"Doc Savage Adventure 1935-12 The Fantastic Island" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doc Savage Collection)

The horseman kept laughing and driving bullets into the guard's body, even after the fellow was slumped in a still, dead heap on the ground. After that, no one offered resistance.

The horseman raised his voice in a bawled order. Guards scurried frenziedly into the pits where Monk and Ham and Pat were shackled. They unlocked the leg irons and motioned for the captives to climb out of their holes.

The three were brought before the man on the horse. The man spoke in precise English. His voice was suavely sinister.

He said: "It was a stupid blunder of my slaves to chain you to the pits. It is only the Asiatic immigrant ships sailing to South America that I intercept for my pit laborers. Those, and occasional Ecuadorian fishermen, guano and moss hunters. When, upon rare occasions, a yacht comes this way its occupants are received as welcome guests."

"How does a guest get off this island after his ship is wrecked?" Ham asked dryly.

"My dear General Brooks," came the precise voice from the darkly-bulking figure on the horse, "none have ever gotten off."

"This lug knows who we are!" Monk muttered. Then, aloud, he said: "They're all on here now, the guests?"

"They are, my dear Colonel Mayfair, though a bit unrecognizable, some of them."

"Doubtless you have reference to Professor Littlejohn," the other murmured.

"He is quite recognizable. I shall take you to him. But first permit me to introduce myself. I am Count Alexander Ramadanoff."

Turning to the guards, the count barked an order. Men padded forward with peculiar contrivances, resembling wicker hammocks. They deposited the litters on the ground and stood a little back.

The count's hand waved out. His sardonic voice sounded:

"There is one for each of you. Recline, and I will conduct you in state to the palace."

Monk hooted, "No hospital cot for mine. I'll walk!"

"Recline," the count ordered again, and the knout swung menacingly in his hand.

They took their places on the wicker litters -- Monk grumbling, Ham doubtful, and Pat frankly grateful for the convenience.

"Hey!" Monk blurted. "We're forgettin' Habeas Corpus."

"You have reference to the trained Arabian pig?" the Count questioned with suave politeness.

"You know everything, don't you?" Monk growled. "Yeah, I mean my pig."

Count Ramadanoff exchanged a few guttural phrases with the overseers, then addressed Monk.

"The pig must have escaped into the jungle. He will find company more to his liking there. Wild swine overrun this island."

Ham said, "Well, anyhow, we've seen the last of that hog." Monk glowered at Ham. "It's your fault, shyster. You let him go."

"If it wasn't for you and your pesky pig, we wouldn't be in this fix," Ham retorted.

Count Ramadanoff cut short their quarrel by ordering the litter bearers to proceed. Through a narrow path hacked in the vine-matted jungle growth, they jogged along, the count, on his horse, bringing up the rear.

They came out on a strip of rocky coastline and the "guests" stared with astonishment.