"035 (B071) - Murder Mirage (1936-01) - Laurence Donovan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

THE telephone buzzed. Doc Savage swung over to the instrument. Johnny instantly made contact with an extension. It was a device of Dr. Savage's which would allow an instantaneous check-back on the number calling.
But this was Renny calling from the office of the government weather bureau. He had been sent with Long Tom by the bronze man to keep an added check on the freakish storm. Doc Savage did not usually concern himself with such matters as weather, but, before the beginning of the snowstorm, he had been given reason to overlook no detail that might be of value.
"There will be a violent electrical disturbance," announced Doc, ending his conversation with Renny. "It is Long Tom's prediction. The weather officials dispute it, but it coincides with my own observations."
The bronze man took two yellow slips from the table. They were telegraph messages. Doc studied them intently, as if he were reading something written between the lines.
One telegram had been filed in Los Angeles. This read:
DEATH THREATENS MANY PERSONS STOP DISASTER MAY MENACE WHOLE WORLD STOP WILL YOU HELP US STOP ON MY WAY TO SEE YOU
SATHYRA FOTHERAN
The other message had been filed in Chicago only ten hours later. This stated:
HAVE LEARNED YOU ARE IN GRAVE DANGER STOP BEWARE VISITORS WITH DARK SKINS STOP MUST GO TO SYRIA IN THE DESERT STOP BE ON GUARD UNTIL I REACH YOU STOP WATCH CHANGE IN WEATHER CLOSELY
SATHYRA FOTHERAN
"
Sathyra Fotheran," said Doc aloud. "That would be Lady Sathyra Fotheran, the sister of Denton Cartheris."
Johnny eyed the telegrams intently. A quick gleam of interest showed in his keen eyes.
"Lady Fotheran?" he said. "She could be no other, with that peculiar cognomen. She is the sister of the revelationist of pre-dynastic mortuary disembodiment of the ultra-civilization of the vanished Hittites." Then he added in crude, concise English, "How I envied that guy, Denton Cartheris. Wasn't there some question about his death, Doc, or whether he had really died?"
"Denton Cartheris disappeared during a new trip of exploration after his discoveries in the ancient Hittite capital," stated Doc. "But information received by his friends indicated he believed he was going to die and had made preparations for his demise."
Lightning suddenly stabbed across the open window. Its vividness was that of a gigantic, slashing sword. Thunder cracked instantly with an explosion that shook the skyscraper tower.
"And she said to watch for a change in the weather," mused Doc. "Recent reports show unprecedented storms in upper Syria. The River Euphrates has been twenty-three feet above all previous high-water records."
"Blast it!" exploded Monk. "How could that be possible? We're to believe this dame knew in Chicago this afternoon the weather was due to go on a bust here tonight?"
"That's how it would seem," stated Doc. "At any moment, we may be hearing more directly from Lady Fotheran."
The bronze man was not evincing occult insight. He was merely estimating the flying time between Chicago and New York. The phone buzzed again. Johnny swung to the extension. A woman's strained, tense voice greeted Doc Savage.
"Mr. Savage? I'm trying to reach youЧ"
The woman was spilling words, as if she might have only a few left to use.
"I'm being followedЧcan't tell you moreЧI'mЧ"
"Where are you?" demanded Doc Savage.
"Thirty-third Street, near theЧ"
The words ran into a choked gurgle. The instrument bubbled with the woman's strangled pain. Two slapping blows came like the breaking of dry sticks. In the bronze man's ear was only the low hum of an open wire. The receiver at the other end had not been replaced. Doc was convinced the cord had been suddenly ripped loose.
"Have you got the trace-back?" said Doc quickly.
"Public booth," announced Johnny, giving an address only a few blocks away.
"Stay here, Johnny," directed Doc. "Be prepared, for you may have a visitor. Watch out for any one with an Asiatic complexion. Monk and Ham will come with me."
DOC SAVAGE was passing through the outer door before he had finished speaking. He did not pause to arm himself, because he never carried a gun. His men were equipped with the superfirers of his invention, which were in reality, convenient automatic machine guns loaded with mercy bullets.
Doc's special high-speed elevator dropped with the force of a leaden plummet nearly all of the eighty-six floors.
From the elevator the three men whipped into Doc's concealed basement garage. The roadster in which they emerged on the street within less than a minute after the woman had been snatched from the telephone, looked like any ordinary car.
But bullets would only drum upon its armor metal or flatten on the bulletproof glass.
With Monk at the wheel, Doc instructed, "Take no chances. This may be something much bigger than we can guess."
Monk was a skillful driver. The car, with its powerful supermotor, grazed the steel of the elevated railway columns. Monk seemed able to estimate to the fraction of an inch how much room he could allow. The steel brushed the bronze man's clothes at times.
Monk turned off the avenue along which ran the elevated. He was swinging around the block to reach the address of the public phone booth traced by Johnny. This street was almost empty. There was only a small yellow coupщ standing by one pavement. Its nose was bogged down, as if it had been wrecked.
Apparently, the woman's call had been made at about the time Patrolman Brennan had died in the snow. The bodies had remained undiscovered.
Monk braked the roadster down. "Howlin' calamities!" he squealed. "Them humps of snow are bodies!"
BUT Doc Savage was off the running board before the car came to a stop. His quick hands brushed the snow from the uniform of Patrolman Brennan. The policeman lay as he had been crawling, toward the companions of the men who had shot him.
The bronze man saw the position of the other two dead men. He observed the automatics still gripped in their hands.
"A brave copper," murmured Doc. "AndЧa couple of Whitey Jano's rats."
Monk and Ham had followed him.
"These two men are Creeper Hogan and Slim Decarro," announced Doc. "They are two of Whitey Jano's killers. I didn't know Whitey Jano used gunmen for ordinary jobs."
"The cop got 'em," said Monk. "Walked right into it."
"Yes," said the bronze man, "and after they shot him."
He did not explain how he knew this. He was already on his way toward the yellow coupщ. For perhaps two seconds, he remained looking at the little car.
Apparently from nowhere came a low trilling sound. It might have been the throaty whistle of some tropical bird. A wind through wires could have made somewhat the same sound. Doc's lips were unmoving but the vibrant emanation came from him. It was his sign of unusual concentration.
Monk and Ham were beside him. Doc moved slowly along the sidewalk in the direction of the elevated railway stairs.
"This snow," he said, moving a foot in the thin film, "has been here only a few minutes. The first snow is gone, yet there is no heated basement under this pavement."
The wide area in front of a music store had been blackened. The seared section of the street showed plainly through the later snow.