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

"Oh, I want him to. Sam means a lot to me. He has always practically run everything for me."

Doc said, "Dr. C. B. Sticken would be a good man to do the surgery."

"Yes, I - " Ogden's eyes flew wide. "What did you say?"

"I recommend C. B. Sticken for the surgery."

Montague Ogden looked as if he was going to faint.

"But you must do it!" he gasped.

Doc Savage explained patiently, "This is not a sufficiently unusual or difficult case to warrant my doing the surgery, and, furthermore, Dr. Sticken is fully qualified."

Montague Ogden seemed horrified at the idea.

"I insist on you doing it!" he cried. "Why, I wouldn't think of anyone else! I'll pay any fee."

"It just happens," Doc Savage said, "that I do not work for a fee."

"What? Oh, yes, I remember. You get your funds from some unknown source. Well, then, I'll donate any sum you name to any organization you wish if you will do the operation." *

"That will not be necessary. Dr. Sticken is capable - "

"I'll donate a hundred thousand dollars," said Montague Ogden, "if you will do this operation."

Doc Savage studied the man. "That is not necessary."

"I mean it. A hundred thousand, Mr. Savage. To any charity, or army or navy relief group you care to name." The man was so earnest he was pale.

"All right," Doc Savage said finally.


DOC Savage did the operation in the special amphitheater pit at the brain clinic. It was a cup-shaped arena surrounded by the most transparent type of glass. Beyond the glass were seats for witnessing surgeons. The lighting was fluorescent and brilliant.

As was always the case when Doc Savage was operating, the amphitheater was crowded. There were very few students among the witnesses, the majority being brain surgeons of established name and reputation, some of them men who had hurriedly caught airplanes and flown halfway across the continent in order to watch a master at work.

Doc Savage made the scalp incision, laid back the scalp, then used a special electrical bone knife of his own invention, a device which would cut without shock, having the property of rendering bone and nerve more insensible to shock in the area near the cutting head.

The operation progressed with brilliance up to the point where Doc reached the spot where the tumor should be.

There was no tumor.

The thing was so astounding that Doc was stunned. He stood there rigid and speechless, then after a few moments made the small trilling sound which was his unconscious habit in moments of intense mental stress. The trilling was low, exotic, might have been the product of an eerie wayward breeze in a naked forest. It had a ventriloqual quality, seeming to come from everywhere rather than any definite spot in the operating room.

There was certainly no tumor, either a fibroma or otherwise. There was only one thing Doc could say, and he said it. "I have made a mistake," he said.


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