Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 126 by Maxwel l Grant

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

CHAPTER XI. THRUSTS AT DUSK

WESTON'S limousine stopped a few doors before the house that bore Weed's number. Joe Cardona stepped out to the curb and lowered the folding seat that he had used. Baybrook was at the right side of the car. He alighted to make way for Weston.

Rather than wait alone in the car, Cranston followed. The four stood beside the limousine, beneath the gathering dusk of the dreary day. Weston pointed to high steps, leading up to the old house that bore the proper number.

"Inquire for Weed," said the commissioner to Cardona. "Bring him down here, inspector."

As Weston spoke, a cab wheeled up. Passing the halted limousine, the taxi stopped directly in front of Weed's house. The driver craned to observe the number that showed against the light from a glass pane above the door. The cab horn tooted.

Cardona decided to question the hackie. He held a short conversation with the man; came back to report to Weston:

"Weed ordered that cab. He ought to be out here any minute, commissioner."

"Good," decided Weston. "Wait on the house steps, inspector. The first person to come out will be Weed."

Cardona did as directed; but he had a long wait. The cab horn tooted intermittently; still, Weed did not appear. Weston began to grow impatient.

"I wonder if the fellow saw us," he remarked to Cranston and Baybrook. "He may have looked out a front window. If there's a back door to that house, Weed might decide to use it. I think I'll send Cardona around there."

"Wait." Cranston spoke quietly, as he gripped Weston's arm. "Watch the front door. I saw it start to open."

Weston gazed; noted that Cranston was right. The door moved again; boldly, this time. Out stepped a blocky man, whose figure was framed against the dull light of the entry. Cranston's keen eyes recognized the arrival as Weed. The other observers simply guessed that this was the man they expected.

Weston moved forward; Cranston and Baybrook followed. They were all near the bottom of the steps, close enough to hear Cardona accost the blocky man. Gruffly, Joe questioned:

"You're Mr. Weed?"

For a moment, the night engineer halted, one step above his questioner. He looked as though he intended to dive back into the house; but Cardona was close enough to grab him. Weed's hollowed eyes stared toward the waiting cab.

"I'm from police headquarters," announced Cardona, deciding it was time to end Weed's doubts. "We want to talk to you, Weed."

"How do you happen to know my name?" Weed snapped the question, "Who told you where I lived?"

"You'll find out later. You're Curtin Weed, all right."

"Yes. I'm Weed. But how do I know you're from headquarters?"

CARDONA started to draw back his coat, to flash his badge. He was wary all the time, his right hand ready for a grab, if Weed tried a duck-out. Cardona, though, had missed a guess. If Weed had raised a hand to start a punch, Joe would have stopped it; but Weed, figuring that very attempt, did not have to give a telltale move.

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