"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 131 - Plan of a One-Eyed Mystic" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

тАЬDriver!тАЭ Renny said. тАЬWhat town is this?тАЭ

He was amazed at how hoarse and thick his voice sounded.

The driver glanced around. тАЬWho you kidding, Palsy?тАЭ

тАЬNever mind,тАЭ Renny said.

Renny had gotten a look at his hands. They were pale, unhealthy-looking. They should have been
healthily tanned. Renny's fists wereтАФor should have beenтАФenormous things, neither of which would
have gone into a quart pail. But the hands looked smaller, and they felt drawn, as if they were trying to
pucker themselves to become even smaller. The fingernails, Renny realized with loathing, seemed to be
tinted like a girl's.

тАЬHoly cow!тАЭ he muttered.
THE taxicab stopped in front of a cheap-looking hotel, the driver saying, тАЬHere you are, Palsy.тАЭ

Renny looked around instinctively for his traveling bag, his bait box, and the case containing his fishing
rods. There was no such equipment in the cab.

тАЬWhere . . . where's my fishing stuff?тАЭ he asked.

The cab driver laughed. тАЬYou're a great kidder, Palsy.тАЭ

Renny wanted to ask a lot of questions. But he didn't like the driver, and he didn't feel up to talking now,
anyway. His head was too thick. He felt dazed.

The meter said fifty cents. Renny gave the driver the fare, and a quarter tip, out of habit.

Sounding dissatisfied, the driver said, тАЬPalsy, you generally give me five bucks for hauling you.тАЭ

Renny, dazed and out of patience, muttered, тАЬI'll give you a knot on the head if you start anything.тАЭ

The driver grinned somewhat fawningly. тАЬNow you sound more like yourself, Palsy.тАЭ

Renny entered the hotel, and he was not surprised to discover that he had no recollection of having been
in the place before. It was a strange hotel.

Not knowing what else to do, Renny approached the room clerk's desk.

The clerk, a thin fellow with a dough sack for a face, tossed a key down in front of Renny, saying, тАЬThere
you are, Mr. Gerson.тАЭ

Renny picked up the key. Seven-fourteen. He considered, for a moment, giving the clerk an argument
and asking some of the questions that were beginning to swarm up in the fog that filled his brain. But he
was in no mental condition to talk intelligently.

He rode to the seventh floor in an elevator that had an odor. The key let him into seven-fourteen.

The room, not in the least like the rest of the hotel in appearance, was extremely flashy. The furniture was