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

DOC MOVED back to the front door. The bobbies had stopped beating on the panel. They stood near the door, talking in easy voices which they did not keep low.

"We have the place surrounded," said one officer. "No one can escape, we're jolly sure. Of course, this may all he a mistake."

Doc appreciated that. These English hobbies worked with respect for the upright citizen's feelings, which might be one reason the English like their bobbies.

Knuckles pounded the door again.

Doc let the bobbies hammer away. He wanted to know what had brought them here, and expected they would reveal that information. They did.

"A woman's voice telephoned the bally report," said an officer.

"Righto," agreed another. "She said a Yankee named Doc Savage had knifed three men to death inside."

Doc did not start; his breathing continued evenly. That did not mean he was unconcerned. The bobbies would hold him, certainly, if they caught him here. These English cops were thorough.

A woman's voice had telephoned the fabrication! And Doc had encountered Leslie Copeland here.

"We'd better break in," said an officer. "Some of you enter by the rear."

They began to put force on the door.

Doc glided into the study, went to a case which held guns, and selected a fowling piece. Shells reposed in a niche beside it. He loaded the weapon, walked back and aimed it at the door, well over the heads of the bobbies.

The fowling piece made an ear-splitting roar when he fired.

The bobbies scuttled back.

"The beggar intends to make a battle of it!" growled one officer. "Send for the machine gun, gas and bomb squads."

Feet clattered away to fulfill the order.

"Come out peaceable, old man!" Doc was ordered. The bronze man ignored the command. Reloading the fowling piece, he went into the study and gathered up four other rifles and shotguns.

Then he entered a bedroom. There was a dressing table, and on it a bottle of sandalwood perfume. That indicated it was Leslie Copeland's boudoir. Doc found some silk stockings and used them to tie all of his guns into a bundle.

The second floor was now his objective. A survey from a window showed that hand searchlights had been turned on the surrounding the house. Ordinarily, these would have cast luminance over the roof, but the fog was thick, and the roof - even this second floor window - lay in gloom.

Doc worked with the window and got it open without much noise. A siren was caterwauling in the distance. The riot squad. The sound helped him.

Clambering out of the window noiselessly, he stood upon the sill, supporting himself with one hand inside, and grasped the roof eave. An instant later he swung free, sustained by the tremendous strength in one hand.

His feet came up, and he hung head downward. It was intricate business, for he still carried the heavy bundle of guns. Very slowly, he hauled himself up onto the roof.

The roof was not so steep but that it could be walked upon. But the tiles gritted underfoot, despite all his care.

"I say, what's that grinding?" shouted a bobby.


DOC CAME erect and ran forward. He sprinted, reached the edge of the roof and launched into space.