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

"There'll be more hot stuff, as long as this Doc Savage is in town," one scribe told his fellows. "Trouble
and this Doc Savage have a way of finding each other."

THE bronze man perched on one of the large trunks while a hotel maid swept up glass which had been
shot out of the windows by the mysterious raiders. Monk and Ham waited until the maid departed,
Monk had rigged his pet pig up with bandages and tied him to the bed. Then Doc Savage spoke.

"There is something behind this," he said slowly. "Those men wanted my baggage. I do not know why.
Perhaps, if we looked through the stuff, a reason might suggest itself."

"An idea," Monk grinned.

The bronze man began shifting the trunks about, handling their not inconsiderable weight with a
casualness which gave indication of the tremendous strength in his great frame. He tipped one of the
trunks on end. He became perfectly still, rigid.

His strange trilling note, the fantastic sound that ran up and down the musical scale without adhering to a
tune or without seeming to come from any definite spot, came into being, persisted for a brief interval,
then betook itself away into nothingness.

He put a finger on the trunk end and said, "Look!"

There was a round puncture through the metal ease of the trunk, and through the wood re├лnforcing, a
hole perhaps three-eighths of an inch across.

"Bullet!" Monk breathed.

"Must have been shot into the trunk when they were trying to get the baggage," Ham added.

Doc Savage eased the trunk down and fitted a key in the lid.
"It is possible the raid was staged to fire this shot-rather than seize the baggage, as we concluded," he
said.

He opened the lid.

"Blazes!" Monk exploded.

There was a man inside the trunk-the body of a man, rather, for the bullet had made a wound in the
center of the skull, which had not bled extensively.

Chapter 3. RED IN THE RING
THE dead man was tall-they removed him from the trunk to examine, that they might be sure he was
dead-and he wore clothes which were wrinkled, yet tailored of expensive cloth and not badly worn. He
had a bald spot on the top of his head, back of where the bullet had entered; there was a typical Florida
tan on his face, the tan of a native, and over the bridge of his nose was a pale strip, while other pale
streaks ran directly back from the corners of his eyes to his ears.

"Wore shell-rimmed glasses," Monk said slowly. "Wonder where they are."