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

airplanes. These ranged from a gigantic tri-motored speed ship, which could
carry a score of passengers at almost three hundred miles an hour, to a pair of
true gyros, or helicopters, which could rise vertically.
In their line, each of these planes showed the handiwork of a master
designerЧsomeone whose ability as an aыronautical engineer was little short of
wizardry.
The white-bearded fellow vaulted out of the roadster, black cane in hand. He was
greeted with a hooting roar of laughter. The mirth echoed and whooped through
all of the vast, vault-like hangar.
"What a sweet grandpa you make!" gulped the author of the laughter.

A WRATHFUL expression showing above the snowy whiskers, the elderly-looking
gentleman spun quickly around.
The individual doing the laughing had apparently opened and closed the hangar
doors. The fellow presented a startling appearance. A stranger, seeing him on a
moderately gloomy street, would have sworn he had met a
two-hundred-and-sixty-pound ape.
The fellow was incredibly homely. His mouth was entirely too big, and his ears
were tufts of gristle. His hands dangled well below his knees and were covered
with reddish hairs almost as large as rusted nails.
This personage was Andrew Blodgett Mayfair. He rarely heard that name. His
associates called him "Monk." He ranked among the three or four greatest
chemists in the world.
The irate, white-haired gentleman manipulated his black stick, and it was
suddenly evident that this was a sword cane with a blade of fine steel.
"Some of these days IТm going to whittle that hair off you and stuff a
mattress," he predicted fiercely.
The homely Monk doubled over in a fresh spasm of mirth.
"YouТre sure a panic behind that snow bank," he gulped.
The tormented one now snatched off his ample white beard. It was false. The face
which emerged was long and sharp. The features were far from being those of an
old man.
This was Brigadier General Theodore Marley "Ham" Brooks. Up at Harvard, they
considered Ham one of the most astute lawyers ever to be graduated from that
institution.
With a gesture of distaste, Ham flung the white whiskers into the roadster.
"YouТd better make out a will," he snapped.
Monk stopped laughing. "Why?"
"Because, if you keep on riding me, youТre going to come to a sudden end," Ham
promised.
Monk began laughing again.
Ham scowled blackly, then asked, "WhereТs Doc?"
"At the other end, installing some contraption in the big plane," Monk said,
without interrupting his mirth.
Ham stamped away. Judging from his ferocious expression, it apparently would
give him the greatest pleasure to slaughter Monk. It was always thus. When they
were together, bloodshed seemed imminent.
As a matter of fact, each had, on numerous occasions, risked his life to help
the other. Their never-ending quarrel was good-natured, violent though it might
seem to an onlooker.