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

More men crowded into the room. These were all orientals. None of them had a face pleasant to look upon.

Sen Gat minced backward, peering fearfully at his protected finger nails. His face mirrored an immense relief when he found none of them broken. They were a love he valued next to his life, those nails.

Maples had dropped the black stick. Indigo picked it up and handed it to Sen Gat The latter, taking it, gave his blue-whiskered henchman a scowl.

"You had orders to follow Maples and seize him."

"All same savvy that," muttered Indigo. He indicated Maples. "When we tackle him, we come alongside smooth fella. Him b'long too damn much gray stuff in head. Two times at fly field we take the shot at him. Too much slick. Bullets plentee miss."

Despite his white skin and his Caucasian lineaments, the man spoke the dialect common to natives of the southern orient and the South Seas.

"Search him!" directed Sen Gat. "He should have the other black stick. That will give us two of the keys. The other one the girl has."

"Yes. Stick three, him b'long Missy Lucille Copeland. Not so good."

He bent over the half conscious Maples and searched. Pockets were turned inside out. Maples's shirt was torn off, disclosing the torture scar and the fresh bullet wound in the fellow's shoulder.

"Fly field bullet come 'longside this fella after all," Indigo chuckled.

But no other black stick came to light although they searched again. The discovery - or lack of discovery - caused consternation. The orientals cackled in their native dialects; the Malayan tongue was predominant. Evidently all had been with Indigo at the airport.

Sen Gat, listening to their talk, seized upon a morsel of information.

"You say Maples stood on a tractor and threw something," he demanded.

"Me come along that idea, mebbe so," Indigo admitted.

"Make him talk." Sen Gat gestured at Maples. "Find what he did with that other black key."


INDIGO, LEERING, departed to another room and returned carrying a deep brass brazier in which charcoal burned. He added more charcoal and fanned the flame, and when he had sufficient heat, inserted the point of the sword which Maples had used.

Maples revived and watched the preparations. Four men pinioned his arms and legs. Maples's eyes grew unnaturally wide. He writhed as if the brand marks on his chest had become suddenly painful. Numerous times he ran a tongue over his thin lips.

"It ain't gonna do you no good," he snarled desperately.

Indigo withdrew the sword from the brazier, observed that its tip barely glowed red, and returned it for more heating.

"Mebbe so you fella tongue come loose," he suggested. Maples clenched his lower lip between his teeth, held it a while, and when he released it the lip bore a row of semicircular tooth marks from which scarlet drops crept.

"I can't stand burning again," he groaned. "listen; you fellows are out of luck. Torture won't help."

Sen Gat stroked his finger nails tenderly. "Yes?"

"Doc Savage has the black stick I was carrying."

Maples's words did not bring joy. The orientals chattered; Indigo rubbed his dark jaw; and Sen Gat glared.

"You threw your key to Doc Savage?" Sen Gat questioned.