"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 144 - Strange Fish" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

Callahan blinked owlishly. тАЬWhy, Missy, isn't he your interior decorator?тАЭ

A few questions brought the rest of it out. The man had fooled Callahan. He had told Callahan that Paris
had engaged him to do over her apartment; he had said that Paris had ordered him not to worry her or
bother her with details. Paris was in the hospital at the time. It was a logical story. The man had acted like
an interior decorator. He brought materials, color charts, made sketches.

тАЬHow often,тАЭ Paris asked, тАЬwas he in my apartment?тАЭ

тАЬNearly every day.тАЭ

Paris called the police. Within thirty minutes, a police detective was there. Paris had described the fat
man over the telephone, and the detective brought some rogue's gallery pictures. None of the pictures
were of the fat man.

After the detective had gone, Paris fainted. She just lay back and passed out.

She wasn't out long. After she awakened, she lay still, weak and ill, and thought . . . She was just out of
the hospital. She was in no shape to cope with anything violent. She was too weak; she had no spirit for
it.

She thought of her ranch in Oklahoma.

She called Callahan.

тАЬGet me a ticket to Tulsa, Oklahoma,тАЭ she directed Callahan.



Chapter II
THE morning sunlight was bright on Tulsa's Union Station, on the Philtower Building, and the other
buildings. Johnny Toms was at the steps when the pullman porter helped Paris off the train.

тАЬHow,тАЭ said Johnny Toms. His face was expressionless.

тАЬHow,тАЭ Paris said. Then she laughed. тАЬHeap long time no see you, Chief.тАЭ

Johnny Toms grinned a little. But all he said was, тАЬSure thing.тАЭ

He wore moccasins, corduroy trousers, beaded belt, violent plaid shirt. His black hair was long, combed
to look as if there should have been a feather in it. He had a majestic hooked nose and snapping black
eyes.

Paris indicated her bags. тАЬHeap baggage,тАЭ she said. тАЬThink you can carry?тАЭ

тАЬUgh,тАЭ Johnny Toms said.

Paris wanted to laugh again. Johnny Toms was a fake. He was actually about one-tenth Osage Indian, if
that. But he liked to give the impression that he was a laconic redskin of the old school.