Cry Shadow by Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson

Author:Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson [Grant, Maxwell & Gibson, Walter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Espionage, Fiction, Thrillers
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1965-02-20T08:00:00+00:00

There was a bell. A bell far off and very strange. A rhythmic and yet peculiarly irregular ringing. Not ringing, really, more like clanging; a very unmusical bell. A clang, and then silence. Then two clangs together-- clang-clang. . . clang. . . clang. . . clang. . . clang-clang-clang. . .

Irregular, the interval never quite the same, and oddly resonant and distant. A kind of echo as if the bell clanged and then the sound reverberated from some resonant surface. A very strange bell.

The bell seemed to come closer. And there was another sound. A pounding. Something very heavy pounding hard. Also irregular. Bang. ., bang. . . bang-bang-bang. . . bang-bang. . . bang. . . Thudding more than pounding, and a third sound like a wind rustling through heavy bushes, swishing thickly. Still another sound like a steady throb, a heavy humming that alternated loud and soft in some peculiar relation to the thudding and pounding. The bell much closer, the irregular clanging seeming to rise and fall, rise and fall.

A boat!

He opened his eyes. He was on a boat, a small powerboat. The bell was a bell bouy, clanging irregularly with the rise and fall of the waves. The thudding, banging, was the powerful boat striking the waves as it plowed through the sea. The throbbing was the engine; the sound like a rushing wind was the sea swishing along the sides of the boat.

The bell bouy was close now, alongside, and passed away behind. The boat moving fast on powerful motors, pounding and surging through the waves. The motion told him that they were out in the open sea. But he could see nothing. Where he sat, his hands bound, his feet manacled, there was no light and no porthole. A faint line of grey light showed where the door was, and there was nothing else for him to see. His eyes, the eyes of The Shadow, grew quickly accustomed and he saw all that there was to see-- nothing.

The Shadow was a prisoner!

An instant of carelessness, and The Shadow sat manacled against the bulkhead of a boat in a small and dark room that was bare of all but a few empty crates. A boat that drove through the open sea toward some unknown destination.

But they had not killed him.

The Shadow smiled to himself in the dark cabin of the boat. They had not killed him, and that would be their mistake. Why had they not killed him at once? They had killed Kitt and the unknown Dirnitri. He remembered the giant Ivan who had wanted to kill him instantly. Hubert Adrian had stopped Ivan from using his automatic. Why?

A mistake. And soon The Shadow would make them regret this mistake.

Every second he could feel his powers returning, surging through him as the boat surged through the pounding sea. The effects of the drug were draining away. A powerful drug, strong enough to render a normal human unconscious, paralyzed, perhaps for days. But not strong enough to stop The Shadow for more than a few hours.

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