"033 (B015) - Murder Melody (1935-11) - Laurence Donovan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

The big chemist realized for the first time they were in the air. Lights of vessels on Burrard Inlet strung out like rows of moving beads. The glow of the city illumination was under their dangling feet.
"Howlin' calamities!" squealed Monk. "You greasy heathen, I'll pull you apart!"
Monk's intention was laudable enough. But his muscles lacked all pull. Another glance at Johnny showed the geologist's head rolling limply on a raggy neck. The white teeth of the Hindu clasping Johnny flashed at Monk.
"The great gorilla will become quiet," spoke Johnny's captor. "Below are many rocks. They are hard. We have only to touch a thumb to the gravity button and both of you will die quickly."
Monk retained just enough of his senses to hear. He ceased all attempt to struggle.
Now he could feel the Hindu's arms being loosened. The grip of the other men had no feeling of tightness. Monk felt as if he were about to take a long parachute jump without any parachute. Some mysterious attraction held him close to the Hindu.
The man bearing Johnny's relaxed body vanished in the darkness. But this Hindu spoke again.
"Lamo, turn on the directional finder," it commanded. "If necessary, play the music; a very little of the music will be sufficient. Andro is keeping the ray upon us."
Monk gasped as one of his captor's arms was withdrawn. The distance to the ground had become greater. The lights of North Vancouver were only a faint haze. Higher up, the wind from the southwest was stiff. It was carrying the four bodies upward and over the mountain barrier.
Beyond that barrier, Monk knew, were only hundreds of square miles of wilderness. Range upon range of the coastal mountains were separated by deep canyons. Some of the world's greatest glacial fields had made exploration of much of this country impossible.
A voice spoke as from a radio. It seemed to emanate from a spot between Monk and the Hindu's body:
"Keep on the beamЧthis is Lamo."
"You danged greasy heathen!" gritted Monk. "I'll take you down with me!"
Close to his small, hairy ears a shrill melody started. Monk could feel the cold, gleaming tube of the flutelike instrument. He tried to seize it with one hand. His hand became inert. His ears began ringing dizzily. The glow of the city's lights faded out as Monk went to sleep.
DOC SAVAGE ran his small launch only a short distance out in Burrard Inlet. He throttled the little motor and listened. From the shore darkness came a muffled thump. There were further sounds of struggling.
The bronze man opened the throttle of the motor. The launch engine was not yet heated. The cylinders flooded with gas and the carburetor overflowed. An ignition wire suddenly sputtered and sizzled. The motor had been tampered with.
Escaping fumes burst into flame under the engine cover. There was a minor explosion. The blaze swiftly enveloped the fore part of the boat. Doc heard Monk's shrill voice. The calmer penetrating tones of a Zoroman reached him.
The bronze man, like Johnny, instantly identified this as the voice of the leader in the Stanley Park attack. Without hesitation, Doc dived overboard. The burning launch drifted rapidly away on the tide.
The man of bronze moved through the water with as great speed as the slow launch could have made. But three or four minutes had passed since the sound of the attack had come. When he reached the small wharf and climbed out, he could see no one.
The outline of another launch was near by. Doc covered the intervening distance in great gliding strides. No one was there. Even the wall of bushes between the shore and the highway was motionless and silent.
The ray of Doc's generator flashlight shot out. The bronze man used the spreading lens. All of the space around the idly floating launch was illuminated. Doc's keen eyes missed not a single mark in the mud and gravel at the water's edge.
Within a few seconds he had read all the signs correctly. Monk and Johnny had followed two shadows to the other launch. They had thrown themselves upon the pair. Scuffled furrows showed where one man had struggled with Johnny. Tiny bits of fragile glass from one of the gas capsules had been ground into the earth.
On the floor of the launch cockpit was a small scarlet stain. A soiled Hindu turban had unwound. Some of the blood was upon it. Doc flashed the light along the water's edge. No person had entered the water. Not a single track in the mushy mud and gravel indicated that any one had passed up or down the shore. No one had moved toward the highway.
Doc flicked off the light. He stood for a few seconds pondering deeply. His bronzed head slowly nodded in confirmation of the thought in his mind. Then a voice spoke.
