"028 (B088) - The Roar Devil (1935-06) - Lester Dent" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

The girl shrugged, did not answer.
Zachies grunted, "Working for the Roar Devil, are you not?"
The girl blinked, seemed about to say something, but did not.
"You'll sing plenty before I'm through with you, sister," Zachies told her. "For a long time, I've wanted to get my hands on one of your crowd. You can tell me things. For instance, who is this Roar Devil? How does he manage to accomplish the infernal things he does?"
The girl said nothing. Instead of being afraid, she was bright-eyed with interest. She even smiled slightly.
"A lot of babes would be scared silly," Zachies said dryly. "You're a queer one. But leave it to the Roar Devil to pick the tops. Whoever he is, he is good." Zachies suddenly made a hard fighting jaw queerly at odds with his meekly birdlike exterior. "But not good enough, babe!"
The girl had tucked a small purse into a pocket of her canvas hunting jacket, and Zachies wrenched that out and went through it. There were initials on the outside:
R.M.K.
Inside was a case of cards which bore a name corresponding with the initials. He eyed them.
"Retta Marie Kenn," he said. "Is that your name?"
The girl smiled, "You will have to write it out. I am quite deaf."
"Yes?" The man scowled at her, as if not sure whether she were telling the truth. He shook his hand and continued going through the purse, keeping, however, a close watch on the girl and on the starved-looking young man who was picketed by the rope.
Zachies came upon the driver's license which had belonged to the burly driver of the car back at the road. He had no trouble fathoming how it had come into her possession.
"So you gathered in Stupe Davin," he said grimly. "I'll kick his flat face off for this!"
The girl smiled nicely at him.
Zachies snarled. Then he went on with his search of her belongings. He came upon a telegram, opened it, and read it with much interest:
MISS RETTA KENN
POWERTOWN N Y
TRAIL ZACHIES AND REPORT EACH MOVE HE MAKES STOP IF POSSIBLE SEIZE HIM AND DELIVER HIM TO ME
V VENABLE MEAR
"Who the devil is V. Venable Mear," Dove Zachies yelled.
"Write it out!" the girl pleaded.
DOVE ZACHIES made snarling sounds and tramped the room. He was the kind of a man who could not possibly look dangerous, however, and his present rage gave the impression of a pigeon pouting.
He came to a stop with an arm leveled at the starved young man who seemed gripped by some weird stupor.
"Who is this fellow?" Zachies demanded. "What ails him? What makes the fool stand there with that rope around his leg? Why doesn't he untie himself?"
The girl said, "If you will write it. I have a pencil and paper which I carry for - "
"Ahr-r-rr!" Zachies howled. "Shut up!"
Zachies glared at the girl's paper and pencil - he could see them protruding from the upper pocket of her jacket. But he made no effort to write out his queries. Instead, he ripped off stout copper wire from a ruined electrical coil in a corner of the room and used it to tie the girl.
She resented that. She scratched his face, hit him in the eye and managed to kick him once, but he got her tied. Then he made a circuit of the place, looking it over, examining discarded shipping crates, old envelopes, the names on newspaper wrappers. He came back and confronted the strange-acting young man who looked so starved.
"You Flagler D'Aughtell?" he demanded. "Or are you his helper, Mort Collins? You two guys are inventors or something, ain't you?"
The starved young man made a bubbling noise.
Zachies eyed him closely and shuddered.
"There's somethin' sure wrong with you," he muttered.
Zachies found a lean-to addition in the rear, which had served as a kitchen. On a table stood a bucket of water. It had been there for days, judging by the number of insects which had fallen into it. Zachies got a dipperful, sloshed some in the starved young man's face, then tried to make the fellow drink some.
The young man did not seem to know how to drink. When Zachies held his head back and poured water down his throat, it was like pouring water into a hose. The young fellow made no struggle, did not even swallow.
"Are you D'Aughtell?" Zachies questioned again. "Or are you Mort Collins? If you're Collins, where is D'Aughtell?"
But the young man had not revived sufficiently to talk. Indeed, if he had revived at all, it was not perceptible.
Zachies scratched his head. Then a bright idea seemed to come. He leaned close to the strangely afflicted young man.
"Roar Devil!" he bellowed. "Roar Devil!"
The young man moved a little, as if by terrific effort. One of his arms came up slightly. It was as if he were trying to get it protectingly across his face.
"Darned if you don't know something!" Zachies muttered. "But the problem is - how to get it out, of you."
He considered, and apparently concluded the girl was a more ready source of information, for he turned upon her.
"Who is this Roar Devil?" he growled.
"Write it out," the girl requested.
Zachies snarled, then wrenched the wires off her wrists and from the pocket of her hunting jacket withdrew the paper and pencil.
He started his writing with a fierce jab of the pencil point at the paper. He started violently, emitted a sharp cry, and peered at his finger tips. They bore a strange brownish stain where the pencil had rested.
Zachies made a hoarse sound. He began to sway. He seemed about to faint.
The girl got up calmly from the floor.
Zachies stared at her. He seemed to be growing weaker and weaker.
He gulped, "You did something - "