Grant, Maxwell - The Shadow 139 - The Sealed Box by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Detective, Mystery, Crime, Suspense, Adventure, Thriller
Publisher: Street & Smith Publications
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

IT was Belver’s intention to reach the High Spot Cafe as soon as possible; but he wasn’t the first person who carried that idea. Clyde Burke had already entered the side door of the little restaurant.

He saw a flight of stairs, with a telephone booth at the bottom. Larry and Theda had gone up; but Theda was coming down again.

Clyde ducked past the stairs; he watched Theda go into the telephone booth. She didn’t close the door tight; Clyde could hear the call she made. A servant must have answered, for she asked for Mr. Vosgle. To the lawyer, she voiced:

“I’ve got hold of Larry - at the High Spot Cafe. Lay off, though. I think he wants to talk… Sure, you can check up if you want to, but stick down near the corner. You’ll see us come out, in half an hour…”

Theda went upstairs again. Clyde followed. He saw the closed door of a tiny private dining room. He listened; he made out Larry’s voice and Theda’s, but the words were not easy to catch. Clyde stepped away, trying to figure some better way to listen in. He heard footsteps on the stairs.

Clyde started out in a strolling manner. At the head of the stairs, he ran into a squint-eyed rowdy of blocky build. The scowl the fellow gave didn’t improve his unshaved face.

“What’re you doing here, lug?” challenged the thug. “This upstairs is private! Get it?”

“I’m just finding it out,” retorted Clyde. “Where do ordinary people like myself get fed?”

“Down on the first floor.”

“I see. Well, you belong in the basement!”

Along with that hint, Clyde swung a quick hook for the thug’s jaw and landed. Clyde had spotted the fellow’s hand in his right coat pocket, where a gun muzzle gave its telltale bulge.

The thug went somersaulting to the bottom of the stairs, with Clyde bounding after him. If that rowdy was on his way to put slugs into Larry Sherrin, his intention was ended when he hit the floor below. Clyde didn’t need to be on hand. The fellow had sprawled unconscious.

It was lucky, though, that Clyde had dashed downward. In from the door lunged another pair of huskies, brought by the clatter of their pal’s fall. They saw Clyde and tried to slug him with drawn revolvers; but the wiry reporter dodged the strokes.

He tripped one thug; wrenched free from the other.

Clyde’s objective was the corner. He hoped to lead the attackers in that direction, to get them away from Larry. They changed their minds about pursuit. Clyde reached his goal unmolested. Hat gone, coat awry, he looked about.

An approaching man recognized him. It was James Belver, again a timely arrival.

Breathless, Clyde told what had happened, without mentioning Theda. He spoke of Larry, though.

“The fellow you introduced to me - down at your office, Mr. Sherrin - he went in there. When I was going past - a bunch tried to gang me -”

“Wait here, Burke.”

With long strides, Belver hurried past the corner, waving his arms as he went.

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