Shadow 235 - Murder Mansion 12-01-41, The by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street and Smith
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

GAIL stared, in real surprise. So Clive hadn’t been The Shadow when she first saw him. Though Clive didn’t realize it, Gail had a sudden surge of doubt, for her swing in Clive’s favor was based on her recollections of the early episode involving her own rescue.

At least, Clive was honest about the matter, and that was sufficient to curb Gail’s new doubts. A bit abashed at having doubted him at all, Gail snuggled deeper into his arms.

“Tell me,” queried Clive. “What about Hemble?”

“He was killed,” Gail replied. “They don’t know what he was doing around here.” She looked up suddenly. “Why did you ask about Hemble?”

Clive explained that he’d heard the deputies mention the fellow. He hadn’t stayed in the hidden attic all last night. He had made a trip to the kitchen to obtain supplies, and found that his borrowed garb was a great help when it came to keeping out of sight. He’d heard other things, too.

“This Cranston chap,” said Clive. “Why did he come along with that friend of yours, Margo Lane?”

“He intended to drive the car back to New York,” responded Gail. “They nearly had an accident on the way. Lamont was quite seriously hurt, as it was.”

Clive nodded.

“I heard the deputies say that, too,” he declared. “But it strikes me as a bit thin, a man being hurt in the car that wasn’t wrecked.”

“Lamont happens to be a millionaire,” informed Gail. “He wouldn’t have been in the other car with an automobile thief.”

“I wasn’t thinking of the other car.”

“What were you thinking then, Clive?”

Gail’s tone was a bit angry. She didn’t like Clive’s suspicious manner. It wasn’t fair that he should doubt other people, particularly a man so friendly as Cranston, when Gail was giving Clive himself the benefit of some questionable situations.

“It’s all so mixed, Gail,” said Clive, at length. “I was just wondering who had this hat and cloak at the start. I doubled on my tracks; so did Hemble, it seems. Maybe Cranston did the same. I must get to the bottom of all this, Gail. By the way: that note I wrote you. Of course, you destroyed it?”

Gail was drawing away. She turned about again in front of the dresser. Her mistrust was increasing.

“Don’t worry about it, Clive,” she said crisply. “I disposed of the note.”

Clive’s frank manner returned. He drew off the cloak and tossed it across his arm, with the slouch hat.

“I won’t need these any more,” he declared. “I’ll leave them in the study, where the sheriff can find them. I know I can depend on you to come to the attic and keep me posted on other developments. You see, I trust you, Gail.”

“It’s quite time you did, Clive.”

“I don’t blame you for wondering at times,” insisted Clive in an earnest tone. “I’ve been in a tougher situation than you realize, because you always get a sugar-coated story from Elbert. He wouldn’t have hesitated at using you to lure me back here.”

“Leave Elbert out of it, Clive.

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