"031 (B060) - The Majii (1935-09) - Lester Dent.palmdoc.pdbTXT" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

"Has the money been sent to Jondore?"
"No. We took care of that."
"What do you mean?" Doc demanded.
"We suggested that the money be kept here in the United States for a few weeks, until it was quite certain that Rama Tura had a legitimate right to sell those jewels," said the Better Business Bureau man.
"Your theory was that they might be stolen jewels which Rama Tura was disposing?"
"Exactly."
"It is hardly likely they are stolen jewels," Doc said. "Stones the size of those Rama Tura has been producing have a character all of their own, even if recut. Had they been stolen, some one would have recognized them."
"Well, where in the devil are they coming from?" the other demanded. "I don't know how Rama Tura does that ball of fire stunt. But damned if I'm gullible enough to think he stands there and makes diamonds."
Doc Savage asked, "Where is the two thirds of the Jondore proceeds?"
"In cash in the Oriental National Bank," said the man from the Better Business Bureau.
"Cash?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Darned if I know. It's in a safety-deposit box, or rather, a whole series of boxes. I saw it myself."
"Rather a strange business," Doc Savage said dryly.
"You said it."
They terminated the conversation.
Doc Savage made arrangements to have a heavy police guard placed over the Jondore charity funds in the Oriental National Bank. This was simply accomplished, since the bronze man held a high honorary commission.
While Doc Savage was still talking about that matter, the second of his bank of telephonesЧhe had severalЧrang. He picked up the instrument.
"I think," said a voice in almost unnaturally precise English, "that you might save my life if you care to hurry."
Doc demanded. "Just what is the idea?"
"I am the Nizam, Kadir Lingh, of Jondore," said the precise voice. "I am at present holding them off. But I shall not be able to accomplish this much longer."
Quite distinctly over the telephone wire came the bang of several shots, followed by two more much closer to the transmitter.
"Where are you?" Doc asked.
"I was too busy getting here to notice," said the other.
"What can you see from your windows?" Doc questioned.
There were two more shots.
"I am in a boathouse," said the man. His voice was calm. "I cannot see anything but woods and the occasional flash of a gun and the car which I abandoned."
Doc suggested, "Look out on the water and see what you observe."
Another shot.
"I see a green light," said the man. "It flashes once every ten seconds. There is a white light beyond it which blinks about once every second. Perhaps you could look at a chartЧ"
"I will be right out," Doc said.
DOC SAVAGE was a disciple of the theory that the various abilities of the human animal, memory among other things, can be developed by careful practice and concentration.
For this reason, he took two full hours of various exercises daily, and had taken them since childhood. These exercises were remarkable and covered not only the building of his physical body, but the development of sight, hearing, touch, olfactory organs, and the rest.
There was also a routine for memory, although perhaps the more important side of the memory training was back in the bronze man's childhood. In the cradle stage, he had been broken of forgetting things, just as other children are broken of the thumb-sucking habit.
From the very date of his birth, the bronze man had been trained for the strange career which he now followed.
That explained how he knew, without consulting a marine chart, that there was a ten-second green blinker and a one-second white blinker in Long Island Sound off High Point.
High Point was a spot unpopular with suburbanites, due to the fact that there was a marsh to the west of the high ground, a smelly marsh which made High Point a malodorous place when the wind was in certain directions.
The road was bad. Doc's roadster pitched, swayed and jarred, despite its excellent springing. There was a heavy dew, and that made the road slippery, for it was asphalt.
Doc kept the car's radio tuned to the wave length of the police broadcasting system, listening for anything that might be important. There were innumerable reports of fights, prowlers, and suspected burglars, a number of lost persons. Following, there was a list of stolen cars.
The bronze man seemed to pay them no particular attention, and made no note, yet, hours later, he would be able to recall any of the stuff that he might find useful.
He found some of it useful when he neared High Point.
There was a car in the ditch. A roadster, it looked as if it had tried a turn too fast and skidded. Both front wheels were smashed and the radiator was back around the engine. Doc looked at the license tags.
The car had been reported in the police broadcast as stolen that night.
The engine was still warm. There was one bullet hole in the rear of the body, two more through the glass. Doc Savage left his roadster, glided into the brush, and worked forward without much noise.
He found a dead man. The fellow was brown; a voluminous turban lay beyond, as if it had fallen off his head when he went down. He had been shot in the back.
A gun went off somewhere ahead. Echoes rompled hollowly through the darkness.
Doc whipped forward. The dew was very heavy. When he disturbed bushes, it showered down on him. He heard another shot, much closer.
Doc circled widely so as to approach the scene of the shooting, not from the road, but along the beach. It was the direction from which a new arrival would least be expected.
There were several shots in quick succession. The flash was no more than fifty feet from the bronze man.