
The garage was empty. It was due soon to be torn down to make room for
improvements. Its doors were locked. Skeleton keys took care of that. The
Shadow
peered inside, made sure the watchman was nowhere in sight. Then he closed the
door gently, from the outside.
By the time Rocco and Tony appeared along the sidewalk, Lamont Cranston
was
pleasantly drunk. It would have taken an experienced eye to detect that his
drunkenness was a sham. Tony and Rocco grinned as they saw him.
Cranston beckoned to them. He was clutching at his pocket for a visiting
card. As he drew it out, he spilled his wallet to the sidewalk and the green
glint of currency became visible. He picked up the money with drunken fingers
and shoved it carelessly into his pocket.
Rocco glanced at Tony. Tony nodded. Dough was dough to these two worthies
-
and a sap was a sap! They felt even surer of it when they heard Cranston's
drunken request. He was seeking an address. The address scrawled on the
visiting
card was the garage itself!
"We'll take care of you," Tony breathed.
"Yeah." Rocco grunted, his eyes veering for an instant over his shoulder.
They tried the door of the garage. It opened readily. A cinch!
Rocco attempted to hold on to Cranston as they entered the dark interior.
But with drunken petulance, Cranston wriggled out of his grasp.
"Where is he?" Tony snarled. "Don't let him pull a sneak!"
"It's O.K.," Rocco rejoined. "He's paralyzed! Wait till I find the light
switch."
A click sounded. An overhead light filled the garage with brilliance. But
a
quick gasp of rage issued from the lips of the two gunmen. Their intoxicated
victim was gone. He had vanished completely.
AN instant later, Rocco gave a cautious exclamation. His stubby finger
pointed. Across the bare floor of the deserted garage was a small boxed-in
office. It was near the corner where the men's wash room was located. Either
one
of these two hiding places must be where the wealthy drunk had staggered. He
had
no time to climb the stairs in the rear that led to the second floor.
Both thugs darted toward the office, threw open the door. Instantly, they
yelled with surprise and fear. They shrank back from an awesome figure that
emerged to confront them.
A black robe covered the tall figure from head to foot. The brim of a
slouch hat screened burning eyes that seemed to writhe with a piercing flame.
Black-gloved hands held twin automatics. Sibilant laughter made a whispering
sound above the black muzzles.
"The Shadow!" Tony gasped.
Not for an instant did he or Rocco dream that the figure who confronted
them was the drunken gentleman they had lured into the garage. Cranston was
apparently lying on the office floor in a stupor. His clothing was dimly
visible, his hat jammed over the spot where his face should have been. The
effect was entirely convincing, although it had been hastily arranged with the
speed of lightning.
The voice of The Shadow issued a grim order. Rocco and Tony elevated
their
arms. In Tony's uplifted left hand was the envelope he had taken from Leo
Barry.
He had drawn it from his pocket at the order of The Shadow. Cursing, he opened
the envelope and held the papers wide so that The Shadow could read the
contents
over the steady barrels of his guns.
The keen eyes of The Shadow read every word of the blackmail evidence. It
was impressed indelibly upon his memory. Again, the sibilant laughter of The
Shadow made rustling echoes in the garage.
His laughter was abruptly cut short. He threw himself sideways with a
rapid
motion. A shot had roared from the darkness at the foot of the rear garage
stairs. A bullet whistled past the body of The Shadow.
The bullet came from the gun of the garage watchman. He had heard the
intruders from above. He had descended silently, to discover what he thought
was
a holdup of two innocent citizens by a robed criminal.
THE watchman sprang forward with a yell as The Shadow whirled and fled.
The
door of the wash room in the corner slammed and locked. The Shadow was
availing
himself of the only cover left to him. He didn't want to risk harming the
watchman.
Rocco reached instantly for his gun, but Tony restrained him with a
whisper. Tony was a wise crook. He pretended fright as the watchman ran
forward.
He told a glib story. He and Rocco had been lured into the garage, he said, by
the killer who had just fled.
As the watchman listened, Rocco stepped casually behind him. The butt of
a
gun struck the man a terrible blow on the skull. He collapsed without a sound.
Over his fallen body, the two mobsters leaped. They raced toward the
locked
door of the men's room, to corner The Shadow.
"Open up, or we'll fill you with lead!" Tony snarled.
No answer.
The roar of gunfire filled the garage with thunderous echoes. Splinters
flew from the door. No human being could withstand such a grim barrage of
lead.
From inside the tiny room, a shuddering groan echoed for an instant. Then
there was silence.
Rocco had reloaded his gun. His face was pale with the knowledge that the
uproar would bring police racing to the garage. Tony also was aware of their
peril. But both gunmen were savagely ready to take a chance with cops.
They had to make sure that The Shadow was dead. It was the opportunity of
a
crooked lifetime. It would bring them prestige in the underworld, and a juicy
reward from the delighted Duke Duncan.
The lock burst away from the door under the ripping impact of bullets.
The
door was wrenched open. Tony leaped in, with Rocco on his heels.
There was no bullet-riddled body on the floor. The Shadow was gone!
