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

Sen Gat lifted his grotesque hands as the sword point bit at his midriff.

"Sezaniat datang," he said wryly.

"Speak English!" gritted the thin man.

"Welcome," said Sen Gat ironically.

"Sure!" The sword point, jabbing suggestively, went through coat cloth and sank a quarter of an inch deep into flesh. "Stand still!"

Sen Gat stood, and the other searched him. A pocket yielded flat automatic; a sheath gave up a serpentine laded reese; and a length of silk cord, excellent for strangling purposes, was disgorged by a secret compartment in the coat lining.

Sen Gat said nothing throughout the inspection. The gold finger nail protectors lent his hands a weird touch, an aspect of inhumanity.

"Open the wall safe," his captor ordered.

Sen Gat stared at his visitor, and the expression he saw on the bony features evidently was not reassuring. There was violent determination - and hate.

After scowling very blackly for a brief time, Sen Gat shrugged slightly. "Very well."

He went over to the safe, the man with the sword following him.

"You know what I want. Don't waste time opening the safe if it's not there." The blade jabbed carelessly.

Sen Gat said nothing but squirmed away from the sharp steel.

"In fact," said the other, "if you open the safe and it is not there, I shall probably kill you,"

"It is there."

The dark oriental swept the drapery aside from the wall safe, moving slowly so as not to excite the other.

As Sen Gat began opening the safe, it was manifest that he did not use his fingers a great deal. In fact, the long nails made the fingers clumsy to the point of uselessness. Maneuvering the dial, be employed the sides of his hand.

The safe came open. Holding his hands so the swordsman could see them, Sen Gat reached into the safe and secured a packet

The object was perhaps half an inch thick, four inches long, and was wrapped in oil paper. It was an almost exact duplicate of the package which the bony man had thrown to Doc Savage.

Sen Gat extended the article.

"Here you are, Maples," he gritted.


THE PALE, exotic lighting in the room made Maples's hand seem more skeleton-like than ever as he took the packet. His bony fingers were agile despite their lack of flesh. Using only one hand, he unrolled the oiled paper and got at the contents.

The paper had been wrapped around a black stick.

The black stick was round, but roughly so, as if it had been molded by rolling between palms. The indentations of finger tips were even discernible in the sepia substance. The compound itself was vaguely like hard rubber, yet obviously not rubber. There was a greasy shine to it.

"This is one of them," Maples said softly, and replaced the oiled covering.