"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 008 - The Sargasso Ogre" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

The door was big and stanch, and there was no sign of a latch on the outside. The bars were thick.
Doc splashed his flash beam on the three bodies. It was a grisly sight, for scarlet was rapidly spreading a
wet sheet over the floor. Each of the trio had been stabbed.

"Whew!" Long Tom breathed. "Pasha Bey was a bad one, but he was a babe in arms compared to the
crowd he went up against! Those fellows had killed men before! It takes practice to do a job like this!"

Pasha Bey had, it appeared, closed with one of his assailants. His clutching hand had seized upon a belt.
In falling, he had torn this from his attacker. His bony claw still held it.

Doc picked up the belt and inspected it. The thing was perhaps three inches wide, and made of soft
leather. Upon the leather was sewed, side by side, more than a score of circular, braided insignia. Each
of these bore an embroidered name.

Doc glanced over some of the names.

Sea Sylph, Henryetta, U. S. S. Voyager, Queen Neptune, Gotham Beile, Axteila Marie.

Saying nothing, Doc slipped the strange belt in a pocket. He grasped the iron bars. These had no doubt
been put there by the original builder to defy the strength of any man. They were very substantial.

The stout iron groaned under the terrific strength of Doc's bronze, corded hands. It was something
fabulous, this muscular power Doc had developed in himself. Opening horseshoes and bending
half-dollar coins -- feats of professional strong men -- he could accomplish easily.

With a ripping of wood, one bar came out. Then another. With the two, he struck and pried, tearing off
planks in an effort to reach the lock.

Up toward the Place Mehemet Ali, excited yelling denoted the approach of bulis zabtieh. The shots and
screams had drawn the policemen.

Doc got the door open. He whipped through, hands empty except for his flashlight. Doc Savage never
used a gun in his fighting.

Long Tom trod his heels.

They ran down a corridor which smelled of samak and tobacco smoke. Another door barred their way.
It was locked, but less substantial.

Doc struck a blow with his unprotected fist, a blow only alloy-hard tendons could withstand. The panel
caved like a banana crate.

They found only more passages, empty rooms, silence -- and open doors which gave upon another
street. There was no one in sight.

"They got away!" Long Tom grumbled.

"They did," Doc agreed, "and we had best follow their example. Otherwise, the police are liable to hold
us for questioning, and cause us to miss the Cameronic."