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

The bloody finger prints were from Long Tom's right hand! Doc had seen the prints of his five men
countless times, and could recognize them instantly.

He grasped the stone lid. It had rasped under Homar's clutch, but it lifted noiselessly under Doc's hand --
so silently, that it almost seemed the bronze man had a supernatural power to command quiet.

Cold, damp steps led down; then came a black, low tunnel. Dust of ages lay on the floor. The sound of
Homar's footsteps thumped like the beat of a water-filled drum.

Doc whipped forward without noise, showing no light, sensitive hands feeling out the way. The walls
were rough. In spots, there were hard, crusted deposits formed by water seepage through the centuries.

They came to a spot where the ancient corridor branched three ways. Homar took the one to the right.
He seemed to know where he was going.

The character of the walls abruptly changed, becoming solid instead of jointed masonry. The passages
were hewn out of natural rock.
Doc drew a small case from a pocket. This held a peculiar powder. At frequent intervals, he dropped a
pinch on the tunnel floor.

Homar's footbeats led on iinterminably. Shuffle and thud! Shuffle and thud! The noises had a dull,
deathlike quality. The air was dusty. It was like breathing within a trunk which had been long closed.

Again and again, the passages branched. And every few yards, Doc left a bit of his powder on the floor.
His actions might have seemed a bit puzzling. The stuff gave off no odor, no phosphorescent glow.

The tunnel widened, forming a series of long rooms. Doc's hands, along the walls, encountered what felt
vaguely like rounded stones. These were arched entirely to the ceiling. He knew what they were.

Human skulls! The walls were lined with them.

Farther on, there were many casket-shaped niches cut in the rock, and in these were stacked arm and
leg bones, spinal columns, ribs. It was a macabre, hideous place. Compared to these catacombs, a walk
through a graveyard at midnight was no more awesome than a stroll through a town park.

Doc Savage went forward without flinching or shivering. If he experienced any of the feelings which
would have gripped another man, he did not show it. Doc had remarkable powers of concentration. He
avoided the ghostly, spine-chilling effects of his surroundings simply by putting his attention on following
the man ahead, and keeping it there.

Homar was carrying his flashlight at his side.

Deeper and deeper into the maze, they penetrated. They descended steps. The catacombs seemed to be
cut several stories deep. Countless thousands were the dead who had been buried here, for the city had
been founded in the third century.

In some passages the stone had caved in, closing them, probably forever. Three times, Homar opened
stone doors. Doc, a silent specter at his heels, kept leaving small deposits of his powder.

They came finally to their destination.