Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 023 by Maxwel l Grant

Author:Maxwel,l Grant
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

CHAPTER XIV. UNDER THE RIVER

LAMONT CRANSTON'S imported limousine was rolling along a downtown street in Manhattan.

Stanley, the capable chauffeur, was driving at easy gait toward the entrance of the Holland Tunnel, the under-river vehicular tube that led to New Jersey.

A wisp of smoke curling from an opened rear-window; a dull, glowing spot that poised above the back seat; these were indications that Lamont Cranston was enjoying a late-evening cigar while riding homeward.

All was darkness in the depths of the car. The illuminated cigar tip gave no sign of the man behind it.

Seemingly unawake, Lamont Cranston rested on the cushions of the tonneau. His left hand furnished the only other spot of glow. There, upon the third finger, gleamed the fiery iridescence of The Shadow's girasol.

The left hand touched an object beside it, a small suitcase, which lay open on the back seat. The hand felt a mass of folded cloth; then the coldness of invisible steel. The hand remained there, moving no more, as the big car swerved toward the dipping entrance of the tunnel.

Traffic was only fairly heavy at that hour. Two cars were entering the tube at the lane on the left; a truck was disappearing in the darkness at the right. These vehicles had shot into place almost as the limousine had arrived. Stanley, whose wont was to drive slowly, chose the lane where traffic moved less rapidly.

He followed the path of the truck, some fifty yards ahead.

At the same time, a car moved in from the left. It ran side by side with the limousine, then forged ahead and gained steadily until it neared the truck.

Stanley was maintaining the regulated distance; hence as the car in the left lane moved farther on, another car came up to take its place, running at an angled space behind the limousine.

The under-river passage leveled, and the cars sped onward, their tires sloshing with an eerie tone.

Despite the illumination of the tunnel, the place held an oppressive touch that made the moving cars seem dim and spectral.

To Stanley, this effect meant nothing. Driving through this tunnel was a matter of everyday routine. He saw no significance in the fact that the car in the lane on the left was now almost beside the truck fifty yards ahead.

Although the car—a large sedan—had previously been moving more rapidly than the truck, now it slackened its space to crowd close to the big vehicle. The pair formed a moving blockade. Such a sight was not uncommon in the tunnel.

Stanley's eyes saw nothing unusual, but they were not the only eyes that were watching from the limousine. Lamont Cranston, leaning forward from the rear seat, was watching straight ahead.

His left hand was busy drawing something from the open case beside him. His head turned suddenly to peer through the rear window toward the car that was close behind, though in the other traffic lane.

ONLY a man of amazing instinct could have sensed danger ahead. There was no evidence to indicate a menace coming; nothing but keen intuition could have grasped the fact.

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