Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 180 by Maxwel l Grant

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

CHAPTER XI

DOOM IN THE DARK

MARRIPACK GORGE was deep but narrow, as Fred Murdock viewed it from the even narrower footbridge. A picturesque contrivance; the footbridge hung by heavy ropes that served as cables; tight ropes that held the bridge quite firm,

as Fred crossed its forty-foot length and looked down at the tumultuous creek that roared two hundred feet below.

Straight ahead was Sylvan Lodge, a millionaire's idea of something primitive. Fred saw a side door mentioned in Paxton's note and moved toward it.

He could also see the front of the building, where a large, expensive car was parked.

The gorge took a curve around the front of the premises, for the road from

the lodge led directly across a wooden bridge, old but of stout construction.

Nobody was in sight, not even the wood-choppers whose ax thwacks echoed from remote spots about the lodge. They were piling cordwood for the winter season, because Fred could see stacks of it in back of the lodge.

Reaching the side door, Fred rapped. At his repeated summons, a man appeared who looked like a servant. When Fred inquired for Mr. Anroth, the man hesitated. Then a testy voice came from a doorway and Anroth himself stepped into sight. He heard Fred stating that his business was confidential, and that was enough. Anroth promptly invited the visitor into the lodge.

They reached a secluded smoking room, where Anroth gestured to a chair.

There, by the light of floor lamps, Fred Murdock gained his first real impression of George Anroth, a man of whom the world heard much but saw little.

He was a promoter deluxe, George Anroth, but he didn't look the type. He was a short man, with a bald head and heavy jowls, which gave his face the shape of a very squatly egg. Dotted eyes, a fat nose, a straight mouth, looked much like painted features. Bluntly, Anroth announced:

"Very few people know that I come to Sylvan Lodge. Of those few, still less know that I arrived this afternoon. Probably those same few know that I am

leaving before dinner. Nobody knows where I am going next, because I don't know

myself. State your business."

Smiling despite himself, Fred opened the briefcase and spread its contents.

"Mr. Paxton sent these," he stated. "He thought you would like to see them, and he also told me to explain them."

Anroth dug into the papers. Standing by the window, Fred listened to the choppers. Darkness was creeping over the scene with a rapidity that surprised Fred. He heard one wood-chopper quit, then another. A few last thwacks, then silence.

Anroth spoke abruptly.

"Take these back to Paxton," he ordered. "I don't want any part of them!"

"But you don't understand," began Fred. "I can explain -"

"I know you can," interrupted Anroth. "But it isn't necessary. This sort of stuff is right down my alley. It's a hundred-percent proposition and a hundred to one that I would accept it. That's why I'm not taking it."

It was Fred who couldn't understand.

"I'll tell you a secret," confided Anroth. "Maybe you can use it.

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