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

"From my brother, Louis!" she gasped. "And he is flying from South America, right now!"

"Exactly!" said old Seevers. "Your brother knows just how horrible this thing is."

They hurried out of the cable office.



HARDLY three minutes later, a stranger walked into the cable office. He was a lean fellow whose clothes
looked as if they had been slept in. He wore a rubber apron and a green celluloid eyeshade was over his
eyes.

"Jonathan Seevers let his cablegram blow out of the window of his shop," he said. "He canтАЩt find it. He wants
you to give me a duplicate."
The cable clerk was still in a coma, thinking of the beautiful vision who had just left. He riffled through the
sheaf of carbons, came to the one desired, and pulled it out. Then he hesitated.

"It is customary to have identification before we deliver a message to any one other than the person to which
it is addressed," he said.

"I work for Seevers," said the man.

The statement was a lie. It had that sound. The clerk frowned.

"IтАЩm sorry," he said. "YouтАЩll have to identify yourself. Bring a note from Seevers."

The man made a snarling sound. He reached under his coat, brought out a pistol and aimed deliberately. The
pistol went off twice. The clerks fell on the floor, bullet holes through brains.

The killer got the cablegram carbon and ran out of the office.




Chapter II. THE BRONZE MAN
DOC SAVAGEтАЩS profession was trouble. Other peopleтАЩs troubles. He had friends, more friends than enemies
by a large score. But there were plenty of enemies, and occasionally they tried to kill Doc Savage, figuring
that was their only hope. Some of the enemies had very ingenious ideas about how to accomplish their ends.
So Doc Savage had to take precautions.

One of these precautions was a system of sensitive alarms which registered the appearance of any prowlers
near his office. A marauder did not need to break in. If he as much as walked near the door, buzzers whined
and indicator lights glowed.

One of the buzzers suddenly whined. Its sound had an alarming quality.

The headquartersтАФa reception room first, then a library and laboratory covering many thousands of square
feet of floor spaceтАФwas dark, except for one light over a small germ culture table on which were experimental
cultures of a spermatocyte nature. This light revealed nothing but a hand of the individual who was at the
table.