The Shadow 297 The White Skulls by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1945-11-01T22:55:47+00:00

Jud’s interpretation was different. From the way Margo had taken his cue, Jud was sure that she intended to contact Cranston and arrange a rescue. To do that, she would have to get out of this house; therefore, she was playing the best possible game.

If Jud had known that Cranston in his other life was The Shadow, he would have counted this game in the bag. Even now, it looked sure enough when Sark stated crisply: “Very well, Miss Lane. You may leave. But remind our friend Cranston that he is not to come here. I have other guests” - Sark turned a smile that was really a scowl upon Jud and Gail - “and I prefer them. Documents are dangerous to keep, but hostages are excellent. Ludar will have something to tell Tanjor Zune when I inform him that I am holding these prisoners.”

With that, Sark turned his back on Margo and used his gun to motion Jud and

Gail to the corner near the safe. It was the logical corner for it formed a perfect pocket. At the other deep corner was a door which Jud had been eyeing enviously as a possible outlet in emergency. But Sark wasn’t giving his prisoners - or hostages as he preferred to call them - anything that might resemble a break or a chance for it.

In turning, Sark remained fairly close to the main door of the room, which

was Margo’s exit to the hall. Bundling the rolled papers under her arm, Margo started toward the hallway, feeling that she had begun a death march. What was to prevent Sark, that master of the double cross, from wheeling about and making her a target?

The very thought was terrorizing; it made Margo turn her head and throw a quick look in Sark’s direction, only to see that he was still facing Jud and Gail. Beyond Sark, Margo saw Jud, his face very grim, but telling a story by its very grimness. His expression meant just this: that if Sark swung to aim at Margo; he would have Jud to deal with. From the tense pose that Jud showed, Margo knew such dealings would be swift indeed.

It was better to go through with this; better for Margo to get clear and come back with aid as soon as she could bring it. Yet somehow Margo felt uncertain, as though the very atmosphere of this old musty house had all the characteristics of a morgue. It was like a death factory in miniature, giving Margo doubts as to whether Jud and Gail would still be alive, once she was beyond the outer door.

Nevertheless, Jud wanted her to chance it, so Margo turned toward the hall.

She was in the doorway when she stopped, halted by a new fright that momentarily

seemed silly. It was the death’s head again, that after-image produced by a long

look at Sark’s face and Margo had taken too long a look for comfort.

There it was, a shifting, grinning skull, against the gloomy background of

the hall.

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