"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 022 - The Annhilist" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

character. It was even suspected that he had murdered his mother because the old lady had once turned
him over to the police. This had never been proved.

All of these deaths were in Manhattan.

The next one was in the Bronx. By this time, newspapers had started putting the pop-eyed deaths on the
front page, and people who had nothing else to do were wondering if some new and mysterious disease
might not have sprung up.

The Bronx victim was a lawyer, noted as a very honest man. He had a large family. They heard him
screaming in his room. When they reached him, he was spread out on the floor with his eyes sticking out.

The tabloid newspapers began to turn handsprings. They ran big headlines; and the more timid citizens of
New York began to look into mirrors frequently to see if anything was wrong with their eyes.

The thing was not a joke. A fifth and sixth man were found dead - one a comfortably fixed insurance
man, the other a down-and-out hanger-on in a pool hall - and their eyes were not pleasant things to look
at The seventh was a professor in the city's largest university.

There was no conceivable connection between any of these men. But they all died with their eyes sticking
out.

The police department, urged by the mayor, sent to Chicago for a specialist in strange diseases, for none
of the victims showed the slightest mark on their bodies. The conservative New York papers became as
wild as the tabloids. They did their best to worry every one.

Certain unnaturally timid persons began to go south to Florida earlier than they had intended. Others
went to Europe. Those who had country homes paid them a visit. So far, it was only the timid who were
worried. But before long, every one was to feel the terror of it.

They thought it was some new disease. They were wrong. Just how hideously wrong, no one had yet
realized. The secret of the whole thing started coming out after what happened at the Association of
Physical Health.

In the Association of Physical Health, there was a frosted glass inner-office door which bore the legend:

Dr. J. Sultman, President

Behind the door, a man yelled hoarsely, "I won't do it! No!"

There were scuffling sounds and a thump as if a chair had been upset. Rattling of the doorknob indicated
some one was trying to get out.

In the big outer office, stenographers stopped typing. The flashy blonde on the phone switchboard
ceased chewing gum and opened her lips.

The small man sitting in one of the leather chairs reserved for customers lowered his newspaper against
his chest and looked over it, then shifted the paper so that his hands were concealed between it and his
chest. The small man had long, oily hair and bleak blue eyes. His clothing was extremely conservative.
"let me out of here, you damned fiend!" roared the voice back of the door.