"018 (B035) - The Squeaking Goblin (1934-08) - Lester Dent" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

This ghostly prowler did not descend the full length of the path, but took up a position perhaps halfway down. There, standing in black gloom, the marauder waited. The muzzle-loading rifle was sighted on the plane an instant, as if testing the range, then the weapon lowered and waited.
Out on the water, the plane swung about and rode its mooring like a boat. A hatchlike door opened. A hand of tremendous size gripped the edge of the aperture, and a man hauled himself into view.
The fellow would have weighed in excess of two hundred and fifty pounds, yet so huge were his hands in proportion to the rest of his body, that he seemed small. An expression of profound gloom rode the man's features, which were long and angular.
Half out of the plane door, the big-fisted man peered sourly about. Judging by the acrimonious set of his visage, he held a low opinion of the world in general and of the Maine coast in particular.
Strangely enough, this meant the worthy of the huge hands was well pleased; he had the perverse trait of looking the most gloomy when he was happiest.
This was one peculiar trait of "Renny"ЧColonel John Renwick, engineering genius extraordinary.
"Renny!" came a low-pitched voice from inside the plane cabin.
"Yeah?" The long-faced man had a voice so huge that he had difficulty keeping it low. "What's eatin' you, Long Tom?"
"Doc says not to climb outside yet," advised "Long Tom."
"Why not?"
"Man on the cliff with a rifle, Doc says," Long Tom imparted.
Renny did not change expression at the advice, nor did he duck from view so wildly as to arouse suspicion; neither did he linger outside overlong. Once back in the plane cabin, he eyed Long Tom gloomily.
LONG TOM was not "long". His head failed to reach Renny's shoulder. Nor did he offer a picture of robust health, his complexion being sallow, closely akin to that of a mushroom, and his frame in general was marked by a preponderance of bones and a scarcity of flesh. Long Tom looked as if he were a stranger to sunlight. His full name was Major Thomas J. Roberts.
"Holy cow!" Renny thumped. "I didn't see any guy with a rifle."
A number of boxes and cases were racked to the sides of the cabin compartment. Forward, the pilot's compartment was shut off with a bulkhead, which was pierced by a door, and this bulkhead door now opened.
An arm appeared, thrusting through the aperture. There was something incredible about that armЧRenny and Long Tom had seen it countless times, yet sight of the arm now brought faint wonder to their eyes, an expression of awe which long association had not alleviated. The shirt sleeve was rolled back to the elbow.
It was the arm of Doc Savage.
Two things were striking about it: the bronze hue of the fine-textured skin, and the gigantic sinews which cabled the back and wrist, some of the ligaments being almost as large as the fingers themselves. The hand conveyed an expression of incredible strength.
A device which resembled a misshapen pair of binoculars was extended by the hand.
"Have a look," said a voice from beyond the compartment door. The tones were as remarkable as the arm; they held power and a controlled quality of resonance.
Long Tom took the device which looked like grotesque binoculars.
"You got the infra-red searchlight turned on, Doc?" he asked.
"It's pointed at the cliff," said the unusual voice.
Long Tom carried the binocular contrivance back to a cabin window. Before lifting it to his eyes, he glanced outside. Complete darkness swathed the cliff face, except for a spot or two where the moonlight touched, nor were any lights showing aboard the big seaplane.
No surprise appeared on Long Tom's pallid features at the lack of visible light. Long Tom understood fully what was going on, for the pale, slender man was an electrical wizard whose name was known almost everywhere that electrical experts gathered.
In a streamlined mounting on the plane was a searchlight of an unusual type. Its filament was a device which produced a profusion of rays in the infra-red wave bands; the lens was a filter which shut off all visible light, but which had the property of passing infra rays that did not register on the naked eye, these therefore being invisible.
The searchlight was simply one which threw invisible light.
Long Tom knew that Doc had used the infra-searchlight purely as a precautionary move to ascertain the presence of possible danger. Doc overlooked no bets, which was one reason why he had a worldwide reputation.
Clamping the clumsy, binocularlike contrivance to his eyes, Long Tom peered at the cliff face. Use of the device made a striking difference in what could be seen, for the vista of the precipice could now be viewed almost as distinctly as in full daylight.
The oversize eyeglass was an apparatus constructed by Doc SavageЧa device that was a product of infinite scientific skill. It made visible such of the infra rays as were refracted. The process by which this was done was an intricate one, probably fully understood only by Doc Savage himself.
Under the invisible light, the cliff had a harsh aspect, and distances were deceptive; there were no colors, the whole being in starkly contrasting black and white, like the negative of a camera film.
"For cryin' out loud!" Long Tom breathedЧand passed the glass to Renny.
Renny stared, then emitted the ejaculation which he always employed when startled. "Holy cow! A guy dressed like Daniel Boone!"
LOW orders came from the pilot's compartment, Doc's voice being pitched so that it could not by any chance be heard ashore.
Complying with the commands, Renny and Long Tom lifted a collapsible fabric boat from a locker. This was folded open, the joints locked, the craft deposited in the water, then a light outboard motor attached.
Renny and Long Tom exposed themselves freely and did not indulge in unnecessary staring at the cliff where the weird figure in deerskins crouched. They knew Doc Savage was keeping a watch on the strange rifleman and would give warning if the fellow made a hostile move. They got the boat ready.
"Careful," Doc Savage's voice warned in a low tone. "Our friend in the coonskin cap is due for a little party. We do not want to spoil it. When somebody waits for us with a rifle, he'll bear inspection."
Renny clambered down into the boat; Long Tom followed. They started the outboard. Then Renny lifted his voice.
"Think you'll go ashore before we get back, Doc?" he asked, and his whooping tones carried over to the marauder on the cliff.
"I may," Doc called with equal loudness. "If so, I'll land at the base of the cliff here."
Renny and Long Tom departed at the head of a sudsy ribbon of wake. Their course paralleled the shore, and the low, muffled moan of the small outboard was soon lost to ear. Then there was silence, except for the clamor of the dance orchestra on the yacht, that uproar not having been interrupted by the arrival of the plane.
In the dragging minutes that followed, a night bird spiraled over the beach; waves lathered themselves on the reefs and half-submerged boulders. The dance music pulsed savagely.
The unusual figure in wilderness garb had not moved from the cliff path. The play of words before Doc's two men had departed was holding him there.
Renny and Long Tom appeared at the top of the cliff. They had landed down the shore and circled to flank the skulker.
Doc went into action, for he had been awaiting his two men. The plane motors whooped into life. Mechanism whined and the anchor was lifted more rapidly than it could have been done by hand. Blue flame and smoke spouted from exhaust stacks.
The seaplane darted beachward. From the top of the craft, two expanding rods of glaring white light protruded, waved, found the rifleman in the coonskin cap.
The death-mask face of the figure in deerskins was altogether hideous, even at that distance.
RENNY leaped over the cliff edge and followed the path downward. A glance had shown him there was no other way up, although several ledges did run, shelflike, along the precipice face.
Long Tom waited at the top. In his hand was a gun remindful of an oversize automatic pistol.
The coonskin-capped one had not moved, but stood in the beam of the searchlight while the plane neared the beach. All three motors were fitted with reversing propellers. These now reversed, headway was cut sharply, and the craft grounded gently on the sand. The cabin hatch flew open.