The Shadow - 12 - The Crime Cult by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1932-06-30T22:00:00+00:00

“Yes.” The reply came in a smooth tone. “You are Miss Glendenning.”

“Margaret Glendenning.”

“Margaret,” replied the man with a smile.

“You are Robert Buchanan’s friend?” asked the girl, staring toward the man.

“Yes.”

Margaret’s eyes met those of Henri Zayata. The result was immediate fascination. The girl had never seen such eyes.

They were dark, yet it was impossible to determine their hue. Beneath the soft light of the room—light that came from invisible lamps—Zayata’s eyes were puzzling. Only their expression was constant, and they seemed to invite confidence. Before that gaze, Margaret Glendenning felt a sympathy and understanding that she had never before known.

“I am glad that you have come here, Margaret,” said the man in his soft tone. “I have long wished to see you. In fact, I have anticipated your visit. I want you to remember it.”

He looked across the room. Margaret, released from his fascinating stare, followed his gaze. Henri Zayata clapped his hands, and the turbaned servant advanced, bowing as he came. In his hands he held a small golden box.

He tendered it to Zayata, who, in turn, placed it in Margaret’s hands. The girl gasped as she looked at the beautiful design of the box. She realized that it was Zayata’s gift to her, and she raised her head to express her gratitude for his kindness.

“Open it!” said Zayata.

Margaret lifted the lid of the box. Her lips opened as she saw what was within. The box contained a ring, upon which was mounted an exquisite emerald— a stone of wonderful brilliance and of great value.

“Place it on your finger,” suggested Zayata.

He did not wait for the girl to act. Reaching forward, he gently removed the box from her hands and set it in her lap. He then slid the ring on the little finger of the girl’s left hand.

Margaret sighed as she saw how pitifully her diamond engagement ring contrasted with this gorgeous gift.

For she was wearing the token which Robert Buchanan had given her months before—she always wore it when her uncle did not know.

“But—but”—Margaret was stammering—”I can’t accept—such a wonderful gift -“

“It is a trifle,” declared Zayata. “You have gone to a great deal of trouble paying me this visit. I want you to feel that you have been rewarded.”

THE girl made no further protest. Somehow, she seemed in a new world. It was like a dream from the

“Arabian Nights” and she seemed incapable of making any effort of her own accord.

Before she knew it, she was speaking to Zayata, pouring out thoughts that she had intended not to say.

“Robert told me that you were an invalid,” was her sympathetic statement.

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