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

The man was very big - over six feet, and weighing fully two hundred and fifty pounds - but the size of his
hands made the rest of him seem dwarfed.

He had a long, Puritanical face, which bore an expression of great gloom. He looked like a man on his
way to a funeral.

"Have a look, Renny," said Doc Savage, and extended the telegram.

The big-fisted man was Colonel John Renwick, known in many parts of the globe for his
accomplishments as an engineer. Also, he was noted for a playful habit of knocking panels out of doors
with his incredible fists. With either fist, he boasted, he could vanquish the stoutest wooden door.

Renny's funeral-going expression was the one he habitually wore when at peace with the world.

Renny was one of a group of five singular men who were Doc Savage's helpers.

The telegram was addressed to Doc Savage, care of the train, and read:

JUST RECEIVED YOUR WIRE ADVISING YOU ARE PAYING ME A VISIT STOP WISH TO
IN- FORM YOU I HAVE NO USE FOR REST OF SAVAGE FAMILY STOP DO NOT WISH
YOUR COMPANY STOP WOULD BE DELIGHTED TO HAVE YOU STAY AWAY

ALEX SAVAGE

Renny had a pet expression which be used on all occasions calling for vehemence. He employed it now.
"Holy cow!" he exploded.

"Those are something near my own sentiments," Doc Savage agreed.

"Dang it!" Renny's voice was something like the roaring of an angry animal in a cave. "What if he don't
want our company? The crowd of us weren't going to drop in and sponge off him! We were going to do
some fishing and hunting, and merely pay him a visit as a courtesy. If he don't want us, we won't bother
him. But I'll be blasted if that will keep us from our vacation!"

"Alex Savage owns a large stretch of land along the coast," Doc pointed out. "It has the reputation of
being the best spot in Canada for hunting and fishing."

Renny groaned thunderously. "A fine gesture of welcome! Say, Doc, don't this Alex Savage know you?"

"Not personally," Doc replied. "He is an uncle. I have never met either him or his daughter."

"Daughter?"

"An only child, I understand. Her name is Patricia. Age about eighteen."

Renny tapped his huge fists together. This made a sound remindful of two flint boulders colliding with
each other.

"If your uncle and cousin don't want us, Doc, I reckon we'll go somewhere else," he said gloomily.
"Where's the map? I'll try to find another place where there's good fishing."