"Doc Savage Adventure 1933-10 The Sargasso Ogre" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doc Savage Collection)

The man backed of the door did not waste time. He shoved a hand through the bars. The hand was gloved. It held a folded paper.

"Give this note to the guy. It's a bait to make him go with you without suspecting anything. I don't care where you do the job, or how you do it. But pick a good spot."

"Trust your servant."

"0. K. Now, beat it!"

"Four thousand piastres," Pasha Bey reminded gently.

"You'll get your pay when the job is done!" growled the hidden man.

"Half; now," suggested Pasha Bey, who knew it was sometimes difficult to collect from those who wanted murder done.

There was silence while the unseen man thought it over. Then the gloved hand again appeared. It held a hundred dollar bill-the approximate equivalent of two thousand piastres. At current exchange, a piastre was worth about a nickel.

Pasha Bey stowed the money in his burnoose. "I will come here for the other half-and to tell you the man is dead."

"Are you sure you've got his name down pat-Major Thomas J. Roberts? Long Tom Roberts."

"I know."

"0. K. You may see a big, bronze-looking guy around. Steer clear of him."

"Very well."

"Vamose!"

With a meekness that belied his profession, Pasha Bey eased out of the gloomy tunnel. He was pondering if, upon his return, he might not be able to slip his silken strangling cord through those bars and around the neck of the man who had hired him. The fellow might have more of those big bills. It was good, this American money.


NOT very many minutes later, Pasha Bey appeared in the lobby of the Hotel Londoner. This hostelry was one of the swankiest in Alexandria, and it catered largely to English speaking foreigners.

The lobby held the usual quota of guests and loafers. Some of the latter were Pasha Bey's associates, members of the particular murderer's guild of which he was dictator.

In the United States, Pasha Bey would have been called the big shot of a mob; in Egypt, he was the head of a guild.

He sauntered over and joined one of his men.

"You have a word for me?" he questioned.

"The man -- Long Tom Roberts -- is in his room," advised the other. "But he has company. From the hallway, I listened and heard voices."

"How many voices?"

"Long Tom Roberts's and one other."

"A visitor, by Allah!" Pasha Bey folded his arms while he thought. His bony face was benevolent. He looked like a harmless old man in need of a square meal.

"I will go up and pray that my ears may tell me the visitor has gone," he said at last, and shuffled for the stairs.