"038 (B045) - The Man Who Smiled No More (1936-04) - Laurence Donovan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

"Ham, perhaps he won't," said Pat. "It might be he's the one was talking, after all."
"Well, I'll soon find out about that," declared Ham, flourishing his cane. "You'd better take Monk's superfirer, until I get back. I'll hurry andЧ"
The pig, Habeas Corpus, interrupted his speech. The pig dashed between Ham's legs and through the kitchen door into the night.
Chapter VI. HAM'S BLIND TRAIL
NIGHT over the Shinnecock Hills was of that opaque density only the lightless countryside and a fogged sky can produce. Ham could hear Habeas Corpus clattering along the path winding around the hillside. This led directly to the edge of John Scroggins's muddy duck pond.
Ham did not know he would have to follow the slippery edge of the pond to reach the duck man's shack. The still dapper lawyer swore a little under his breath. He was forced to use the pencil ray of his generator flashlight to follow the pig.
The lawyer could hear the pig. He wondered if Habeas Corpus might be leading him toward the menace that seemed to have overtaken Monk? No light showed ahead. The shack of the duck man was in darkness. Once Ham thought he saw a point of light twinkle on the high hill above him, but it might have been only an illusion.
Habeas Corpus had a strange sense of danger. But apparently the pig was too much of a pig to remember that he had been scared. For Habeas Corpus headed straight for his beloved duck pond. Suddenly, ducks started quacking loudly. One or two squawked.
"Damn that hog!" muttered Ham.
Ham's light failed to show him an impediment to his feet. He caught a toe. His hands flew up and the flashlight fell. Ham took a header over a low, steep bank. With a mighty splash, he went into the muddy duck pond.
It was well for the pig that he was built on agile lines. If Ham had caught him in the next two or three minutes, Habeas Corpus probably would have become sliced bacon.
A squawking duck escaped from the pig and flopped onto the shore. The frightened bird half ran and half flew up the hill. The duck was heading in the direction of the ominous-appearing, barnlike deserted house topping the ridge. But Ham did not know this.
Still telling the world what he would do to that pig, the dripping Ham climbed from the pond. He was using language that had never been heard in any court of law. Without his flashlight, he could only follow the sound of the pig's chase after the duck.
Suddenly, Habeas Corpus seemed to lose interest in slitting the throat of that particular bird. The hog stopped so abruptly that Ham fell over him.
"I'll make pork chops out of you for that!" grated Ham.
BUT instead of using his sword blade, Ham froze to silence and listened. Habeas Corpus did not seem to be afraid of Ham. Instead, the pig all at once appeared to be desirous of closer companionship. He stood close to Ham. The bristles on the pig's neck were rising. The pig was looking up the hill.
Small stones were rolling from under the crunching feet of a man. It looked to Ham as if a pair of long, unattached legs were coming down the hill. This was because the oncoming man was swinging an old-fashioned oil lantern.
As the light came close, the loose-jointed, ungainly figure of the man was revealed. The lantern showed a dished-in face with a long-pointed chin. The angular jaws of John Scroggins were working with rage. The light rays fell upon the stiffly rigid Habeas Corpus.
"Gol dang yuh!" whanged the duck man's voice. "You've been into them thar ducks ag'in! This time, I'm fillin' your hide so full'r shot you won't be able to git away!"
John Scroggins had been coming from the direction of the deserted house on the hill. He was carrying his shotgun.
Before Ham could emerge into view or speak, the duck man had set down his lantern. The double-barreled shotgun over one arm erupted fire from both muzzles. Fine shot slapped into the bushes.
Habeas Corpus squealed and shook his long snout. The pig's hide was well peppered with the shot. But that hide was like walrus skin. The shot did not penetrate deeply. Fortunately, all missed the pig's eyes.
Ham must have forgotten his many threats to annihilate Habeas Corpus. His waspish form reared up in front of the gaunt, big-boned duck man.
"I'll teach you to be trying to murder an inoffensive pet that never did anything to you!" rapped Ham.
