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

The crowd melted, sheeplike, as city crowds will do in the face of authority.

Monk said something in the strange, not unmusical Mayan dialect, and the pig, Habeas Corpus, spun and
raced down the street, feet making clickings and scratchings.

The man with the gun growled, "You say another word I can't understand and it'll be just too damn
bad!"

The men who had turned the crowd back now joined the fellow with the gun and they themselves
produced weapons.

"Inside," one said. "You know by now that we saw you playing games with our pal here and come down
to invite you in where it's warm." He picked up the trombone case.

Some one laughed, and snow rasped as Monk and Ham mounted, still carrying the man who had been
made unconscious by Ham's sword cane. In the door, they looked at each other, then let their burden fall
heavily.

"Pick 'im up," they were ordered.

They complied with the command and marched into a passage which seemed colder than the street
outside. While guns menaced them, hands searched them. The casual thoroughness of the search showed
that these men knew the spots where weapons were carried.

Monk and Ham each wore in an expertly padded holster a firearm which resembled an oversized
automatic pistol. These had curled magazines, intricate mechanisms, fine workmanship.
"Damn me," one man said softly. "First rods I ever saw like these."

Another man looked at the guns.

"Hell's bells!" His face blanched; his hands shook a little.

The others eyed him, and one demanded, "Why the chalk and shiver?"

The excited man tapped one weapon. "Doc Savage," he said.

"Listen," some one rapped. "What's this?"

"I've read about these. Only Doc Savage's men carry them. They're supermachine pistols. The bronze
guy himself invented them."

There was nothing more said for some seconds. One man took out a cigarette, put it between his lips,
then took it away from his mouth and mashed it up between slow-moving fingers. Another man, breathing
heavily, went back to the door, and looked out.

"Let's go talk to Boke," some one rapped. "I don't like the way this damned thing is shaping up."

THE witch-faced man, reviving from the stupefying effects of the chemical on the end of Ham's sword
cane, began to squirm and moan. Ham and Monk stood him on his feet, but his legs refused to support