"Burroughs, Edgar Rice - The People That Time Forgot" - читать интересную книгу автора (Burroughs Edgar Rice)

terrors of a million years ago. I can visualize the entire
scene--the apelike Grimaldi men huddled in their filthy caves;
the huge pterodactyls soaring through the heavy air upon their
bat-like wings; the mighty dinosaurs moving their clumsy hulks
beneath the dark shadows of preglacial forests--the dragons
which we considered myths until science taught us that they
were the true recollections of the first man, handed down
through countless ages by word of mouth from father to son out
of the unrecorded dawn of humanity."

"It is stupendous--if true," I replied. "And to think that
possibly they are still there--Tyler and Miss La
Rue--surrounded by hideous dangers, and that possibly Bradley
still lives, and some of his party! I can't help hoping all
the time that Bowen and the girl have found the others; the
last Bowen knew of them, there were six left, all told--the
mate Bradley, the engineer Olson, and Wilson, Whitely, Brady
and Sinclair. There might be some hope for them if they could
join forces; but separated, I'm afraid they couldn't last long."

"If only they hadn't let the German prisoners capture the U-33!
Bowen should have had better judgment than to have trusted them
at all. The chances are von Schoenvorts succeeded in getting
safely back to Kiel and is strutting around with an Iron Cross
this very minute. With a large supply of oil from the wells
they discovered in Caspak, with plenty of water and ample
provisions, there is no reason why they couldn't have
negotiated the submerged tunnel beneath the barrier cliffs
and made good their escape."

"I don't like 'em," said the assistant secretary; "but
sometimes you got to hand it to 'em."

"Yes," I growled, "and there's nothing I'd enjoy more than
handing it to them!" And then the telephone-bell rang.

The assistant secretary answered, and as I watched him, I saw
his jaw drop and his face go white. "My God!" he exclaimed as
he hung up the receiver as one in a trance. "It can't be!"

"What?" I asked.

"Mr. Tyler is dead," he answered in a dull voice. "He died at
sea, suddenly, yesterday."

The next ten days were occupied in burying Mr. Bowen J. Tyler, Sr.,
and arranging plans for the succor of his son. Mr. Tom Billings,
the late Mr. Tyler's secretary, did it all. He is force, energy,
initiative and good judgment combined and personified. I never
have beheld a more dynamic young man. He handled lawyers, courts