Again it was the voice of the Zoroman who had led the attack in the park. The words were faint but clear:
"Lamo, turn on the directional finder. Andro is keeping the ray upon usЧ"
Before the voice had ceased speaking Doc Savage was yards away along the shore. He was moving swiftly in the direction of the beached amphibian plane. The bronze man covered the distance almost as quickly as it had been traveled earlier by the Provincial Police car.
DOC used perhaps a minute to make sure the motors and other mechanism had not been tampered with. He did this even though two constables had been assigned by the Scotch inspector to guard the plane. These constables spoke to Doc with deepest respect. The inspector had given them their orders.
Though he held in trust the mysterious casket with the great uncut diamond, the Scotchman was not a man to take chances. When Doc had finished his quick inspection of the twin motors from the outside and started to enter the cabin, one of the constables barred his way.
"Inspector's orders, sir, you are not to enter or move the plane without his special permission," the policeman said, "Sorry, but that's the way it is."
The two constables were fine, upstanding specimens. The Provincial force enlists the best. The two men's service revolvers were slung from their shoulders with the usual cords. They stood apparently at ease, but they were tensely alert.
Doc had required no time to decide the situation of Johnny and Monk afforded the police no opportunity to assist. Nor could he admit these constables to the amphibian. Doc spoke calmly.
"Your inspector is a cautious man. He probably is acting for the best."
For the fraction of a second both constables relaxed. Doc had no desire to resist the law. Nor had he any intention to injure the representatives of authority. But, temporarily, they must be removed. There was not time to explain.
The hands of both constables darted to their guns as the bronze man flashed between them. They had trained quickness in drawing their guns. But Doc's bronze hands were so incredibly fast neither of the service weapons came from its holster.
The man of bronze had shot a hand to each constable's throat. But it was not with the intention of choking them. His corded tendons played smoothly under the golden skin of his wrists. His thumbs slid along the knobs of their spinal bones just above their shoulders.
Doc prevented the constables from cracking their heads together as they plunged toward each other. When he released the grip of his fingers, both men slumped to the gravel beach with faint sighing breaths. They rolled over and lay still.
THE encounter had been soundless. Doc sprang into the cabin of the plane. He left the two men as they were. His thumbs had found and pressed great nerves. The pair would be unconscious for more than an hour. Afterward, there would be no ill effect.
The bronze man's intimate knowledge of surgery and anatomy had taught him a variety of means for subduing an opponent without endangering his life. The constables, later, would awaken on the beach of the harbor. They would be a long time deciding what had happened to them.
Then probably they would be wrong.
Doc started the motors. He kept them thrumming on a low key for warming. Each of his special planes was equipped with the most powerful short-wave radiophones. These were equipped with "voice scramblers."
This special device made it impossible for any except his own men or himself to pick up the conversation in inter-plane communications. It distorted speech at the transmitters and clarified it at the receiving end.
The bronze man switched the radio-phone into service. Within two minutes he had contacted a distant point. This was over the Pacific Ocean between Prince Rupert, B. C., and Juneau, Alaska. Doc had expected his three other companions would be awaiting orders or emergency action at Juneau.
Apparently the emergency already had arisen. The voice replying to Doc was clear and precise:
"We have you, Doc. This is Ham."
"Ham" was Brig. Gen. Theodore Marley Brooks. Ham was one of the shrewdest and cleverest of lawyers ever to be graduated from Harvard.
With Ham were "Renny," who was Colonel John Renwick, noted engineer whose knowledge was exceeded only by that of Doc Savage himself, and "Long Tom," who was Major Thomas J. Roberts, a wizard of the electrical juice. They had been sent on to Juneau by Doc.
The first message from Lanta had mentioned possible action near the Aleutian Islands. Doc always took the precaution of having his men on the spot where trouble might be expected to break.
And now the location of the plane over the Pacific indicated something already had broken. At Doc's reply, Ham detailed quickly and comprehensively their situation and the reason for their action. Doc listened, asking no questions. He never wasted words.
"We are replying to S 0 S call from vicinity of Aleutians," said Ham's voice. "Steamship Narwhal reported in distress. Call says ship under charter to Homer Pearson Caulkins, the economist, and Salvatore Umbrogia Cassalano, the mineralogist. Revenue cutter on way from Juneau and tug from Prince Rupert. We expect to locate position of ship and help. Could this have anything to do with message?"