"052 (B075) - The Land of Fear (1937-06) - Harold Davis" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

THE LAND OF FEAR
A Doc Savage Adventure By Kenneth Robeson

Chapter I. SKELETON DEATH
THE customs inspector thought later that perhaps he should have done something about it. But there was nothing he could have done. Customs inspectors can prevent contraband from entering the country, but fear can pass any boundary line, duty free.
The inspector was a war veteran. He had seen fear in many forms, but never such fear as was mirrored in the eyes of the three who came in on the S. S. Gentina that morning.
Afterward, the inspector understood a little, and felt an icy grip on his own heart when he realized that one of those three who stood before him had already been doomed, that a strange, horrible death was going to strike before the sun set.
The policeman who stood at the dock was attracted at first by the costumes the trio wore. He was no style expert, but it didn't take a style expert to know that the clothes were old-fashioned. Then, as he stepped forward, his curiosity aroused, he forgot all about the clothes. He knew fear when he saw it.
There were two men and a girl. Their faces were bewildered, and they slipped along furtively, huddled together.
The S. S. Gentina was not one of the aristocrats of the seas; it seldom carried passengers. There was no huge crowd of welcoming relatives and friends to greet those who disembarked. Only roustabouts were on the wharf.
But even these the three drew back from, their eyes betraying a panic that could not have been induced by the sound of city traffic, the mournful toots of tugboats. The policeman stepped forward and spoke gruffly.
"Here, you! Where do you think you're going?"
The men stopped, faces suddenly white. Only the girl seemed able to speak, and her voice was little more than a whisperЧa soft whisper of slurring consonants.
"WeЧwe want to see Doc Savage," she said.
The policeman's air of harshness dropped from him, and his voice was one of deep respect as he answered, "An' shure, miss, that won't be hard to do. Just get a taxi, an'Ч"
The policeman stopped. His audience had vanished, had slipped by him so quickly that he was surprised to find them gone.
A frown crossed his Irish face. Half irritated, he walked down the wharf and addressed the first mate.
The S. S. Gentina's officer shook his head. "You know as much about 'em as I do, copper. They kept to their cabins most of the way across. Seemed to be afraid of their shadows, almost. That girl's a looker though, ain't she? Comes from Genlee, somewhere in Africa, though I'll be blasted if I know where it is."
The policeman scowled and turned back. Then he shrugged. The girl had said they wanted to see Doc Savage. That was a good sign.
THE taxi darted under elevated tracks, missed a truck by an eyelash and halted with shrieking brakes at a red light, barely averting a collision with a car ahead. No words of caution came from the rear seat. The driver was annoyed, vaguely. Usually when he drove, strangers to the city held their breaths and looked alarmed.
Then, although the driver listened closely, he heard nothing that was being said by his fares. Accustomed as he was to eavesdropping, he was balked.
"You really think this Doc Savage can help us?" one of the men passengers asked. His head was bowed, his attitude that of resignation. The others barely stirred. It was as if the question had been asked many times in recent days, as if question and answer were merely part of an accustomed routine.
"HeЧhe's got to, Richard!" the girl breathed. Her round face was flushed; her small hands opened and closed convulsively.
"And he will, Virginia," the second man said, His voice was intended to be reassuring, but there was no mistaking the undercurrent of doubt and worry.
"He must," the girl said simply. Her round face was framed by black curls that fell to her chin; her lips were soft, but there was more than a hint of determination in her fear-clouded eyes. A cape was about her shoulders, despite the warmth of the dayЧa cape that enhanced the ruffled sleeves, the wide, flaring skirt of her gown.
The strained faces of the men tightened as she glanced at them. One, the smaller of the two, had the pathetic appearance of a bewildered watchdog. The other, tall, brown-eyed, smooth-shaven, was younger, but his features appeared tired; his broad shoulders slumped.
The cab slid to a stop before a hotel.
"I'm Harlan Spotfield," said the taller of the two men, as he halted before the room clerk. "I want three adjoining rooms for myself and my companions." A strange ring, a large cameo set on a gold band, flashed as he reached for a pen.
The room clerk glanced at the register after they had signed. "Harlan Spotfield. Virginia Jettmore. Richard Castleman. All of Genlee, Africa," he read.
Spotfield turned, broad shoulders squared. "I'm going to Doc Savage at once," he said. "You two go to youah rooms. Stay there. IfЧif you don't hear from me in two hours, you know what to do. Carry on. Much depends on us. Many lives are at stake."
Many tragedies might have been prevented, many people would have been saved much trouble, if the three had used a simpler method of getting in touch with Doc SavageЧif they'd used a telephone.
At least one person would still be alive. But that realization was only to come later, long after the damage had been done, when even Doc Savage's trusted lieutenants were beginning to know the meaning of fear.
VIRGINIA JETTMORE already knew. Her wide, flaring skirt billowed and swung as she paced the hotel room, small hands clenched, face frozen. She watched a clock ceaselessly.
"Two hoursЧand no word." The girl's voice was emotionless, devoid of feeling, but its very flatness carried an ominous note.
The little man started. His head lifted, and the fear he'd shown before was nothing compared with the stark terror his face now reflected.
"It's followed us!"
The little man rose to his feet, his eyes darting wildly, like those of an animal seeking to escape from a trap; his mouth worked spasmodically, but no words came.
"Stop it!" cried the girl. "Moah than our lives are at stake! Wait!"
Richard Castleman sank back, the light of sanity slowly returning to his features.
Virginia Jettmore walked to the phone, lifted the receiver. "Get me Doc Savage's office, please," she said. Her voice was steady, but the hand that held the receiver was white, the fingers twisted and strained.
A voice answered. For a moment, Virginia's face dropped its tenseness; then her words poured out in a steady stream. She stopped, and her features changed.
The small man watching her needed no explanation to understand the words she was hearing.
The girl's voice died away. With a hand that trembled violently, she replaced the telephone receiver.
"HeЧhe never arrived!" she faltered. Her face was an ashen caricature of human features surrounded by the charcoal of black curls.
"And Doc Savage?" Richard Castleman's voice was barely a whisper.
"He's not theah, either, but is expected soon."
The little man's shrunken shoulders seemed to swell. His deep-set eyes glowed with a hidden fire. For a moment, it was possible to forget that he was small, insignificant. Courage flared briefly in a body that had been made for carrying out orders, not for initiative.
"IЧI'll goЧand I'll reach Doc Savage!" he said.
MANY blocks away, a bronze giant was driving along slowly in a big car. Tendons like cables stood out on the hands holding the steering wheel. The bronze of his hair was a little darker than the bronze of his skin.