"Doc Savage Adventure 1942-07 The Man Who Fell Up" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doc Savage Collection)

Chapter II

IN A GREEN FOG


TOTTINGHAM Strand did a hard job of thinking. He walked streets. He got in a subway and rode to the end of the line and back again. He stood at the stone wall near the Soldiers and Sailors Monument on Riverside Drive and looked at the placid Hudson. He stood there for a long time.

While he stood there, Strand saw a man snatch a woman's purse. Actually, the man eased the purse off the bench where the woman had placed it at her side. The fellow zipped open the purse, made a scoop at the contents and put them in his pocket, then returned the purse to the bench. The man arose idly and strolled away from the bench, then stopped abruptly near Strand and stood looking out over the river.

The reason for the man halting, Strand saw, was the approach of a blue-coated policeman.

An impulse hit Strand. He thought it was a rather silly idea. But something impelled him to go through with it.

Strand arose, approached the man, spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Savage is after you," Strand said.

"Huh?"

"Doc Savage," said Strand, wondering why he was doing a silly thing like this, "is on your trail."

The sneak thief turned completely white except for shades, of green around his mouth. For a stark minute, he said nothing. Then he vaulted the stone wall, dropped a wild fifteen feet or so down the slope on the other side and lit running.

Strand watched him disappear. Then Strand climbed on a downtown bus, rode it to the midtown district, got off and entered the tallest building. He was calling on Doc Savage. The thing he had done on impulse to the sneak thief had decided him. He could not have explained exactly why, unless it was because there was suddenly no doubt in his mind but that Doc Savage was a nemesis of evil.

He did not meet Doc Savage, however.

He met two other fellows, and they were in a fight when he found them. Or practically. One of them was a dapper man with splendid shoulders, was smartly dressed, and was holding an innocent-looking black cane. The other was a wide, short man with a coating of hair that resembled rusty shingle nails and a face that was something to stop clocks.

Tottingham Strand stepped forward. He cleared his throat to get attention.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "Could you tell me where I can find Doc Savage?"

Neither Monk nor Ham paid him any attention. The two had been having an argument. Monk stood glaring at Ham.

"Ham, where do the flies go in the winter?"

"Search me!" Ham snapped.

"Oh, I won't bother," Monk said smugly. "I was just wondering."

Ham glowered and lifted the black cane.

"Gentlemen!" Strand said sharply. "Please, may I have a minute?"

Monk turned his head. He saw the tight glacial expression on Strand's face, and forgot their quarrel.

"You can't see Doc," Monk said. "It is impossible!"

Strand wet his lips. "It is important. Very important."