"Doc Savage Adventure 1933-12 The Phantom City" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doc Savage Collection)

THE WHITE-HAIRED GIRL


DOC studied the sword. The edge was thin, hollow ground like a razor. Back of the cutting edge were grooves resembling the corrugations in a file. These held the poison.

"What do you want with the submarine?" he asked.

"That, bronze man, is our affair!"

Doc had expected some such answer. "If I refuse to take you to it, what then?"

The man tapped the sword. "This! You will die suddenly!"

"That does not leave me much choice," Doc said dryly. "Shall I drive you to the boathouse? It is not far."

"We will walk, sajyid! We do not know the city, and you might drive us to a station of the police."

They got out of the limousine. One man slapped hands over Doc's clothing, fingering pocket contents through the cloth. When he found nothing large enough to be a weapon, he seemed satisfied.

"Imshi!" he grunted. "Go on!"

They strode westward toward the Hudson River water front, setting a leisurely pace which would not attract attention.

In the gloomy street where the holdup had occurred, there was at no time a sign of the man who had given the Arabs their orders - the chap hidden in the box. He had kept under cover.

They walked through a section of garment shops, the streets almost deserted. The way sloped downward. The asphalt had been rutted by wheels of heavy trucks, and rain residue lay like pools of molten lead in the chugholes.

Body smells of the four Arabs reeked faintly. They were in need of a bath. Here, where the way was darker, the shabby streets empty of life, they kept their long-barreled pistols in hand.

"Wallah!" hissed one of the four. "Is it much farther?"

"Not much." Doc pointed. "There!" A row of covered piers was before them. The buildings might have been gigantic match boxes, with slightly arched tops. Here and there was a wharf which was not covered.

Down the wide water-front street, a sign on the front of a pier warehouse read:

HIDALGO TRADING CO.


Perhaps two hundred feet nearer was an uncovered pier crowded with crates, moving cranes, and tool sheds.

Doc made directly for this pier. They entered the litter of boxes and machinery, worked outward through an alley between high stacks of oil drums. The floor planks were very greasy, oil-soaked.

It was very dark. The men found it impossible to see each other. Two guns were kept pressed to Doc's back.

Quickening his pace slightly, Doc drew away from the muzzles.

"lmshi 'ala mah!" gritted a man. "Go more slowly!"

An instant later, the guns again shoved against cloth.