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

"1252."
The bronze man expressed his thanks and went to the house telephone.
Only the muted sound of a ringing signal answered his call.
Doc, still holding the receiver, glanced at Ham. His cane swinging, his attire the envy of the wealthy idlers around him, Ham strolled to the desk, asked casually, "Miss Jettmore didn't go out, of course? She is still in her room?"
"Oh, yes," said the clerk. His smirk conveyed the idea he certainly would have noticed if she'd gone out.
Doc replaced the receiver, walked to the elevators.
"No answer?" rumbled Monk.
The bronze man shook his head.
As they stepped from the elevator on the twelfth floor, Doc was slightly in advance. A casual observer would have thought nothing of the way the three walked down the hallway. But one accustomed to the ways of Doc and his aids would have known that this seemingly aimless alignment was one of strategy.
At Room 1252 Doc halted, knocked. There was no answer. He tried the door. It was locked.
A ring of keys appeared in one of his hands. The hotel management would have been astonished to know that the door's burglarproof lock could be so deftly opened. But the door swung free in a very few seconds.
THE bronze man swung the door wide, then stood motionless on the threshold. Nothing was to be seen except the ordinary furniture of a high-priced suite.
Monk started to press forward, only to halt as one of Doc's hands dropped on his left arm. Ham stood so he could see down the hall, swinging his head to watch both directions,
Then Doc entered the room. A faint frown appeared on his face.
Nothing seemed amiss; there were no signs of a struggle, or indications even that the room had been occupied recently. But the bronze man's nostrils caught the faint scent of perfume. It was hardly discernible.
Slowly, Doc started forward, weight balanced on the balls of his feet.
A door openedЧa door leading to a bedroom. An audible gasp came from Monk. Always susceptible to beauty, he stood amazed at the vision that confronted him.
Small, her eyes wide in her rounded face, her black curls clinging close to her head, a girl stood in the doorway, looked at them strangely. Her glance passed over Monk's homely face to return to the bronzed countenance of Doc.
"I'm Doc Savage," said the bronze man. "This isЧ"
A deep sigh parted the girl's red lips. One hand swung from behind her wide, flaring dressЧa hand that held a businesslike automatic.
The gun swung up, pointed directly at Doc. One small finger pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Doc in the chest and flattened harmlessly against the bulletproof vest he always wore.
Chapter III. SEIZED!
MONK leaped forward. The gun cracked again. The look of fatuous adoration vanished from Monk's homely face; his long arms swung upЧonly to halt.
Doc had acted before him. Fast as Monk was, his bronze chief never failed to amaze him with the lightning rapidity of his actions. One of Doc's hands caught the girl's gun wrist, took the weapon from her.
Ham had been at the door, but at the sound of the shot he, too, had whirled, had darted forward. He was just in time to catch the girl's limp figure as it started to slump to the floor, eyes closed.
"Wonder a woman-chaser like you wouldn't know enough to do this!" he sneered.
Monk's mouth dropped open at the unexpected insult.
"Carry her to the lounge," Doc directed.
He lifted the girl's eyelids, looked at the strange-appearing pupils of her eyes.
Monk, still grumbling, ambled into the bathroom, and returned with a glass of water. He would have poured it on the girl's face, if Ham hadn't prevented him.
"Want to get her pretty clothes water-stained and earn her displeasure?" he jeered.
Monk bristled. "She tried to shoot Doc!"
Doc said, "She did not know the type of clothing we wear."
"Which shows we're up against a new set of enemies," contributed Ham.
"I can't understand a good looker like her being mixed up with a murder gang," Monk grumbled.
The homely chemist would have understood better if he could have witnessed what was occurring across the street, in a room on the fourteenth floor of another hotel.
A SQUAT man laid down a pair of binoculars. He swore tonelessly. "I knew that trick wouldn't work!" he snarled.
His clothes were tailor-made. Sartorially, he could have entered any drawing-room. His voice had an artificial culture.
There was only one thing wrong: Everything he wore had a tinge of green somewhere. In his suit, it was a thin stripe. His hat was green. There were green dots on his tie. A green thread was in his socks. His spats, also, were green. Even the cigarette he smoked had a green band about the butt.
"Why shouldn't it work?" asked a man who sat close at his side.
"Greens" Gordon spat, lost his veneer he'd prided himself on for years, and reverted to lower East Side vernacular.
"Dat Doc Savage is too smart," he snarled, when his remarks finally became sufficiently mild to be understandable. "He gets away from the boys wid the Tommy; he gets away from the gal!"
"The girl was hypnotized?" asked his companion.
"You asked for some mug who could put a single idea into a frail's brain!" rapped Gordon. "I got yuh one. Dat broad didn't have one idea except killin' Doc Savage. You saw how it worked!"
His companion nodded. It was getting late in the afternoon. There was no light in the hotel room. None was needed.
But even if the room had been lighted, Greens Gordon's companion would have been hard to identify. His face was blank; there was an artificial hint about his features. He was big and powerful, well-dressed. He looked like nothing except a clothing-store dummyЧan inanimate object without brains or nerves.
"That's twice within an hour Doc Savage has escaped death," he said softly. "Perhaps he's even a tenth as good as I've understood he is."
"He's ten times as good as you'll ever believe he is!" Greens Gordon barked sharply.
The big man beside him smiledЧa grotesque smile that was without mirth.
"You saw what happened this afternoon?" he asked.