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

The man's voice impressed Wilkie as being very much in keeping with his appearance. It was vibrant with
controlled power.

"A wire came for you at the last station," said Wilkie, and handed over the message. It was the first time
in years that Wilkie had been awed in the presence of anybody.

"Thank you," said Doc Savage.

Wilkie found himself retreating, although he had intended to hang around and strike up a conversation
with this remarkable man. The tone of those two words had impelled him to depart. At the same time, he
found himself feeling very friendly toward the metallic giant.

It was eerie, the things the bronze man's voice could do.

Wilkie was almost out of the observation car when another weird thing happened. An uncanny sound
reached his ears.
He came to an abrupt stop. His face was blank. Absently, he felt of his ears. The sound was so curious
that he half suspected it might be a product of his imagination. The note seemed to be coming from no
particular spot, but from every where.

It was low, mellow, and trilling, that sound-like the song of some strange feathered denizen of the jungle,
or the sound of a wind crawling through a leafless wilderness. It ran up and down the musical scale,
having no tune, yet melodious. Then it ended.

Wilkie did not feel awed by the sound. Rather, there was something inspiring about it.

As he went on, Wilkie felt as if he had just taken a drink of fine old liquor. The trilling sound had that kind
of an effect.

Chapter 2. THE TRAIN WEREWOLF
THE sound Wilkie had heard was part of Doc Savage. It was a small, unconscious thing which he did in
moments of intense concentration, or when he was surprised. Often when Doc made the sound, he was
unaware of doing so.

Reading the text of the telegram had caused the tiny, weird note to come into being.

Leaving his chair, Doc strode for the observation platform on the rear of the coach.

There were other passengers. These were amazed by the bronze man's appearance - so much so that
they forgot their manners and frankly stared.

A stout, elderly man with a slightly swarthy face gazed at the bronze giant's hands. Enormous, supple
tendons showed those hands contained incredible strength. The hands seemed to mesmerize the swarthy
man.

A ravishingly pretty dark-haired girl sat beside the elderly man. Her eyes were large and limpid, and her
lips a most inviting rosebud. She looked very fresh and crisp, so impeccable, in fact, that it was obvious
she had not been on the train long. Even the neatest of individuals soon show the effects of traveling.