"044 (B077) - The South Pole Terror (1936-10) - Lester Dent" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)The package was not quite a foot square, wrapped in brown canvas and tied with a copper wire. It was very heavy.
Doc Savage was a cautious individual. Otherwise, he would have died long ago. He put the package under an X-ray machine, to see if it contained a bomb. He switched the X-ray machine on. There was a stabbing flash, a terrific concussion, and the entire top of the skyscraper seemed to fly to pieces. Chapter II. THE "REGIS" MENACE DOC SAVAGE'S headquarters had been the scene of violence on other occasions, so newspaper reporters had learned to keep an eye on the place. Half of Manhattan Island heard the explosion, and a goodly number even saw smoke shoot out of the top of the skyscraper, and saw brick and glass fall to the street. Luckily, no one was injured seriously by the falling dщbris. Reporters and photographers rushed to the spot. The police were there first, however, and kept every one else out. The journalists did a bit of squawking, but they were not allowed to enter. The police also refused to divulge any information. Directly, six men in white carried a stretcher out of the skyscraper lobby. The journalists craned their necks. A howl of excitement went up. The form of a giant bronze man lay on the stretcher, extremely quiet. The features were remarkably regular, and the bronze texture of the skin was distinctive. The flake gold eyes were wide open, unmoving. One hand was not covered by the white shroud. This hand was amazing. It was long-fingered and perfectly proportioned, and it had an incredible equipment of tendons. It was a hand of fabulous muscular strength. Every one recognized the figure on the litter. Every one also saw something else. The bronze head was severed from the body! For moments, not a newspaper man said a word. They were stunned. They knew some of the perils which the man of bronze had faced in the past, and he had always miraculously escaped. It hardly seemed possible that he could be dead. But the evidence was there before their eyes, although the police made an effort to keep them from observing. There was no mad rush for pictures. There was no shouting. The silence was funeral-like. Heads bowed. The litter bearing the form of Doc Savage was placed in an ambulance which was, significantly, black. Later, questions were asked. Yes, the explosion had all but demolished the laboratory of Doc Savage's headquarters. The form on the stretcher had been picked up in the wreckage. No, photographers could not take pictures. What would be done with the body? That had not been decided yet. Who was responsible for the blast? Had Doc Savage been experimenting and had an accident? The police replied that they had nothing to say as yet. At this point, a man who was not a journalist appeared and tried to get through the police lines. He said he had to see Doc Savage. He was told Doc Savage was dead. "Velma Crale!" this man exploded. WHEN the man gasped the name of Velma Crale, it was the signal for sharp attention from a policeman who overheard it. "What'd you say?" the cop demanded. The stranger who had made the exclamation had bony hands and a face that made one think of a Shetland pony. His hair was blond and stood up like the bristles on a scrub brush. His eyes were remarkably blue. His expensive clothing did not fit him any too well. "Eh?" he muttered evasively to the policeman. "What do you mean?" "Didn't you say something about Velma Crale?" asked the officer. "Velma Crale is the one person missing off that silver sloop loaded with dead madmen and madwomen." The bony, blond man shook his pony-like head violently. "I said, 'Oh, myЧhell!'" he said. He spoke it again, "Oh, myЧhell!" "Who are you?" the cop questioned. "Derek Flammen," replied the other. The officer frowned, scratched his head, then brightened. "The South Pole explorer!" he exclaimed. "The same," agreed Derek Flammen. "I was interested in getting Doc Savage to finance me in an exploration of the South Polar continent. I came to see him for that purpose." The cop bowed his head. "I'm sorry," he said. Derek Flammen groaned, "So Doc Savage is dead!" "They just took the body away in a hearse," said the policeman. "This is hideous!" groaned Derek Flammen. Then Derek Flammen moved away. The policeman who had talked with Derek Flammen also moved away. He entered the skyscraper, picked up a telephone, and spoke. "I've got something to report that might be of interest." "Go ahead," an expressionless voice told him. The officer repeated exactly what had been said between himself and Derek Flammen. "The guy might have said, 'Oh, myЧhell!' instead of 'Velma Crale!'" he finished. "Thank you," said the expressionless voice. DEREK FLAMMEN was collared by a newspaperman before he left the vicinity of the skyscraper. The spotlight of publicity frequently fell upon Derek Flammen's name, because he was a rather well-known figure in the realm of exploration. Since Doc Savage had been a famous explorer, Derek Flammen was asked to make a statement on the bronze man's death. Derek Flammen thought for a moment, then made his statement. "The world little knows the true importance of the lifework of the man of bronze," he said, "but it will long remember. It is my prediction that the grindstone of time, which dulls the memory of most celebrities, will but etch more sharply the name of Doc Savage. His character was a diamond which will cut sharply through the ages. Mankind has to-day suffered one of its greatest losses." "That's a swell statement," said the newshawk. Derek Flammen worked through the throng in search of a taxicab. It was dark by now. Not until he reached the outskirts of the throng now about the skyscraper did he find a cab. He was so interested in the job of locating a conveyance that he did not pay too much attention to his trail. He might easily have been shadowed. Nor did Derek Flammen seem to be in any great hurry to get to his destination, which he gave as a popular uptown hotel. He sat back on the taxicab's cushioned back seat, and his aquiline face was thoughtful. Once, he made a small sound that might have been a chuckle or a snarl, since his face showed neither hate nor delight. |
|
|