"Doc Savage Adventure 1939-07 Merchants of Disaster" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doc Savage Collection)

Soldiers who had been operating the smoke generators leaped into action as the officers arrived. Huge fans, prepared for the purpose, roared into action.

A strong surge of air swept the field, drove the smoke Screen away.

Then the soldiers beneath that screen could be seen. They no longer were marching. They were sprawled in grotesque positions. Some had snatched the gas masks from their heads. Others apparently had been clawing at their throats when they went down.


SHARP commands rang out. Ambulances raced to the field. Bewildered doctors started to work. Each used a different method in trying to revive the more than two hundred victims.

Several of the stricken were revived. But there were not more than half a dozen of these.

The others were dead beyond all hope of saving.

There were no marks on any of the bodies. And despite the display of "fireworks" which the watchers had seen, not a body was burned or showed any sign of having been near flames.

The survivors could offer little assistance in solving the mystery.

"I just found myself gettin' faint," one of them reported. "It seemed like I couldn't breathe all at once. Then I went down. That's all I know."

And that was all the medical and laboratory workers had learned late that night.

A thorough test had been made of the type of smoke used in the tests. It was found to be perfectly harmless, even without a gas mask. And the masks used were tested with every kind of known gas and found to be good.

Newspapers were making a terrific clamor. The first reports were sensational in the extreme. Some hinted at a surprise attack by some jealous rival nation.

The army felt it knew better than that. Autopsies showed clearly the cause of death. That was what made it all so unbelievable.

Stern-faced men met that night in the war department. Lights burned late.

They knew nothing of the deaths either of Hobo Joe or of Les Quinan. Nor did they have an inkling that Quinan had made a horrible discovery.

But they did reach the same conclusion that the patent attorney had reached.

They decided to call Doc Savage.

"Our own intelligence services will go to work at once, naturally," one declared. "But we should use every precaution, make available the services of everyone who might possibly be able to help us."

"It still might have been an accident," a second mused. "Remember, there have been instances in France where scores have been overcome mysteriously, some dying, in circumstances almost similar."

A bemedaled general snorted. "Nothing mysterious about those events. Fog merely forced poisonous fumes from factories close to the ground. The people breathed the fumes and collapsed. These men today were not poisoned." The war secretary nodded. "I agree, And we will get Doc Savage to aid us."

He reached for a telephone, gave a number.

In New York, on the eighty-sixth floor of a giant skyscraper, a man answered that call.

At first sight, that man did not seem so tall or so unusual. But there was something about him that always drew a second glance, and that second look proved how erroneous the first impression had been.

He was tall, but so perfectly put together that his height was not noticeable. His skin was a distinctive bronze, while his hair, combed close to his scalp, was only a slightly darker hue.

But his eyes were his most impressive features. Those eyes were like pools of flake gold, impelling, magnetic, almost hypnotic.