"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 025 - Land of Always-Night" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

"Naw, naw, don't!" he choked. "I dunno where it is! So help me, I don't!"

The other man made no answer. His fantastic white hand -- the other one never moved, as if it were
dead -- was not his only unusual characteristic. His eyes were unnaturally huge and so very pale as to be
almost the color of water, and he had a thin face, a thin body. When occasional distant automobile
headlights caused him to cast a shadow, the shadow was skeleton-thin.

Beery Hosmer broke out in gibberish.

"I don't know," he gulped. "I wouldn't kid you. I don't know anything about it!"

The other man's white hand kept moving.

"Where is it?" he asked. His voice was utterly flat; it held the mechanical quality found in the speech of
persons so deaf that they can hardly hear themselves talk.

Beery Hosmer tried to back away. He was already pressed against the darkened window of a candy
store.

"Wouldn't I tell you if I knew?" he whimpered. "Lookit, Ool -- "

The hand of the man called Ool seemed to move a little slower.

"You have it," he said tonelessly. "You were on your way to endeavor to sell it to this man Doc Savage.
It is in the money belt which you carry around your waist."

Beery made choking sounds. He was almost sobbing.

"Take it easy!" he blubbered. "We can fix this tip. Gimme time! Lemme think!"

"You," said Ool, "will have all infinity in which to think." The white hand darted. There was no
slow-motion effect this time. No onlooker could have told whether or not the hand actually touched
Beery Hosner.

ALL of the pent-up terror of the last few moments burst from Beery Hosmer's slack lips in one animal
scream. He wrenched violently backward. Head, shoulders and elbows rammed into the plate glass of
the candy store.

The window collapsed. Glass crashed to the cement walk with a jangle.

Beery seemed to be trying to get a gun out of an armpit holster. But he thrashed about like one suddenly
stricken mad. He kicked trays of chocolates and mints out on the sidewalk. Great shudders began to
course over his scrawny body, but did not persist for long, because he gave a vast, wheezing sigh and
slumped over, becoming as inert as the chocolate creams crushed beneath him.

Ool leaned into the window. His left hand remained at his side, as if lifeless. His right hand drifted to
Beery Hosmer's shirt, wrenched. Two buttons flew and clicked far out in the street, then chamois of a
money belt tore with a rotten sound.
The object which Ool brought into view resembled a pair of goggles, more than anything else. But as