"066 (B058) - The Munitions Master (1938-08) - Harold Davis" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

But his face was his most compelling feature. It had an air of command. His jaw was square, his eyes hard under long, thick black eyelashes. Heavy, almost curly black hair bushed forward over his forehead.



"Doc Savage," he sneered. 'The master adventurer. The man who always blocks evil."



Two men slid close to him, peered out the window. "Almost time, boss?" one asked. He spoke with a Brooklyn accent, which was peculiar. For both he and his companion were dressed in the blue uniforms of French gendarmes.



The big man nodded. There was a sudden roar from the crowd outside. The sound of martial music was very loud sounds of cheering reechoed.



"Go!" Traniv rasped. "You have your instructions. Do not fail! If you do -- "



A quick rippling of nerves passed over the two men in gendarme uniforms. Their eyes darted fearfully over strange, weird-appearing appliances about the office. Then they sped for the door.



Across the street in an alleyway, the little man wet dry lips with a nervous tongue. His eyes were burning feverishly.



Attention was centered on a reviewing stand, almost directly below Traniv's office.



"Doc Savage!" came the roar. "Doc Savage!"



A tall, bronze giant was making his way toward a seat directly in the center of the reviewing stand. Despite his size, the symmetry of his development was such that it was difficult for the crowd to realize his true stature. His features were regular, almost classic. Now he was smiling slightly in acknowledgment of the applause.



His straight hair was a slightly darker bronze than that of his skin. His eyes were like hypnotic pools of flake gold, compelling, attractive eyes. Muscles rippled smoothly.



Monk and Ham chuckled delightedly. They knew part of the enthusiasm was due to newspaper reports of Doc's errand in France.