"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 032 - Dust of Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

invalid, he presented a blue automatic, muzzle first. He spoke brisk and grim Spanish.

"This is a military airport, se├▒or," he said. "No landings are permitted here. You are under arrest."

"Si, si, amigo,"
said the puny-looking flyer.
He took his hand out of his flying suit and it held papers, official looking. He passed them over.

The officer took them and read them, and his eyebrows went up, then down, and his shoulders did the same.
He spoke English this time and it was not especially good.

"Our consul, he ees not have right for you thees military field to use," he said. "Eet ees not what you
callтАФcallтАФ"

"Not regular, I know," said the flyer. "But suppose you call your chief, contact some one high up in the war
department. I did a little telephoning before I started."

The officer did tricks with his eyebrows while he thought that over.

"I will see," he said. "You wait."

He took the papers, which the flyer had given him, and walked away briskly, going past the hangars and
along the walk which led to the operations office.



THE OFFICER took quick strides, eyeing from time to time the documents which obviously held great
interest for him. He shook his head, sucked his tongue, and spoke to himself.

"If this flyer's identity is as these papers say," he murmured, "it means great and amazing things are to
come."
He turned a corner briskly. The path, virtually an alley, ran between thick walls of shrubbery on either side.

"If this man is who these say he is," the officer waved papers at himself, "the mystery of the Inca in Gray may
be solved after all."

A man came out of the bushes into the path behind the officer. He came swiftly without much noise.

The man was bent over and his hands were across his middle as if he had a permanent pain there. A beggar,
to judge by his looks. His hair was long. His poncho ragged, his fiber sandals frayed. Unless the matter was
given thought, it might not occur that the fellow was excellently disguised.

"
Se├▒or soldado," the ragamuffin, hissed, "I have something to tell, important."
The officer stopped, turned and, surprised, let the tall, stooped bundle of rags come up to him. He was
unsuspicious. In the South American republic of Santa Amoza civilians treated army officers with respect.
Not being suspicious was the officer's mistake.

The ragamuffin had a knife concealed in his hand. But the officer did not see that until he looked down at his
chest and saw the hilt sticking out over his heart. Queerly, the army man kept his mouth closed tightly. But,