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

MAKE a pearl out of it," some one shouted.
Rama Tura was cupping the paste stone in the basket of bones that was his hands.
"No," he said. "Pearls are an animal product, rather, the secretion of a sick oyster, and not true jewels."
Rama Tura now went into action. Those in the audience who had been there before began to whisper to their companions, giving advance information on what was to happen. A woman or two complained uneasily to an escort of the indefinable odor that weighted the air.
Two big, dark Jondoreans brought in a cube of substance that resembled ordinary fire brick and sat it down on a metal tripod about level with Rama Tura's waist. On this, the worthless jewel was placed.
Rama Tura began to stare at the paste gem. The manner of this staring was somewhat unnerving. His eyes seemed about to come out of his head. His paper thin lips writhed over a few ugly teeth which were plainly in the last stages of decay.
Some wag in the audience whispered, "If he's such a whiz, why don't he think himself into a new set of choppers."
If Rama Tura heard this reference to his teeth, he gave no signs. He was going through all the motions of a man in terrific agony. He groaned, mumbled, grimaced. He picked up the fake gem repeatedly and warmed it in his palms.
Suddenly he emitted a rasping whine.
The audience became aware that streamers of strange-looking vapor were gathering in various parts of the room, and floating toward Rama Tura. The things looked like wisps of colored fog.
The streamers began to gather about the black cube on which the stone lay. They bundled, thickened there. An awful cracking and popping filled all of the room.
Those who had miniature cameras began to take pictures madly.
The bundle of vapor about the gem began to glow. It grew hotter and hotter, giving off a light as blinding as the glow of an electric arc. Every one in the room distinctly felt the frightful heat.
Then the heat died away, the glow disappeared, and aching eyes could make out the block of the fire brick on the stand.
A beautiful uncut diamond, as large as a pigeon egg, lay on the fire brick.
Rama Tura said calmly, "Such is the power of concentrated thought."
A man of Jondore in a silken robe placed the gem in a satin-lined box and passed through the audience showing it, making little speeches indicating that it was for sale, and that a third of the proceeds would go to American charity, two thirds to the fund for administering charity in Jondore.
The latter fund, it was explained, was directed by prominent individuals in Jondore.
SEVERAL jewel experts were present. They gave the gem a thorough test. They all passed the same opinion.
"Genuine, undoubtedly," they admitted. "Blue-white, and nearly perfect."
Unexpectedly, a woman stood erect in the audience.
"Let me see that jewel!" she commanded loudly.
It was the Ranee. The man with the gem bowed and came over. He let the woman examine the bauble. This she did with a magnifying glass.
The scrutiny had a remarkable effect upon her. She waved her arms and cried out for attention.
"Police!" she shrilled. "Arrest this Rama Tura!"
Every eye in Temple Nava was now on her.
"He is a fiend!" the woman shrieked. "He is doing something that menaces your very lives! He is plotting wholesale murder!"
She looked over the crowd, and what she saw there did not satisfy her. Expressions on most of the faces said they thought that she was just a hysterical woman.
"Fools!" she screamed. "Rama Tura is doing something which may cause many in this very room to die!"
From where he stood in the center of the open space, Rama Tura began to intone timbreless words.
"It is unfortunate and I apologize for her," he said. "She is suffering from a form of madness of the mind prevalent among the people of my country."
Rama Tura now advanced. He came slowly, and he was very much like a hideous corpse walking through the medium of manipulated strings.
The Ranee watched him. There was horror in her eyes. She trembled. She still held the jewel, but it dropped out of her hands, rolled under the seat and there was a scramble as several tried to get it.
Unexpectedly, the Ranee screamed, and every muscle in her slender frame seemed to loosen and she fell flat in the aisle.
Rama Tura stopped where he was.
"It is too bad," he said in English. "Her ailment is far advanced and she will now die."
Chapter IV. THE MAN ON THE STRETCHER
THE afternoon of the day following, two men were bending over the Ranee. One was small, gray, wearing all-white clothes. The other was a lumpish man with a kindly, doggish face.
The woman lay in a rather bare room, spotlessly clean, all remarkably white in color. Her bed was high off the floor. She pitched from time to time.
The men seemed to be administering stimulants in an endeavor to make her speak. They bent forward as the woman made some vocal noises.
"Doc Savage." Only the two words were distinguishable, and a moment later, she said them again, "Doc Savage."
The small grayish man straightened.
"You have sent for him?" he asked the other.
The plump man nodded. "By telephone. He is on his way."
They exchanged nods, and when the woman did not speak again, they drew aside, as if it were possible for their voices to disturb her.
"It is strange, this case," one said.
The other grunted. "She's calling for the right fellow to find out what is really wrong with her."
The small grayish man smiled at his companion. "You had a part in his education, did you not?"
The plump man nodded. He was head of the institution, one of the largest hospitals devoted to psychiatric work in the city, possibly the world.
"Doc Savage studied under me," he admitted. "But that was years ago. The man has far outstripped meЧoutstripped any one I know, for that matter. He is a mental wizard."