The Black Falcon by Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson

Author:Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson [Grant, Maxwell & Gibson, Walter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Espionage, Fiction, Thrillers
ISBN: 9781932806274
Amazon: 193280627X
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1934-02-15T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XII. MILLIONAIRES CONFER.

ON the second evening following the episode at the Garman Apartments, Rowland Ransdale was seated in his comfortable den. Wearing his slippers and smoking jacket, the millionaire mine owner was puffing at a large-bowled pipe as he studied the headlines of the evening newspapers.

Ransdale's face showed a pleased smile. The journals were still filled with talk of The Black Falcon; and they teemed with credit for Ransdale's part in submerging the kidnaper's gangster minions.

The Garman Apartments were still under police observation. Patrolmen were on the lookout for suspicious characters. Detectives were in the vicinity.

The cordon had disbanded after the disappearance of The Black Falcon, but there were still men available in case of emergency.

Rowland Ransdale and his servant Hazzlett were armed. They had been within their rights in defending themselves against Terry Rukes and his mobsters; moreover, Ransdale had acted with the telephoned sanction of the police commissioner.

According to the newspapers, The Black Falcon had met his match when he had tried to abduct the wealthy mine owner; and editorial comment upheld Ransdale as the type of man upon whom the law could depend. Ransdale, in interviews with reporters, had expressed the hope that The Black Falcon would return. The mine owner had shown self-confidence rather than boastfulness when he had made this statement.

Ransdale looked up quietly as he heard Hazzlett enter. The husky valet had come with an announcement.

"Call from the lobby, sir," he said. "A gentleman named Lamont Cranston has come to see you. A friend of the commissioner's, sir."

"Lamont Cranston." Ransdale was speculative. "Yes-I recall the name. I've heard of him before-have met him in fact. He's the chap who travels everywhere. Tell him to come up, Hazzlett."

The servant went to the living room. Ransdale, rising, stacked newspapers in orderly piles. While he was relighting his pipe, he heard the outer door of the apartment open. Facing the door, Ransdale stepped forward to greet a tall, quiet-faced individual whom Hazzlett had ushered across the living room.

"Good evening, Mr. Cranston," greeted Ransdale. "I recall that we have met before."

"At the Cobalt Club, perhaps?" questioned Cranston.

"That must have been the place," nodded Ransdale. He motioned Cranston to a comfortable chair.

Although he did not express it, Ransdale was curious as to the purpose of Cranston's visit. As a preliminary gesture, he beckoned to Hazzlett, and the valet brought a box of expensive cigars from which Cranston selected one.

WHILE his visitor was lighting the perfecto, Ransdale noted him closely. The light of a match revealed Cranston s unusual features. The visage which Ransdale saw was a hawklike countenance, with a calmness that reminded the observer of a living mask.

A pair of sparkling eyes turned toward Ransdale as Cranston shook out the lighted match.

Those eyes, in turn, saw an unusual face. They took in the firmness of Ransdale's countenance. The mine owner had a pleasant, well-formed visage; it was one, however, that showed hidden determination. Ransdale's eyes were keen; he was obviously a man who could rise to action, as he had proven in his battle with Terry Rukes.

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