"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 012 - The Man Who Shook the Earth" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

"I guess I pulled a boner, Doc," he said.

He told of the appearance of Velvet at the skyscraper office, of the five-hundred-dollar bribe which he had
taken, and finally, of the disposal of the bribe at the breadline.

"I nearly keeled over when the guy coughed up five hundred, Doc," he finished. "I didnтАЩt like him a bit. But I
decided to take his money. He couldnтАЩt steal anything around the office. Everything was locked up. And I
knew you did not plan to show up there again tonight."



MONK, waiting for DocтАЩs reaction to the information, started violently, and glanced around inside the phone
booth. Then he pressed the receiver more tightly to his ear and grinned.

A strange sound was coming from the receiver. It was low, mellow, and trilling, like the song of some strange
feathered creature of the jungle, or the sound of a wind filtering through a denuded forest.

It was melodious, this eerie note, although without tune. It came from the telephone receiver with such
astounding clarity that Monk had been startled into glancing about, thinking it was made by some one in the
booth with him.

Monk had heard this sound before. It was part of Doc Savage, a small thing which he did in moments of
concentration. To his friends, it was possessed of many meanings.

Sometimes, it was DocтАЩs cry of battle; again, it was his song of triumph. Occasionally, It precoursed some
plan of action. Often it came when Doc was surprised.
Just now, Monk concluded the sound must indicate that Doc was puzzled.

"Everything around the office was locked up?" Doc queried.

"Sure! Everything. This guy couldnтАЩt do any harm. ThatтАЩs why I relieved him of his mazuma."

"Since the man lied about working for a newspaper," Doc said, "weтАЩd better look into this, Monk. Something
is up."

"So I figured," said Monk.

"IтАЩll meet you in the lobby of our office building in about fifteen minutes from now."

"Quarter of an hour it is," said Monk, and hung up. He waddled out of the booth.



VELVET had been quite sincere in addressing Monk as the Janitor. The homely, apish fellow looked the part;
his garb was shabby enough. His hair needed cutting badly, and he could have stood a shave to advantage.

No doubt the thing which had misled Velvet most of all was the fact that there did not seem room enough for
a thimbleful of brains behind MonkтАЩs low forehead.

MonkтАЩs looks were deceptive. He was not a janitor; he was a chemist of world-wide repute. His most jealous