"012 (B043) - The Man Who Shook The Earth (1934-02) - Lester Dent" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

He seated himself beside the telephone stand, which was near the great inlaid table, remained there, smoking, staring steadily at the phone. He was waiting for something. The expression on his face was eager, and utterly villainous.
MONK was grinning with all of his homely face as he left an elevator in the lobby of the skyscraper. His expression was one of smug satisfaction, as he swaggered across the lobby, heading for the street door.
Two elevator operators, standing at attention in front of their idle cages, bowed from the waist as Monk passed. Their manner showed respect and possibly a little awe.
Had Velvet been a witness, he would have thought it more than passing strange for a janitor to rate such deference.
Out on the street, Monk walked rapidly. The fact that his arms were some inches longer than his legs gave him a comical aspect. Several pedestrians turned around and stared wonderingly after him.
Monk ignored this. He kept going as if he had some place which he wished to reach in a hurry.
The night air was rather chilly. It was getting colder. Overhead, clouds were matted. Indications were that it would be a bitter night, with a probability of snow before long.
Monk came to a park a few blocks from the skyscraper. In the chilly, windswept center of the park, a long wooden shack had been erected. The brightly lighted interior of this gave off the aroma of coffee, doughnuts, and sandwiches. From the shack a long line of men stretched.
Monk calculated the length of the line. There must be about four hundred men in it. There were very few of them who were not shivering with the night's chill.
Monk continued on past the line, to an all-night bank. When he came out of the bank, he was carrying five hundred one-dollar bills. He had exchanged Velvet's bribe money for them.
Monk went to the man who was ladling out food to the breadline. A few words, and the money exchanged hands.
Five minutes later, each down-and-outer who passed in the breadline was getting a crisp dollar bill. To most of them, a dollar was a young fortune. It meant a bed for the night, a meal or two tomorrow.
A close observer might have detected salty drops of gratitude in a number of eyes. Other skeptical souls walked off wondering loudly, but happily, if the dollar bills were genuine.
The grin on Monk's simian features was even wider as he went to a near-by drug store and entered a phone booth.
Consulting the phone directory, Monk got the number of the Times-Flash. Velvet had said he worked for this sheet. Monk called the newspaper, and got the city editor on the wire.
"I'd like to talk to Mr. Velvet." Monk was merely checking up on Velvet's story.
"Who?" growled the city editor.
"Your reporter named Velvet."
"There's nobody by that name working on this paper," the city editor said shortly. "Furthermore, there never has been."
Monk lost his smile. "Have you got a reporter trying to interview Doc Savage? Give me the truth about it. This is important."
"We sent no reporter to see Doc Savage," the city editor said firmly.
Chapter II. THE MYSTERIOUS JOHN ACRE
MONK broke his connection. His anthropoid features were a study. He scratched among the reddish bristles which stuck up straight on top of his head.
Outside, a newsboy passed. He was piping in a cold-shrilled voice. "Earthquake! All about the big earthquake! Read about it!"
Monk called the number of a hospital which was noted all over the world for the remarkable surgical feats which were performed there.
"Is Doc Savage there?" Monk asked. "I'm a friend of his."
The man at the hospital hesitated, then said: "I do not believe that Doc Savage is free to answer the telephone at the moment."
"Why not?"
"Doctor Savage is conducting one of his demonstration operations. There are more than two score of famous surgeons watching."
Monk showed no surprise at this. Doc Savage, famous man of bronze, was considered by those in the profession to be the greatest living surgeon. Doc did not practice professionally, but frequently performed his surgical magic while other surgeons looked on. He did this to demonstrate new technique, to teach others to do what he himself had learned through intensive study and research.
"What kind of an operation is Doc doing this time?" Monk asked the hospital attendant casually.
"An extremely delicate piece of work to remove a paralytic condition from the nerve center of a man's left eye," explained the fellow at the hospital.
Monk started slightly. "What?"
"Doc Savage is operating on a left eye," the hospital attendant reported. Apparently he felt loquacious. "This will be a remarkable feat, if successful. Sight has been lost to this eye since an injury was suffered in the Great War."
Varied expressions were convulsing Monk's homely features. Astonishment, anxiety, and delight struggled for possession of his pleasantly ugly lineaments. He seemed too overcome to speak.
"
The successful completion of this eye operation will be one of the greatest feats of its kind ever performed," continued the man at the hospital. There was awe in his tone.
Monk found his voice. "Is the guy being operated on tall and bony?"
"Right," the other replied. "He is a remarkable physical specimen, but in excellent condition. The nerves of his eye, it seems, have been allowed to strengthen for years since his injury in the War, in order that the operation might be feasible.
"That the operation was not performed earlier was due to Doc Savage's realization that to do so would result in permanent loss of vision in the eye. He has waited until the time was ripe."
"What's the name of the man with the bad eye?" Monk demanded thickly, his voice strained.
"William Harper Littlejohn. He is a famous archaeologist and geologist."
Monk leaned against the booth side. He was perspiring. The hospital attendant's words had obviously put him under a great strain.
"Listen," he pleaded. "Go see how that operation is coming along, will you? This guy Littlejohn is a pal of mine. I didn't know he was being operated on tonight."
The man at the hospital left the phone. He was gone a few minutes, then reported:
"The operation is over. Doc Savage will be here to speak with you as soon as he removes his working robes."
"Was it successful?" Monk yelled anxiously.
"It was."
MONK emitted a tremendous bawling howl of delight, and did his best to jump up and down in the cramped confines of the phone booth. The booth was too small to permit successful dancing, however.
In a blissful silence, following his outburst, Monk waited for Doc Savage to reach the hospital phone.