The Shadow 329 Cry Shadow! by Maxwell Grant Dennis Lynds

Author:Maxwell Grant, Dennis Lynds [Maxwell Grant, Dennis Lynds]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Pulp
Amazon: B000GEANM0
Publisher: Belmont Books
Published: 1965-07-15T05:00:00+00:00

11

A PURPLE twilight settled over the hot city. The sun went down behind the tall buildings, the people rode the weary subways homeward, and another night came.

Inside the Adrian Gallery the dim rooms were deserted. The polished wood floors gleamed faintly in the dark, the pictures on the wall, the wild and gaudy works of the angry Turk, seemed to have softened in the peaceful dimness. The rooms, large and empty now, seemed to have grown larger in the deserted night, the silence giving them a quiet dignity they did not have in the frantic day.

Somewhere in the distance there were voices and the sound of movement. Faint like a half-heard surf unseen beyond a high hill. The voices and movement continued for some time. Then the silence became complete.

Nothing moved inside the dark rooms of the Adrian Gallery.

The wall of the main room opened and The Shadow stepped out. The black-shrouded Avenger stood listening. Motionless, his cloaked figure blended with the dark shadows of the silent room.

A silent room, but not to The Shadow. His trained and ultrasensitive ears heard a distant voice. It was below the level of normal hearing, and it came from upstairs on the second floor of the darkened gallery. A single voice talking. The Shadow listened, but there was only the single voice talking as if to itself. The Shadow glided across the polished floors and up the carpeted stairs to the second floor.

The shrouded, almost invisible shape moved in silence along the upstairs hall until he reached a door marked Private. The voice was speaking inside the private office. It was the voice of Hubert Adrian. Silent and invisible, The Shadow entered the private office.

Hubert Adrian sat behind his littered desk. The tall, elegant man was talking on the telephone.

His desk was piled with papers that had been taken from the various drawers. An open suitcase lay on the floor behind the desk. The well-dressed gallery owner had been packing. Now, on the telephone, his brow was beaded with sweat even in the cool and air-conditioned office. A single light burned on the desk, the rest of the office was in thick shadow as Adrian wiped his face and talked.

“…. Yes, yes, Cranston must be on the trail of Kitt, of course. I know that, he talked too much about PreColumbian art and engraving. Perhaps he was satisfied with the explanation about Kitt coming to have us handle his stuff but I can’t be sure. If he wasn’t satisfied we exposed too much, Yes, yes, all right. But we have to pull out, I won’t risk it any more!”

The gallery owner mopped his sweating face as he listened. His handkerchief was soaking wet. “No, Cranston is minor, it’s the other two that worry me. Cranston at least we know. Who the devil was that man in the cellar, how did he find us? Yes, yes, but what about that other one?

The one in black! My God, he looks like some kind of fanatic! No, I can’t risk it any more.

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