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

Monk's homely face lighted up. "Is something doing?"
"More, perhaps, than you think," Doc Savage said quietly.
Monk grinned delightedly.
"You can tell the girl was frightened when she called," Doc Savage went on. "But her voice had character. It was not the voice of one easily disturbed. She needed help, badly, it appears."
"I've located Spotfield, Doc," Ham called, "or rather the hotel where he's staying. He registered shortly after noon with a Miss Virginia Jettmore and a Richard Castleman."
"Good," said Doc. "It was probably Miss Jettmore who telephoned. We will goЧ"
He broke off suddenly. The door to the office had opened. A figure stood just outsideЧa strange figure, with face obviously disguised.
Words poured from the newcomer in a rapid stream.
"Have nothing to do with Virginia Jettmore, or with those with whom she came," the figure said. "The skeleton death awaits all who come in contact with those from the land of fear."
The door slammed.
A roar of rage came from Monk; his apelike figure shot forward. Ham whipped his cane from a table, raced after him. That cane really contained a long, slender sword, which Ham could use with deadly effect. Its point was tipped with a chemical that brought quick unconsciousness, but didn't harm the victim.
Doc Savage sat quietly at his desk.
OUTSIDE, he could hear Monk lumbering down the hallway. Monk looked slow, but his bulky figure covered ground with amazing speed.
Sounds of the chase faded. After perhaps five minutes of silence, discouraged footsteps returned.
Monk and Ham reыntered the office, their faces long. "He got away," Monk said laboriously.
Doc said, "Any one who planned an open threat such as that, would have made sure his line of retreat was open. But it does not matter. We will go to the hotel, call on Miss Virginia Jettmore and find out what it's all about."
Ham perked up. "What did he mean by 'skeleton death'?" he asked.
Carefully, Doc explained the scene he had witnessed when he arrived at the office building.
Monk's eyes grew wide. "ButЧbut that couldn't be done! There's no way thatЧ"
"Doc said it happened, didn't he?" glared Ham, glad to get back at Monk for the pig trick.
Monk swallowed, and shut up. Doc said nothing.
"What about that 'land of fear' that fellow mentioned?" asked Ham.
Doc shook his head. "We'll find out."
Crowds still milled about the sidewalk as the three reached the street and started for Doc's car. An ambulance had backed up to the curb, although the grim cargo it was taking aboard was far beyond any help a surgeon might give.
A police car was also at the curb, and two patrolmen were busy holding back curious spectators. A second police car appeared at the corner, casually cruised nearer.
Doc skirted his big machine to get in on the driver's side. The cruising police car speeded slightly.
The bronze man glanced toward it. Light was flickering on the shiny end of a snub-nosed machine gun. The hideous roar of exploding shells rose over the sound of traffic.
Doc only had an instant's warning. But he had trained himself since childhood for just such emergencies, for acting fast in moments of peril.
He'd had the key to the car door in the lock, had half turned it. However, there would have been no time to open that door, to swing inside the machine where he would have been protected by bulletproof glass and cold steel
INSTANTLY Doc dropped, and so perfect was the coЎrdination of his muscles that he was already rolling under the machine before the first volley of bullets struck where he'd been standing a split second before.
Monk and Ham were on the far side of the machine, protected by its impregnable bulk.
A curse of anger came from the machine-gunner. But the gunner was no novice. His second burst of bullets was directed down, so that they struck the pavement just under the running board of Doc's car, to ricochet savagely toward the curb.
Had Doc remained under the car, that second hail of lead would have caught him. But he'd twisted, had slipped out from under the car in the rear.
The policemen on the sidewalk had drawn their .38s. They stared bewilderedly for a moment at the police car, then realized the truth. The men in that machine were not dressed in the blue uniforms of officers of the law. They were in civilian dress.
Monk whipped a weapon from his pocket. In appearance, it was something like an overgrown automatic, but it had a circular magazine. This magazine held bullets, not of solid lead, but thin-shelled projectiles that contained a chemical. Called "mercy" bullets, they did not kill, but only brought unconsciousness to those they struck. The weapon had been designed by Doc.
The hairy chemist's weapon came up, but the police car had spurted ahead. Doc stepped back behind his own auto as another savage volley of lead rained toward him. The other men were firing now.
The policemen on the sidewalk fired. Instantly, it seemed, one of them doubled and fell as the machine-gunner turned his weapon on them.
The crowd frantically sought hiding places in doorways and stores. Not all succeeded. Some fell under that withering blast.
Monk fired. A queer expression crossed the face of one gunner. He slumped across his weapon.
The second policeman, face a hideous mask of rage, raced into the street, his service pistol barking. He had seen a companion shot down, the unforgiveable crime.
The policeman's marksmanship was not the best. He was excited, but a lucky shot went home. The police car, which had been picking up speed, swerved suddenly and crashed into a traffic light. The impact was terrific. The shattered and now lifeless bodies of the men inside were folded up in crumpled metal.
Doc Savage glanced around quickly. The ambulance attendants, ignoring danger, were already at the sides of those who had fallen. All that could be done for them was being done.
"Looks like that fellow certainly meant his warning," Ham drawled.
"A blasted trap to make us run out and get killed!" growled Monk.
"I think so," Doc agreed. "At least, it shows that it is certainly time for us to find what this is all about."
Unruffled, he got into his car, slid behind the wheel. The others stepped in after him. The attack had been so sudden that few knew it really had been directed at the bronze man and his companions.
Doc's car headed toward the hotel where Ham had learned Harlan Spotfield had registered with a girl and a second man.
THE hotel clerk was inclined to be voluble.
"Yes, they're registered here. And a strange-appearing trio. I never saw such clothes, outside of the movies. But it wasn't that which impressed me so much." His voice dropped, became a confidential whisper. "They were all afraid, deathly afraid. One of them went out at once. He never came back. Then a second man went out. He hasn't come back."
Doc nodded. "And the room number of Miss Jettmore?"