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

"It might be best, therefore, to radio Long Tom to fly out with some equipment. That would be quicker than sending Ham back for it."
Monk was peering upward. He could see their plane swinging in idle circles overhead, such sounds as its three motors made completely lost in the howl of the gale.
"Uh-huh," he said, absently.
"We will learn whether the radio equipment can be operated," Doc added.
Their handy man, Ward, accompanied them to the radio shack, which was really not a shack but quite a palatial cubbyhole of marble and mahogany. Ward's vision seemed to be improving.
"I was lucky enough to remain below decks throughout the strange heat," he said. "As a matter of fact, they had me peeling potatoes. From now on, I shall never hate potato peeling."
THE radio equipment was of the most modern type. Doc Savage examined it swiftly, then gave his attention to the operators. The men were dead.
There was no sign of Renny or Johnny in the radio room.
Unexpectedly, a strange sound became audible. It was a small, eerie trilling with a quality of a heterodyning electric circuit. It ran up and down the musical scale eerily, and caused the man Ward to peer at the apparatus curiously.
"First time I ever heard a radio make a noise like that," he growled.
Doc Savage said nothing. Nor did Monk volunteer the truthЧthat the trilling noise was a small, unconscious thing which Doc Savage did in moments of stress. In the present case, it meant that the bronze man had found something interesting. He pointed it out.
"Some one was evidently seated at the key and collapsed, upsetting a bottle of ink," he said. "Notice the print of a hand inked on the floor?"
Monk looked, casually at first, then with a shocked intentness. The print of the hand was so huge that it could have been made by only one person.
"Blazes!" he barked shrilly. "Renny!"
"Exactly."
"But what became of 'im?"
Doc Savage did not reply immediately, but moved about the radio room. On the parqueted floor, near the door, he noted a smear of ink.
"Made by a dragging hand," he said. "Renny seems to have been carried out shortly after he collapsed. At any rate, the ink on his hands had not had time to dry."
The bronze man went to the radio apparatus. The next few moments he spent in solving the controls and sending the call letters and relay combination of his own receiving station atop the skyscraper.
The station had not been disabled by the explosions. The relay combinationЧit was an adaptation of the device in use in land line telegraph relay stationsЧevidently sent the buzzer into operation in the New York station, the receiving side of which was kept always on the air.
AN answer came in Morse code. There was still a bit too much static for effective voice transmission and reception. The "fist" of the sender was crisp, efficient. Doc identified it immediately. Long Tom.
"Get from the storehouse equipment cases numbers 14, 73, 21, 22, 23, and 86,"
Doc Savage transmitted. "Load them in one of the planes and get them out to the liner Regis."
The bronze man gave the numbers of the equipment cases from memory, knowing that they held devices for scientific analysis.
"O. K."
Long Tom tapped back.
"Anything new there?"
Doc queried over the air.
"Nothing,"
replied the electrical wizard. "The police and newspapermen did a bit of investigating, but they are not here now. They asked a lot of questions about whether you were really dead. At least, the newspapermen did. And the police wanted to know what had become of you."
"When will you be out?"
Doc Savage asked.
"Very shortly,"
Long Tom replied.
Doc Savage switched off the radio transmitter. He turned to go.
Monk glanced about curiously.
"Where'd our friend Ward go?" he pondered aloud.
Ward, the helpful steward, was nowhere in sight.
"Probably he didn't want to stick his nose into our private business," Monk decided.
Monk and Doc Savage went out to continue their search for Johnny and Renny, and to await the arrival of Long Tom by plane from New York with the equipment.
Ward, the useful steward, watched them furtively from behind a ventilator down the deck. Ward's face had a vicious, animallike look.
"A swell break for your Uncle Rastus!" he gritted cheerfully.
Chapter IX. SEA DECOY
WARD made no effort to follow Doc Savage and Monk. Instead, the fellow waited until the two were out of sight, then scuddled for the radio shack door, the wind popping his coat tails on his hips. He shut the door behind him and made sure the spring lock had sprung.
He went to the radio apparatus. The fist with which he tapped out call letters was plain, good; his hand on the dials was skillful. He used a very short wave on the special short-wave transmitter and receiver layout. He got his party very shortly.
The other operator had a slow, draggy fist, with a good many combinations. It sounded as if the fellow was purposefully trying to disguise his sending.
"Doc Savage and Monk are aboard,"
said Ward. "It's damned lucky I was here. They're having Long Tom come out from New York. I thought we might do something about that."
"We might,"
agreed the distant radio man. "Hold your hat a minute. I'll see what old Glass Eyes says."