"Who be yuh?" growled John Scroggins. "Hain't you smart city dudes been l'arned agin' trespassin' on private prop'ity?"
The duck man had glanced apprehensively over his shoulder. The direction of his eyes had been toward the deserted house. Rather, one eye had looked that way. The cocked orb still roamed freely.
Ham's sword blade was swishing in a circle around his head.
"Hey, consarn your hide, doncha do that!" twanged the duck man's nasal voice.
He lifted the shotgun. The fine steel of the blade rang on the coarser metal. John Scroggins parried several of Ham's thrusts with surprising skill. Ham had quit talking. The heavy gun barrel swung again at his head.
Because the duck man was not expecting it, Ham prodded him with the drugged tip of the sword. John Scroggins immediately lost interest in the strange duel. The shotgun clanged on the rocks of the hill. The duck man sighed and sat down. He rolled over and was asleep before his head touched the ground.
DESPITE the hide full of shot, Habeas Corpus was excited over something more than the encounter of the two men. The pig was moving slowly up the hill. He was following a trace of a pathway that led toward the barnlike structure above.
Ham caught the pig by one ear. This was Monk's favorite hold. Habeas Corpus apparently resented this familiarity. He tried to bite Ham. The lawyer swore and kicked at him.
The ground trembled. It might have been a single stick of dynamite far underground. Or a small cannon fired in some deep cave.
Habeas Corpus promptly began a retreat. The pig headed back in the direction of the duck pond. A second muffled explosion followed the first.
Ham got a better idea of the direction of this one. If he had not been guided by his ears, a momentary flash of light from a lower window of the stark house on the hill was unmistakable.
Concerned over Monk's queer condition, and the later voice on the telephone, Ham decided to investigate.
Having lost his flashlight, Ham picked up the oil lantern and started up the hill.
When he came close to the old house, Ham saw that its foundation of unfinished stone arose ten feet or more above the ground. In this wall were set small windows. Those openings had been covered by loose boards. The windows higher up were heavily shuttered.
Ham concealed the oil lantern in the bushes. Approaching with infinite caution, his sword blade ready for instant action, the lawyer detected the faint twinkling of a light through the cracks of one of the basement wall windows.
It must have been this light he had seen while on his way to the duck pond. After several minutes listening, Ham carefully pried a board loose. His slim body went through easily. Inside was a narrow, tunnellike passage. It had the dank, musty odor of a place long uninhabited.
But there was something else. It was a sharp acrid odor.
A faint light glowed beyond a turn in the passage. Ham cat-footed in that direction.
HAM might have been wiser if he could have seen around the bend in the tunnel passage. While he could hear no movement, this was because the small group of men in a cavern-like room were fully aware of his approach.
Yet they were listening to the slow approach of the intruder without evincing the least excitement. Nor did it seem they were prepared in any way to molest this stranger. None of the men had a weapon. But all were watching the turn in the tunnel around which Ham might appear at any second.
A voice spoke quietly. It could not have been more than a few yards away. Ham may have heard its murmur. If he did, he could not have interpreted either the words or the meaning. If he had, the lawyer would have scuttled into a retreat.
Ham did not retreat. His hand gripped the handle of the sword blade. Now for the first time since he had handled the pig, Habeas Corpus, Ham's left fingers rubbed slowly across his lower lip. It was an unconscious gesture in the tenseness of the moment.
Whatever happened, Ham did not afterward recall the exact incident.
For without realizing how he had come to be outside the strange, deserted house, Ham was plunging down the hill. And he was calling Habeas Corpus. His mind must have picked up where it had left off some time before. He came back to the recumbent figure of the unconscious duck man.
Habeas Corpus again was splashing around in the duck pond. And a couple of minutes later, Ham was wading after the pig. This time, he captured the duck killer and started for the shore. A dead duck floated near by. Its throat had been slit by the bloodthirsty Habeas Corpus.
The keen intelligence had left Ham's countenance. He acted as any child might have done, on the impulse of the moment. His face was a stony mask with a ghastly fixed smile. The dead duck floated to his hand. He seized it by the legs.