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

"Let's get this guy to the coupe," Monk grunted. "Doc will want to know about this, and he'll want to
look up Boke, whoever he is, when he gets here."

The two men started for the coupe, still supporting their unconscious captive. They did not go far.

There was a flurry on the outskirts of the crowd and a man came plunging through, wielding his elbows.
He was a scrawny man, unshaven, somewhat shabbily garbed, and he peered at Monk and Ham as if he
were very delighted indeed to see them.

"You're cops!" he gulped excitedly. "I know you're cops. Sure! You made a swell pinch when you got
this guy."

Monk squinted small eyes at him. Ham opened his orator's mouth to say something, but the newcomer
spouted on without pause.

"Come on," he snapped. 'This mug has been up to some funny business. I want to show you what I
accidentally saw in his room."

He wheeled off and Monk and Ham, vastly surprised, tramped along after him, the cold snow making
gritting noises underfoot and the heels of their unconscious captive dragging along with a series of
raspings. The stranger had picked up the trombone case.
They came to a doorway and the guide muttered, "It's in here. I was waitin' for 'im to come back when I
saw you put the hand on

Monk stopped suddenly. "You were waiting here?" He pointed at the door.

"Yes," said the unkempt man.

Monk pointed at the snow particles which did not lie on the sidewalk in sufficient depth to hold footsteps
but which had drifted into the doorway in a shallow, cold bank that was unbroken by tracks or other
marks which certainly would have been made by the door opening.

"You're a liar!" Monk said. "A poor one, too."

The shabby stranger coughed as if he were cold, and under cover of the convulsion, his hands made a
bewilderingly swift gesture and were suddenly holding a pistol.

"I'm good enough to get by," he said.

THE crowd, as curious persons will, had followed the little cavalcade, wondering what it was all about
and possessed of a morbid desire to see what would happen. They had not followed quite fast enough,
however, for any one to be near enough to catch exactly what passed between Monk, Ham and the
stranger.

Three men, burly fellows swathed in mufflers, now detached themselves from the crowd and turned upon
it, hardfaced and belligerent of manner.

"Here, beat it!" one of them said, and his words threw small puffs of steam into the frosty air. "G'wan!
You don't live here. We're cops."