"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 024 - Red Snow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

The black-faced men whirled suddenly, firing, and Monk flopped back, but the pig Habeas, was not so
lucky. He spun over and over, obviously hit by a bullet, and began squealing.

Monk emitted an angry roar, but could do nothing, not even reach the pig. The black-faced men had a
touring car waiting around the corner. They reached it, and the machine moaned away.

Still roaring, Monk lunged to his pig. He made a quick examination. Great relief came over his simian
face.

"Leg nicked," he said. "Let's get them guys."

Doc and his two men ran to the corner, stopped a car, ejected the surprised driver, and gave chase. But
an old and entirely sufficient dodge defeated them; those in the fleeing car opened a large carton of
big-headed roofing nails on the pavement, and these punctured all four tires of the pursuing machine.

Doc drove into a service station to have the tires replaced, and they walked back to the hotel.

"One thing sure," grumbled the small-voiced Monk, "whatever they were after, they didn't get it."

Ham eyed Doc Savage. "Were those fellows Negroes, Doc?"

"No," said the bronze man. "Neither were they Americans."

"No?" Ham fingered his sword cane.

"They all had high cheek bones and a certain set to their eyes," Doc reminded. "That would indicate they
were all of one nationality."
The pig, Habeas Corpus, hobbled to meet them, and Monk, seizing upon his pet, bore him off for
bandaging-also to dress himself, for, robed in the sheet, he was the center of all eyes.

The pig was trailed by a swarm of newspapermen and photographers, and for the next five minutes, Doc
Savage was the center of a verbal m├кl├йe as the journalists tried to get stories for their papers.

When Doc Savage explained that he had no idea who had made the attack on the baggage truck, or why
it was made, they naturally did not believe him. He tried to tell them that he had come to Florida to
perfect a disease fatal to mosquitoes; but this only got a laugh.

The police arrived, and Doc repeated to them the same story. He was asked if his baggage held anything
of especial value, and he explained that it had been packed in New York with scientific equipment and
shipped some days before, and had been lying in a Miami station since. He added that he was entirely at
a loss to explain the affair.

This satisfied the police, for they had a healthy respect for the man of bronze and his methods.

The truck driver and his assistant, unharmed but shaky, carried the trunks and bags inside the
Biscayneville, then departed, having had an experience which would doubtless furnish them conversation
for a long time to come.

The newspapermen gave up questioning Doc Savage and went off to turn their stories in. It was a good
yarn.