"015 (B069) - The Mystery on the Snow (1934-05) - Lester Dent (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

"Strange heТs not around," Long Tom muttered uneasily.
Both produced small flashlights. These lights were of a type perfected by Doc
Savage. They had no battery, the current for the bulbs being supplied by
spring-operated generators inclosed in the cases. One winding of the spring
would produce a brilliant light for several minutes.
The flashbeams found the stand which held the listening end of RennyТs
dictograph.
Johnny picked up the dictograph receivers and clamped them over his ears. With a
forefinger like a long-jointed bone, he threw switches. Voice sound came from
the ear phones as the dictograph began operation.
For a long ten seconds, Johnny listened. Then: "IТll be superamalgamated!" he
gulped.
Long Tom had been prowling the basement regions. He pitched to JohnnyТs side. It
took something potent to shock the skeleton-thin geologist into any kind of an
ejaculation, even one containing a four-dollar word.
Johnny clawed off the head set.
"RennyЧsome girlЧupstairs!" he sputtered.
Long Tom snorted. "Renny visiting some gal and you raise allЧ"
"TheyТre being killed!" Johnny exploded. "Their throats are about to be cut!"
"Come on!" Long Tom snapped. "ThereТs a stairway in the back that leads up."
Flashlights poking white beams, they rushed toward the steps. With their free
hands they fumbled at a harness under their armpits.
Clipped to the harness were weapons resembling oversized automatics. Magazines
on these were curled, ramТs-horn fashion, to occupy a minimum of space. The guns
were machine pistols with an unbelievably rapid rate of fire. When they went
into operation their sound was not unlike the croak of monster bullfrogs.
The super-firers were charged with mercy bulletsЧslugs which were merely a
chemical-containing shell. They did not kill; they produced instant
unconsciousness.
Stair steps whined under the weight of the two men. The air smelled of cobwebs,
mice. They reached a half-open door; its hinges squawked as they pushed it
further ajar.
Like white serpent tongues the flashbeams darted. Simultaneously, both lights
picked out the prone figure of a man.
"Renny!" Long Tom moaned; then, in the same breath: "No! ItТs somebody else."
Johnny bent over the sprawled figure. "Face like an almondЧslant eyes," he
breathed. "Must be an Oriental. HeТs unconscious, it seems."

JOHNNY barely breathed his words, but they seemed to awaken the unconscious man.
His eyelids fluttered, came wide open.
"DonТt hit me again, sahib," he whined.
Long Tom sank to a knee. "WeТre not the birds who hit you. Who are you?"
"The janitor," moaned the man who had a face like an almond.
"WeТre lookinТ for a fellow with big fists," the electrical wizard rasped. "Seen
him?"
The man on the floor appeared very weak. "Upstairs," he gasped.
Long Tom and Johnny charged for the staircase. They did not know they had been
fooled. They had never seen MahalЧand the man they had just encountered was
Mahal.
Mahal was a foxy soul, or he would have long ago been in jail, where he