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

around and stared wonderingly after him.
Monk ignored this. He kept going as if he had some place which he wished to
reach in a hurry.
The night air was rather chilly. It was getting colder. Overhead, clouds were
matted. Indications were that it would be a bitter night, with a probability of
snow before long.
Monk came to a park a few blocks from the skyscraper. In the chilly, windswept
center of the park, a long wooden shack had been erected. The brightly lighted
interior of this gave off the aroma of coffee, doughnuts, and sandwiches. From
the shack a long line of men stretched.
Monk calculated the length of the line. There must be about four hundred men in
it. There were very few of them who were not shivering with the night’s chill.
Monk continued on past the line, to an all-night bank. When he came out of the
bank, he was carrying five hundred one-dollar bills. He had exchanged Velvet’s
bribe money for them.
Monk went to the man who was ladling out food to the breadline. A few words, and
the money exchanged hands.
Five minutes later, each down-and-outer who passed in the breadline was getting
a crisp dollar bill. To most of them, a dollar was a young fortune. It meant a
bed for the night, a meal or two tomorrow.
A close observer might have detected salty drops of gratitude in a number of
eyes. Other skeptical souls walked off wondering loudly, but happily, if the
dollar bills were genuine.
The grin on Monk’s simian features was even wider as he went to a near-by drug
store and entered a phone booth.
Consulting the phone directory, Monk got the number of the Times-Flash. Velvet
had said he worked for this sheet. Monk called the newspaper, and got the city
editor on the wire.
"I’d like to talk to Mr. Velvet." Monk was merely checking up on Velvet’s story.
"Who?" growled the city editor.
"Your reporter named Velvet."
"There’s nobody by that name working on this paper," the city editor said
shortly. "Furthermore, there never has been."
Monk lost his smile. "Have you got a reporter trying to interview Doc Savage?
Give me the truth about it. This is important."
"We sent no reporter to see Doc Savage," the city editor said firmly.


Chapter II. THE MYSTERIOUS JOHN ACRE
MONK broke his connection. His anthropoid features were a study. He scratched
among the reddish bristles which stuck up straight on top of his head.
Outside, a newsboy passed. He was piping in a cold-shrilled voice. "Earthquake!
All about the big earthquake! Read about it!"
Monk called the number of a hospital which was noted all over the world for the
remarkable surgical feats which were performed there.
"Is Doc Savage there?" Monk asked. "I’m a friend of his."
The man at the hospital hesitated, then said: "I do not believe that Doc Savage
is free to answer the telephone at the moment."
"Why not?"
"Doctor Savage is conducting one of his demonstration operations. There are more