"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 037 - The Metal Master" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

"A big guy with black whiskers. He didnтАЩt give no name. Said it wasnтАЩt necessary."

"Can you find him again?"

They hesitated. One cleared his throat. The other spoke jerkily.
"We knowтАФwhere he hangs outтАФred-brick house in the Forties."



THE house was of red brick, right enough, and it was old, with boards over the windows on the ground
floor. Doc Savage saw this from the taxicab in which he arrived with the two men.

"Get out," he told them.

"YouтАЩre going to walk right in?" one demanded.

"Going to try it."

They got out. The street was deserted, for it was getting along toward morning. It was still sleeting. The
feet of the two fake telegraphers skidded a little as they worked across the sidewalk.

Then they fell down. Fell slackly, heavily. But it wasnтАЩt the slippery pavement. They had been knocked
down, knocked by bullets that arrived in a bedlam of noise.

A machine gun! It was firing, not from the house, but from a roof at the end of the block. Its cackle made
the street hideous.

Doc Savage flung sidewise, hit the sleety walk, and slid. He smashed against a fire plug. That was what
he wanted. A fire plug will not shelter much more than a manтАЩs head, but that was enough in this case.
Doc Savage never went out without a garment of chain-mail under his outer clothing. Only the best of
high-powered hunting rifles, shooting hard slugs, could perforate the mail.

The machine gun continued its gobbling. Slugs, hitting the bronze manтАЩs mail, threatened to knock him
away from the fire plug.

The gun went silent.

Doc Savage lay where he was. The quieting of the gun might be a trick to see if he moved.

The two men who had been his guides were dying. One was already dead, in fact. The other was
groaning his last, and raving a little.

"TrapтАФdouble crossers!" this one was shrieking. "If we got caughtтАФbring you hereтАФthey would rescue
usтАФLiarsтАФintended fix us so we wouldnтАЩt talkтАФ"

His shrieking turned to a bubbling and with a few lusty coughs that sprayed crimson over the sleety
sidewalk, he turned in his checks.

By now, Doc Savage had decided the machine gun was silent because the gunner was making a
get-away. The bronze man heaved up and ran for the corner.