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

"Paper!" he cried. "Read about the great earthquake!"
From the phone receiver pressed to Monk’s ear came a voice. It was a remarkable
voice, for it seemed peculiarly able to adapt itself to the limitations of
telephone transmission. It came from the metal diaphragm with the clarity of a
bell.
"Doc Savage speaking," said the voice.
"Listen, Doc!" Monk howled. "Why didn’t you tell us you were gonna work on
Johnny’s eye tonight?"
"You fellows would only have stood around and moped," Doc replied. "I was just
saving you the worry."
Monk snorted. He knew there was logic in what Doc said, but he hardly
appreciated the kindness. He would have preferred to stand outside the operating
room and sweat and worry throughout the critical period. "Johnny" was a very
close friend indeed.
"Did it turn out all right—the operation, I mean?" Monk asked, as if he wanted
to be reassured that Johnny was all right.
"It did," Doc replied. "Johnny will be walking around tomorrow, and in a few
days, will be reading papers with that bad eye."
"So soon!" Monk ejaculated.
"The operation was largely one of adjustment," Doc explained. "It’s too
technical to go into over the phone. What’s on your mind?"
Monk had been so concerned over Johnny’s prospects that he had temporarily
overlooked the thing which had first moved him to call.
"I guess I pulled a boner, Doc," he said.
He told of the appearance of Velvet at the skyscraper office, of the
five-hundred-dollar bribe which he had taken, and finally, of the disposal of
the bribe at the breadline.
"I nearly keeled over when the guy coughed up five hundred, Doc," he finished.
"I didn’t like him a bit. But I decided to take his money. He couldn’t steal
anything around the office. Everything was locked up. And I knew you did not
plan to show up there again tonight."

MONK, waiting for Doc’s reaction to the information, started violently, and
glanced around inside the phone booth. Then he pressed the receiver more tightly
to his ear and grinned.
A strange sound was coming from the receiver. It was low, mellow, and trilling,
like the song of some strange feathered creature of the jungle, or the sound of
a wind filtering through a denuded forest.
It was melodious, this eerie note, although without tune. It came from the
telephone receiver with such astounding clarity that Monk had been startled into
glancing about, thinking it was made by some one in the booth with him.
Monk had heard this sound before. It was part of Doc Savage, a small thing which
he did in moments of concentration. To his friends, it was possessed of many
meanings.
Sometimes, it was Doc’s cry of battle; again, it was his song of triumph.
Occasionally, It precoursed some plan of action. Often it came when Doc was
surprised.
Just now, Monk concluded the sound must indicate that Doc was puzzled.
"Everything around the office was locked up?" Doc queried.
"Sure! Everything. This guy couldn’t do any harm. That’s why I relieved him of