"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 044 - South Pole Terror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

Reporters and photographers rushed to the spot. The police were there first, however, and kept every one else
out. The journalists did a bit of squawking, but they were not allowed to enter. The police also refused to
divulge any information.

Directly, six men in white carried a stretcher out of the skyscraper lobby. The journalists craned their necks.
A howl of excitement went up.

The form of a giant bronze man lay on the stretcher, extremely quiet. The features were remarkably regular,
and the bronze texture of the skin was distinctive. The flake gold eyes were wide open, unmoving. One hand
was not covered by the white shroud.

This hand was amazing. It was long-fingered and perfectly proportioned, and it had an incredible equipment of
tendons. It was a hand of fabulous muscular strength.

Every one recognized the figure on the litter. Every one also saw something else.

The bronze head was severed from the body!

For moments, not a newspaper man said a word. They were stunned. They knew some of the perils which
the man of bronze had faced in the past, and he had always miraculously escaped. It hardly seemed possible
that he could be dead. But the evidence was there before their eyes, although the police made an effort to
keep them from observing.

There was no mad rush for pictures. There was no shouting. The silence was funeral-like. Heads bowed. The
litter bearing the form of Doc Savage was placed in an ambulance which was, significantly, black.

Later, questions were asked. Yes, the explosion had all but demolished the laboratory of Doc SavageтАЩs
headquarters. The form on the stretcher had been picked up in the wreckage. No, photographers could not
take pictures. What would be done with the body? That had not been decided yet.
Who was responsible for the blast? Had Doc Savage been experimenting and had an accident?

The police replied that they had nothing to say as yet.

At this point, a man who was not a journalist appeared and tried to get through the police lines. He said he
had to see Doc Savage. He was told Doc Savage was dead.

"Velma Crale!" this man exploded.



WHEN the man gasped the name of Velma Crale, it was the signal for sharp attention from a policeman who
overheard it.

"WhatтАЩd you say?" the cop demanded.

The stranger who had made the exclamation had bony hands and a face that made one think of a Shetland
pony. His hair was blond and stood up like the bristles on a scrub brush. His eyes were remarkably blue. His
expensive clothing did not fit him any too well.

"Eh?" he muttered evasively to the policeman. "What do you mean?"