Grant, Maxwell - The Shadow 243 - Room of Doom by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Detective, Mystery, Crime, Suspense, Adventure, Thriller
Publisher: Street & Smith Publications
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

HOME in her apartment, Joan was seated at the living-room window, looking out. She felt breathless when she recalled her quick trip back. Commissioner Weston hadn’t allowed for the remarkable speed that Moe, The Shadow’s cabby, could show in Manhattan traffic.

When the cab dropped Joan at the apartment house, The Shadow warned the girl to expect an official phone call and a visit from a patrol car.

Joan had just reached her apartment when the phone bell rang. She’d faked a sleepy voice when telling the commissioner that she had been awakened by the call. From her darkened window, she saw the patrol car stop, and she’d made a mad scramble in getting undressed and into bed.

Fortunately, the patrolmen didn’t ring; they came upstairs to hammer on Joan’s door, and the few extra minutes had enabled her to win the race.

Rolling in one side of bed and out the other, Joan had put on dressing gown and slippers and answered the door, to say, quite sweetly, that she’d just finished a telephone chat with the police commissioner himself.

The apologetic cops had left, but Joan hadn’t returned to bed. She wasn’t sleepy, and wouldn’t be until she’d unburdened herself of facts that she had not had time to tell The Shadow. In parting, he had said that she could tell them to Cranston later.

At last, the awaited phone call came. Answering it, Joan tried to pour out a dozen statements in one breath. Interrupting, Cranston told her to get dressed; that he would come for her in his car.

Joan was just about ready when she saw the limousine stop out front. She went downstairs to meet it.

Margo Lane was with Cranston, and he introduced her to Joan, who was all apologies because of her hasty action earlier. They rode to a quiet little cafe, where, in an isolated booth, Joan poured her entire story - which was something of a confession.

She had heard from her uncle the night before, and he had told her where to reach him, but only on condition that she would inform no one. Torn between two promises, she had simply hoped that she could convince him of Cranston’s friendship.

“I did come back to the apartment, intending to call my uncle,” affirmed Joan. “But before I got around to it, I received a call from someone else. From Nevlin.”

The news astonished Margo, but Cranston received it without a change of his expression.

“Nevlin said he had to see Uncle Smead,” declared Joan. “He told me where he was stopping, and the room number. I called my uncle, and he was eager to go over. He said that Nevlin must have come to his senses at last.

“So I called Nevlin and told him. And then” - Joan frowned - “well, I realized I’d been very one-sided. Since I hadn’t told you that I’d heard from my uncle, I should certainly have let you know first, Mr. Cranston, when I had that call from Nevlin.

“It was worrying me. I was beginning to see that it could be a trap.

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