"017 (B002) - The Thousand-Headed Man (1934-07) - Lester Dent" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

Monk went to a pile of metal boxes which stood in a comer. These were Doc Savage's equipment containers. Bending over one, he opened it and fingered through the contents. Then he palmed a tiny cylindrical object of metal.

The orientals failed to observe this move.

When Monk returned from the heaped-up boxes, he was placing a cigar between his lips and lighting it. Had the visitors been well-posted, the fact that Monk was smoking might have warned them of something amiss. Ordinarily, none of Doc's men smoked.

Monk returned to his chair, and for some seconds nothing happened.

"Doc Savage b'long this place chopchop?" asked a man impatiently.

Monk shrugged. "Never can tell when Doc'll get back." The pleasantly homely chemist was drawing prodigious quantities of smoke from his cigar and blowing it down over his hands, which were folded on his vest. He nudged the pig with a toe, and the shoat sat up. With the toe, Monk indicated the slanteyed men.

The pig had been Monk's mascot for a long time. Literally thousands of hours had been spent in training him. As a result, Habeas Corpus - that was the cognomen Monk had appended to him - possessed no small intelligence. The pointing toe was enough to start him eyeing the yellow men.

The stare was returned. The orientals seemed fascinated.

Monk drew in smoke and sent it scooting in a billowing plume over his hands. There sounded two faint clicks, low enough that no one but Monk heard them.

Two celestials started slightly. Both scratched themselves; a leg, the other his chest. Both abruptly turned pale and looked quite ill.

Monk puffed more smoke, and there were two more clicks, after which two more men assumed expressions of great discomfort. During all this, Habeas Corpus was still staring.

"Funny thing about that pig," Monk remarked around his cigar. "Got him in Arabia. He's a mighty special kind of hog. Once I heard a guy say Habeas had the evil eye, that awful things happened to some birds when he looked at 'em. Course there ain't nothing' to that."

Sen Gat's followers thought this over, and the more they considered the greater was their discomfort. They were of a race addicted to believe in spells and evil charms; moreover, they could plainly see that something strange was happening to a part of their group. Suddenly, it got the best of them.

"Us fella come back 'notha time," one groaned, and sprang to his feet. The others followed him out of the room into the corridor, and down the stairs. Those who had been stricken could hardly walk.

A grin seamed Monk's simian features from ear to ear. He opened a hand and eyed the cylindrical metal object he had taken from the boxes in the corner. This was a tiny compressed-air repeating blowgun, one of countless strange devices which Doc Savage had perfected.

The slugs it fired were half an inch long and little thicker than needles. There was a supply of them in the case, coated with drugs which produced a variety of effects, from instant unconsciousness to hilarious intoxication. Monk had used the type which inflicted great physical discomfort. The tobacco smoke had concealed Monk's operations.

Monk went to the window and looked out. Doc Savage was descending the side of the hotel.




Chapter 4

SWEET WINE


MONK WATCHED Doc Savage's feat with interest, but failed to register the slack-jawed amazement a stranger might have exhibited. The gorillalike chemist had been associated with Doc Savage long enough to comprehend the fabulous nature of the bronze man's physical strength. Monk had seen Doc do more dangerous climbing.

A few feet to the side, a series of projecting bricks formed an ornamental procession down the wall. Supported by cabled fingers, Doc was lowering himself from one of these to another. The fact that a slip would have brought death or serious injury seemed not to concern him.

Glancing up, the bronze man caught Monk's vehement nod, which conveyed the fact that the orientals had departed. Then he continued downward.

Doc landed on the roof of a one-story neighboring building, glided to the rear, and dropped into a courtyard with a lithe ease. The courtyard held banana crates, tea cartons and other refuse from a shop.