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

bronze manтАЩs death. Derek Flammen thought for a moment, then made his statement.

"The world little knows the true importance of the lifework of the man of bronze," he said, "but it will long
remember. It is my prediction that the grindstone of time, which dulls the memory of most celebrities, will but
etch more sharply the name of Doc Savage. His character was a diamond which will cut sharply through the
ages. Mankind has to-day suffered one of its greatest losses."

"ThatтАЩs a swell statement," said the newshawk.

Derek Flammen worked through the throng in search of a taxicab. It was dark by now. Not until he reached
the outskirts of the throng now about the skyscraper did he find a cab.

He was so interested in the job of locating a conveyance that he did not pay too much attention to his trail.
He might easily have been shadowed.

Nor did Derek Flammen seem to be in any great hurry to get to his destination, which he gave as a popular
uptown hotel. He sat back on the taxicabтАЩs cushioned back seat, and his aquiline face was thoughtful. Once,
he made a small sound that might have been a chuckle or a snarl, since his face showed neither hate nor
delight.

"Damn Velma Crale!" he said quite distinctly. "I wonder why the hell she was ever born?"

Derek Flammen alighted from the taxi in front of his hotel, paid the driver, smiled at the doorman, smiled at
the elevator operator, and unlocked the door to his suite with a key which he had been carrying. The suite
was dark. He stepped in and turned on the light, somewhat absent-mindedly.

"You may as well hold that pose!" said a crisp, throaty voice.

Derek Flammen did anything but hold the pose. His hand was still on the light button. He doused the lights.
Simultaneously, he jumped to one side. He crouched there.

Came a swish! A hard blow hit FlammenтАЩs right shoulder. He grunted, struck wildly in the darkness, hit
nothing, and changed his position.

Almost instantly, he was struck another blow. He swore. He changed his position a third time. The interior of
the room was as black as a batsтАЩ cave.

Yet the attacker found him again, unerringly. This time, Flammen was all but stunned by a smash to the side
of his head.

Flammen snarled. He had suddenly discovered why the other could see him. His hands. There was a glowing
substance on one of them. A phosphorescent stuff, obviously. He glanced at the door and saw where he had
gotten it from. Off the inner knob!

"You might as well give up!" advised a voice in the darkness. "Otherwise, I shall start shooting."

"What is the meaning of this?" barked Derek Flammen.

The lights came on.