His route was easily discovered. He had wriggled to freedom through a
tiny
overhead window in the rear of the small room; it opened onto an alley.
TONY skipped across the floor of the garage and locked the front door. He
was, barely in time. Police clubs began to smash at the barrier. The shooting
had been heard. The alarm of pedestrians outside had brought a prowl car to
the
scene.
Tony and Rocco went head-first through the narrow window to the alley
outside. They swarmed over a rear fence and doubled back on their tracks
through
a cellar.
Cops were already converging on the rear entrance to the alley, but they
found no prisoners; By the time a thorough search of the premises had been
made,
Rocco and Tony were six blocks away, panting and thoroughly alarmed at the
closeness of their shave.
The envelope that Tony had received from Leo Barry was still in his
possession. It was the only reassuring thing about the whole mess.
Both crooks knew the grim treatment they would get, if Duke Duncan
suspected the truth. They dared not admit to him that they had allowed The
Shadow to intercept the blackmail evidence and read it.
They decided to conceal what had happened between the bank and gang
headquarters. They would merely hand the evidence to Duke and tell him
everything had worked out well.
This was exactly what The Shadow had foreseen. His grim laughter issued
from a trim little car that scudded innocently through the sunlight of a quiet
avenue far to the south of the garage. The clothes he had left in that garage
to
be found by the police could in no way implicate him. There were no tailor's
marks in those garments. They were impossible to trace.
The suit that Lamont Cranston was now wearing had come from a small
recess
under the seat of his car. The robe and gloves and the black slouch hat were
stowed away out of sight.
The name of a wealthy and socially prominent international banker made a
vivid glow in the mind of The Shadow. Like Duke Duncan before him, The Shadow
realized instantly the value of the evidence that linked John Marsley with
murder.
The Shadow had never been convinced of the guilt of Jack Skelly, who was
now awaiting death in the electric chair in Sing Sing.
But he had never dreamed that John Marsley might be implicated.
CHAPTER III
A MILLION IN CASH
JOHN MARSLEY was nervous.
The enormous private office in which he sat had been designed for comfort
and convenience. Opposite his desk was a tall window that gave a splendid view
of New York harbor. Without moving from his chair he could see ocean liners,
steamships and tugs, many of which belonged to his far-flung empire of finance
and commerce.
Yet John Marsley was far from happy. The hand that toyed with a pencil
quivered. He rose from his ornate chair and began to pace up and down the
room.
Two objects in his office seemed to engage his attention. One was an
electric clock, the other was a calendar. His gaze kept moving from one to the
other, as his restless feet carried him up and down the length of his
priceless
imported rug.
He drew a black pencil line across a date on the calendar. All the dates
preceding it had been so marked. Turning the page, he exposed the sheet
underneath. One of the Tuesdays was circled in red ink. He counted the days
between the red-inked date and the last pencil mark he had made. There
remained
an interval of thirty-seven unmarked days.
In thirty-seven days a young man named Jack Skelly was doomed to be put
to
death for a murder he had never committed. Marsley could save his life by
picking up one of his telephones and speaking a dozen words to the office of
the
district attorney. Yet he had no intention of so doing.
He muttered harshly to himself, as he halted opposite the clock. The
hands
pointed to seven minutes of ten. It was exactly twenty-four hours since Leo
Barry had blackmailed Duke Duncan.
John Marsley shivered. He expected a visitor. Duke Duncan himself was
about
to pay a business call. Few visitors ever penetrated to this swanky skyscraper
office. But Marsley knew he was going to receive Duncan. He had to!
The thought made him grind his teeth with rage. A sudden knock at the
door
changed his expression. He forced a smile on his hard lips.
"Come in," he said, gently.
It was Hoskin, his confidential clerk.
"Visitors to see you, sir," Hoskin said.
"Visitors?" Marsley chopped out the word. He glanced toward the closed
drawer of his desk where a loaded pistol lay with its safety off. "You mean
there's more than one man?"
Hoskin was startled by the savage tone of his employer. But before he
could
reply, a girl's laughing voice floated through the partly opened door.
"Is there a rule against women, dad? Come on in, Stanley. Dad won't eat
us
up. His bark is worse than his bite!"
A VERY pretty girl came into the room, accompanied by a good-looking
young
man. She darted across to Marsley, kissed him with mock anger, rumpled his
hair.
Under cover of the confusion, he managed to get a grip on himself. He held out
a
friendly hand to his daughter's companion.
"How are you, Mr. West? Glad to see you! Golf today, eh? Lucky man!"
"That's what we dropped in to see you about," Stanley West grinned.
"We're
going to play a round on the Fairlawn links in New Jersey. Viola had a happy
idea that perhaps you might join us -"
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THECRIMSONPHOENIXbyMaxwellGrantAsoriginallypublishedinTheShadowMagazine,April1st,1938.TheCrimsonPhoenixentanglesTheShadowinclawsdrippingwiththepoisonofinternationalintrigue!CHAPTERITENGRANDAMANwaswalkingslowlyalongthefashionablesectionofWestEndAvenue.Themorningsunlightwasnotverystrong,yetthisfurtive...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：77 页 大小：186.52KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-22

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