"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 011 - Brand of the Werewolf" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

The telegrapher reached over to his key and "broke."

"Wrong number," he transmitted.

Telegrams were numbered in consecutive order. This was to prevent a telegrapher sending one "into the
air" - trans mitting a message which was not received at the other end.
"It's the right number," the man at the distant key tapped.

"You're shy a number," explained the station wireman. "You sent me a message half an hour ago."

"The last message we sent you was four hours ago," rattled the sounder.

The telegrapher shook his head in bewilderment. Getting out his carbon copy of the message which he
had given to Wilkie, he "traced" it to the distant man - outlining its contents.

"We sent no such message," he was informed.

"I received it," the station operator clicked back. "There's something strange about this. Do you think the
wires were tapped?"

"Search me."

The telegrapher sat and pondered. He reached a decision. Grasping the key, he transmitted: "I'm going to
wire ahead to the next station, and let Wilkie know what happened."

"Why go to all that trouble?" the distant operator demanded.

"Because both Wilkie and I thought the contents of that message were strange. We both remarked that it
was an unusual communication for this man to receive."

"What do you know about the business of the man the message was going to?"

"I've read of the fellow," tapped the station operator. "I'll tell you about him later. He's worth hearing
about. But I'm going to wire Wilkie now."

He began to maul out the call letters of a station at which Wilkie's train would soon arrive.

The station door opened furtively behind him. It made no noise. Two men crept in. They were clad in
greasespattered coveralls. Both had handkerchiefs tied over their faces, and both carried revolvers.

The telegrapher, absorbed in calling, did not hear them. It was doubtful if he ever knew of their
presence.

One of the marauders jammed his revolver to the operator's temple, and pulled the trigger. The report of
the shot was deafening.

The operator tumbled from his chair. He had died instantly.

Reaching over, the murderer grasped the telegraph key. "Never mind that stuff about another message,"