"044 (B077) - The South Pole Terror (1936-10) - Lester Dent" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

MONK and Ham were examining the men who had gone down, making sure each was senseless, and also extracting the tiny darts which Doc Savage had expelled with the pneumatic gun which resembled a cigarette case.
The darts were fashioned like hypodermic needles and cost almost five dollars apiece to have made. They were, therefore, worth saving.
Ham came over and confronted the girl.
"You are what might be called a smooth female," he said bitingly.
She frowned at him innocently. "What do you mean?"
"We figured you were a prisoner," Ham snapped. "Now it appears you are one of the mob."
"Oh, my," said the young woman. "You believe what you see, don't you?"
"That comedy does not get across," Ham retorted.
The young woman ignored him, and studied Doc Savage. The bronze man's features were absolutely expressionless, and the young woman did not seem reassured.
"I was a prisoner," she said, earnestly, "but they turned me loose. They would rather have me escape from them than to fall into the hands of the police."
Ham snorted loudly, skeptically, in a manner which plainly called Velma Crale a liar. She kicked at Ham, but Doc Savage, holding her, tilted her off balance, and she missed. She tried to kick Doc, to bite him. She had no luck.
Doc Savage suggested, "Maybe you had better tell us the motive behind this trouble, if you don't mind."
She looked at him, then put back her head, mouth open. Her laughter was like the crash of a pile of dishes.
"And lose more money than Rockefeller ever saw?" she jeered. "Mrs. Crale didn't raise no daughters that silly!"
Ham remarked, "We're going to have to give this young lady the works, it seems." He twirled his cane vigorously.
Velma Crale sobered. She eyed them.
"You'll have a tough time," she said.
Doc Savage lifted her, carried her easily, despite her most violent struggles, and made his way across the roof to the house where he had been eavesdropping, and out of the front door.
His two aides, Monk and Ham, brought the senseless men. They loaded them into the machine which was painted and equipped to resemble a taxicab.
"Keep the girl here," Doc Savage told Monk and Ham.
DOC himself went into the house, to the roof, and down into the dwelling which had been the mob's hangout. He found a miserably furnished place which smelled of stale tobacco smoke and overcooked food. He searched.
There seemed to be nothing but fingerprints. Doc did not trouble to photograph these, but merely powdered them, and studied them at lengthЧfixing the classification of the whorls in his trained memory so that, if he saw them later, he would remember them.
Remembering the fingerprints was not the difficult task it seemed, at first. It was merely a case of fixing mentally the code letters indicating the classification of the prints.
Doc went back and joined his two aides, Velma Crale, and the senseless men.
"Where to?" asked Monk, who was at the wheel.
"Headquarters," Doc Savage said. "We'll question this crowd."
"But how about the Regis?" Ham wanted to know.
"The questioning will not take long," Doc told him. "Then we'll fly out to the liner."
They entered the skyscraper by the basement garage, existence of which was known to very few, and from thence upward by a special speed elevator which had been put out of commission by the explosion, and later repaired. Thus, no one saw them gain the eighty-sixth floor of the skyscraper.
Doc Savage unlocked the metal door which admitted them to the reception room. This door was undamaged, although, at the end of one corridor nearest the laboratory, there was a barrier of planks, closing an aperture where the wall had been blown down.
Doc Savage and his aides carried their prisoners into the reception room, which was furnished only with a huge safe, an inlaid table and a number of comfortably upholstered chairs.
Ham looked around, puzzled.
"I wonder where Long Tom is?" he remarked.
Monk also began to register uneasy curiosity. Major Thomas J. "Long Tom" Roberts was the fifth member of Doc Savage's group of five aides. Long Tom was the physical weakling of the crowd, thin, not very tall, and with a none-too-healthy-appearing skin. He was a wizard with electricity.
He was supposed to be here, keeping an eye on the priceless equipment of the headquarters, to see that vandals or souvenir hunters did not carry things off.
"Long Tom!" Monk whooped.
Doc Savage moved suddenly, shoving Monk and Ham violently. They sprawled on through the door into the library, leaving the prisoners deposited on the reception-room floor.
Monk rolled over, mouth coming open to ask questions. But he did not ask. There was no need.
Grimly, businesslike men with rifles were coming up the stairs and out of two elevators.
Chapter VII. SEA ENIGMA
DOC SAVAGE, when doing his best, could move with a speed equaled by few living humans. He used some of that speed now, making for the door.
But one of the mob in the corridor had thoughtfully provided himself with a heavy chair which could be used as a weapon, a tool for demolishing doors, or, as in the present instance, an object wherewith to keep doors from being slammed. He managed to toss the chair accurately, so that it held the door open. The next instant, the men outside hit the door.
Doc Savage, braced against the other side of the door, managed to hold it.
"Get your machine pistols!" he rapped at Monk and Ham.
These two came out of the library, dragging from under their clothing weapons which resembled oversize automatic pistols, equipped with spiral drum magazines.
A coldly determined voice on the other side of the door spoke.
"If you guys know what's good for you, come out of there without any funny business!"
"Hah!" the homely Monk jeered loudly. "Watch us!"
The man outside said, "Watch this!"
Something about the fellow's tone caused Doc Savage and his two aides to want very much to see what was in the corridor. Doc gestured.