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

The machine rocketed on and around the corner.

The bronze man stood there a moment. He had secured the license number of the car and repeated it under his breath a number of times to fix it in his memory. The number might or might not be useful.

He had not been able to see who occupied the sedan.


GOING BACK into the house, Doc found two more dead men - three altogether. The other pair, both orientals, reposed in a room adjacent to the one in which the first cadaver lay.

Both were victims of a creese.

Doc postponed searching their clothing and went back to the rear door. He used his flashlight on the kitchen floor.

The linoleum was marked with wet footprints, but they were only Doc's own. The fog dew on the grass outside had dampened his shoes. Undoubtedly it had moistened the girl's footgear, too.

Doc switched off his light, and there came into existence a tiny, fantastic sound. It was a trilling note with an exotic quality which defied description. Pitched very low, it might have been the product of a wayward breeze, except that there was no breeze. It permeated all of the room. Ranging the musical scale, it possessed no definite tune.

This trilling sound was a characteristic exclusive to Doc Savage - a weird note which he unconsciously made in moments of mental excitement. It came when he had made some discovery of importance; sometimes it precoursed a plan of action. It could mean many things.

Just now, the trilling signified disgust. The absence of the girl's foot prints from the kitchen linoleum showed she had not even entered the house, but had merely opened the door, then slammed it to give the impression that she had gone inside.

Moving outdoors, Doc Savage stood for some time in the darkness, listening, noting that commotion in the neighborhood had subsided, householders possibly having dismissed the shot as a backfire. Then he moved about, using his ears, olfactory organs, and occasionally the flashlight. But he turned up no sign of the girl, Lucile Copeland, if the tall young woman who ran so swiftly was she.

Re-entering the house, Doc searched the creese victims, but their pockets yielded nothing to identify them. However, Doc knew they were Sen Gat's men, since to the clothing the three slain ones clung a tang of that incense which had saturated Sen Gat's house. Of the death knife there was no trace.

The rooms of the house, Doc's roving flashbeam disclosed, were decorated in unusual fashion. The study floor bore a scattering of tiger, lion, polar bear and other animal skins, while mounted heads of ovis poli, bighorn sheep, wapiti - trophies from numerous climes - were arrayed on the walls, together with heavy spears from the Congo, blowguns from the Amazon headwaters, and elaborately carved swords from China.

A particularly unique touch was given by the samples of hand-weaving in the form of wall hangings, curtains, table runners, and other articles of ornamentation. These bits were woven from materials that ranged from yak tails to split thongs cut from the hide of a boa constrictor.

The master of the house evidently made a hobby of handweaving.

Display cases held preserved insects, wood samples, and mineral specimens. Bookcases were laden with scientific tomes.

Doc examined these, and came upon a scrapbook. Scores of newspaper clippings were within, and he ran through them rapidly, ascertaining that all of the items concerned an explorer, Calvin Copeland by name.

Copeland, perusal of the clippings revealed, had adventured in many climes. His wife, Fayne, and his daughter, Lucile, usually accompanied him. There was a picture of all three.

Calvin Copeland was tall, sharpfaced, carrying little surplus flesh. The wife, Fayne, was as tall as her husband, which made her of unusual height. She had a mannish appearance, but that might have come from the masculine outdoor attire she wore in the picture.

Lucile was the girl Doc had encountered outside. The picture gave a better idea of her appearance; she looked very competent, very pretty.

The latest clipping was dated nearly a year previous. It stated simply that Calvin Copeland and his wife and daughter were sailing for Indo-China. The explorer had refused to reveal the purpose of his expedition.


OUTSIDE IN the street, a car stopped.

With a finger, Doc moved a window curtain aside. Fog made the machine in the street a vague elongation. Headlights were dimmed. Between them, an accessory red light glowed.

The red light was significant - a police car.