"Doc Savage Adventure 1943-05 The Talking Devil" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doc Savage Collection)

THEY walked down corridors, Monk and Montague Ogden. And Ogden examined Monk out of the corner of his eye, as if amazed at Monk's homeliness, and amused by it.

Monk's homeliness had amazed and amused many people, but he was not ashamed of it. There was a pleasantness about his homeliness and a fascination. Monk would not have to be seen in a very thick fog to be mistaken for something just out of the ape house in the zoo. His arms were as long as his legs, and he was coated with reddish hair that was close cousin to rusted shingle nails. Monk was even rather pleased with his clock-stopping looks because he had found that they exerted a hypnotic power over girls, and the prettier the girl, the greater the hypnotic capacity.

Montague Ogden opened a door, said, "This is my den, Mr. Mayfair."

The den was inhabited by the stuffed heads of animals, at least half a hundred of them, which hung on the walls and leered, stared, snarled, or showed gap-fanged jaws at anyone in the den.

There was a man already in the den.

"Aren't you afraid of staying in here?" Monk asked the man. He was a timid-looking young man, quite pale and lean and soft. The very picture of a timid soul.

"Beg pardon?" the man said. He sounded frightened, nervous, embarrassed.

"This is Butch," said Montague Ogden.

"Butch, eh?" Monk said, and tried not to grin at the timid soul. Montague Ogden remarked, "Butch, we have come after the devil statue."

"Oh," Butch said. He looked scared. "Oh! I haven't - that is - well, it's over there, but - "

"Never mind," Montague Ogden told him. "We'll take it with us. You can go ahead with your work, Butch."

Montague Ogden picked up the devil statue.

The statue was about what Monk expected to see, being not much over a foot high, rather fat, and made of brass that was tarnished, or bronze, wearing some sort of ceremonial robe, and holding a sword in one hand. This devil had a pronounced Chinese cast on his evil little face.

"I'll carry it," Monk said.

"But - "

"I'll carry it," Monk repeated.

Montague Ogden smiled and his, "Very well, if you wish," was the soul of politeness.

They left the den and Monk was glad to get out of sight of all the leering, staring or snarling stuffed animals. He wondered how Butch managed to stand it in there with all those man-hungry-looking trophies, and he wondered if that was what was making Butch look frightened.

"Who's Butch?" Monk asked. "What's he do, I mean?"

"His work?"

"Yes."

"Butch is my big-game hunting guide and my jujitsu instructor," Montague Ogden explained. "He also teaches me wrestling and the art of knife-throwing, in which I am interested as a hobby."

Monk laughed. He thought he was being kidded.

They went down a hall that was majestic in a futuristic modern fashion, with high walls and great pictures in gaunt plain frames, and lighting that was so subdued that it was difficult to tell from where it came.

Monk walked along thinking of the timid soul who was named Butch, and how funny it was that Ogden had jokingly said Butch was his hunting guide and instructor in the more robust manly arts. Ordinarily that would not have been funny, but after you had seen, Butch, it was quite humorous.