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

"It stands there in the jungle - no one knows where - just as it was on the day the inhabitants left. There is, the legend says, only one inhabitant."

"One man in the city?"

"Yes - the Thousand-headed Man!"


DOC SAVAGE did not stir about or speak with undue loudness, for to do so might excite the strangely drugged man and nullify the effects of the truth serum.

"How does it happen that three black sticks are called 'keys' to this legendary city?" the bronze man asked.

"For centuries, all who have gone near The Thousand headed Man have died. These keys may be the charm; if they are, they are worth the lives of countless men. The three keys - my men get the - third - "

"Who has the third key?" Doc asked.

"Indigo - and my men - by now." Sen Gat stumbled over the words.

"What do you mean 'by now'?"

"Indigo - my men - they go to - Lucile Copeland." The words tangled somewhat with Sen Gat's tongue. "Girl - got - another key. She give it - to Maples if - he ask. That is why - Indigo took Maples - along."

This totally new information brought no noticeable change to Doc Savage's metallic features. He rarely showed emotion.

"Could I help the girl if I went to her house now?" he asked.

Sen Gat mumbled and Doc distinguished the word, "Maybe."

"What is her address?"

"Her house - No. 90 WalIabout Street."

Doc Savage employed strips torn from the silken draperies to bind Sen Gat and the others securely, then gag them. He dragged all to a windowless closet of a room, locked them in, made sure there was a crack at the bottom of the door which would admit air, then departed from the house.

Fascinating as was the tale of an abandoned jungle city populated only by a thousand-headed man, Doc had decided to delay hearing the rest of the story in favor of investigating Lucile Copeland's danger.



Chapter 5

A WOMAN'S VOICE


THE HOUSE at 90 Wallabout Street proved to be a shabby genteel dwelling on a modest residential street some distance from Regent's Park. Each house occupied an individual yard. Shrubbery was profuse and grew rank.

In approaching the house Doc Savage haunted the flower beds and bushes of back yards. The fog had thickened since his landing at the airport, and if the intensity of the darkness was any criterion, the sky was cloud-massed.

Doc counted the gloomy lumps which the houses made. The street lights outlined them but faintly. He made out No. 90 - it should be No.90, the way the numbers ran. A long rose bed barred his path and he vaulted over, springing sidewise, after calculating the height. He remained frozen where he landed.

Once each day since childhood, Doc Savage had expended two hours in intensive scientific exercise. This accounted for his power. One part of the routine consisted of a ritual - the testing and identifying of different odors - which was intended to develop his sense of smell. This had been effective to a surprising degree.