"012 (B043) - The Man Who Shook The Earth (1934-02) - Lester Dent (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

The door was very plain, and of heavy bronze. The bronze was what interested
Velvet. It was the first time he had ever seen that metal look nearly as rich as
gold.
In tiny letters of a bronze color, slightly darker than that of the door, there
was a name:
CLARK SAVAGE, JR
"
That’s the gentleman," said Velvet. His tone was ugly.
He looked for a bell, found none, and tried the knob. The door was locked. He
made a face, then knocked.
The door promptly sprang wide open.
Velvet leaped backward as wildly as if he had been confronted by a
flame-spouting dragon.
It was an astounding personage who had opened the door. He was fully a head
shorter than Velvet, but would weigh almost twice as much. His enormous, hairy
hands dangled well below his knees. His eyes were tiny, and sunk in deep pits.
They resembled twinkling stars set deep in gristle. Every exposed inch of his
skin was covered with a crop of hair only slightly less coarse than barbed wire.
One of his ears was punctured as if for an earring, except that the perforation
was about the size of a rifle-bullet hole.
The man would not have to be in a very dark alley for a spectator to mistake him
for a gorilla.
"Something I can do for you, buddy?" he asked.
Velvet blinked. From that apish, ferocious-looking giant he had expected a voice
that was a whooping roar. But the homely fellow’s voice was tiny and mild.
"I’m looking for Doc Savage," Said Velvet.
"He ain’t here," replied the pleasantly ugly monster in the door.

VELVET considered this. He adjusted his black bow tie. "That’s tough," he said.
"Maybe you can help me out. What’s your name?"
"They generally call me Monk," said the homely fellow.
Velvet’s lip curled. "You can’t blame ‘em for that. You’re the janitor here,
aren’t you, Monk?"
"Did somebody tell you?" "Monk" asked, in his small voice.
"I’m a good guesser." Velvet showed all of his white teeth in a somewhat wolfish
grin. "Listen, Monk, do you want to make two hundred dollars?"
Monk snorted. "What a question to ask!"
"O.K., then," Velvet said rapidly. "Now listen: I’m a newspaper reporter. I’ve
been trying to interview this Doc Savage, but I haven’t had any luck. I can’t
even see him. I want you to let me stay here in the office after you lock up. In
that way, I can see him. I’ve got to get a story for my paper, the Times-Flash."
Monk pulled thoughtfully at the ear which had the bullet hole in it. "Well, I
don’t know—"
"Two hundred dollars," Velvet reminded. "And I promise you—I won’t tell Doc
Savage how I got in."
"Five hundred," Monk said.
Velvet’s face turned fierce. He gritted, "Why, you chiseler—" then thought
better of it. He shrugged his neatly tailored shoulders, spread his hands. "You
win," he said.
Producing a wallet, Velvet counted out a sheaf of greenbacks. "It’s lucky the