"018 (B035) - The Squeaking Goblin (1934-08) - Lester Dent" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

If the pair had ever heard of the bronze man, they gave no sign of that fact.
"Figger we'uns'll go on 'bout our lookin'," the red-thatched one grunted.
They stepped past Doc and continued down the path toward the cliff edge, walking close together, not looking back. They passed the spot where Doc had left Renny and Long Tom, but did not encounter Doc's two aides, for they had cannily left the path and crept up to listen to what was being discussed.
Renny and Long Tom stepped out of the gloom a few feet from Doc, after the two strangers had gone on.
"Did you hear what was said?" Doc asked them.
"Yep," said Long Tom.
"Follow those two," Doc directed. "Report to me at the Aquatania Hotel. I'm going there to talk with this Chelton Raymond."
THE word exchange was couched in whispers so that the two who spoke in mountaineer dialect would not hear. Renny and Long Tom were careful to make no noise as they set out after the pair.
"That was a fishy yarn they told Doc," Long Tom breathed.
Renny agreed. "They were punk liars," he said.
The two quickened their pace so as to catch sight of the quarry, who had become lost in the darkness. Footsteps of the two ahead, however, were audible, and Renny, listening intently, was sure he could distinguish the clumping of four feet, which meant both of the men were descending the path down the sheer cliff.
"C'mon," Renny whispered. "Hear 'em both on the path?"
Long Tom listened. "Yes, both of them, undoubtedly. They're going down."
Renny leading, Long Tom close at his heels, the two ran forward. They neared the brink. Boulders were profuse about them, very high.
No warning prefaced what occurred next. A long arm clubbed down out of the murk behind a stone mass. The hand on the arm gripped a rock somewhat smaller than a football. The rock and Renny's head, coming together, made a clanking sound. Renny dropped as if poleaxed.
Long Tom gasped, spun around. The mysterious hand snapped the rock at his head. He ducked—and the missile sailed on and over the cliff and downward, after a time sinking with a faintly audible chung in the ocean.
Out of the rock shadow came the red-haired mountaineer. It was he who had wielded the rock. He sprang upon Long Tom.
The undersized, pallid electrical wizard did not look as if he were a match for his assailant. The gaunt mountaineer grinned confidently and reached out to gather in his smaller foe. He got a surprise.
Came a dull smack. The sorrel-headed man's mouth flew open, air roared out, and he folded like a limp ribbon about the fist which Long Tom had driven into his middle. With an uppercut, Long Tom straightened him. He hit the fellow again.
The older man appeared, bounding up the trail from the cliff face. In his hands he carried the younger man's heavy shoes.
Seeing the shoes the old man held, it dawned on Long Tom what had happened. The bald fellow had merely gone down the cliff path on all fours, the extra footgear on his hands giving the impression of two men walking which had deceived Renny and Long Tom.
The fight ended shortly after the bald gentleman joined the scrap, swinging the brogans. One heavy shoe descended on the top of Long Tom's head. That stunned him. A blow to the jaw toppled him over, unconscious.
"Tarnation!" puffed the younger man. "Lil' scamp kin scrap!"
His bald companion surveyed the senseless Renny and Long Tom.
"Kinder lucky we thought a' usin' thot there extra shoe trick to see if anybody be a-follerin' us," he grinned.
"What ought we better do with 'em?" asked the other.
The older one did not answer directly, and for a moment there was silence. Then, as if the two understood each other's desires perfectly, they stooped over, the red-thatched fellow picking up Renny's great bulk without undue trouble, and the other handling Long Tom's limp, slighter frame.
They faded quietly into the black shadows with their burdens.
Chapter V. MOUNTAIN GIRL
DOC SAVAGE did not hear such faint sounds as accompanied the reverse which overtook Renny and Long Tom. The bronze man had gone on rapidly toward the Aquatania Hotel immediately after leaving his two aides, and was out of earshot when they met catastrophe.
The Aquatania was a huge, vast lump of native stone, mortar, gables and green roof which could be seen far out to sea. Unlike most resort hotels, it was open the year around.
The cliff path led to a side entrance, so Doc left it and moved across the lawn, ascending steps which led to the veranda.
The lobby was huge, rather cleverly done in native stone and rustic work, and dimly lighted by bulbs behind seashell shades. Doc swung toward the desk.
The lobby had at first appeared deserted, but there was a stir in a corner—a young woman arising from a chair. She came forward rapidly, stopped, and stared at the giant bronze man.
"You-all are Doc Savage?" she asked. In her voice was the smoothness of velvet and the lazy drawl of the mountains.
She had height, and a slender, graceful roundness of figure. Her hair was the yellow of cornsilk, her skin was sun-bronzed nearly the hue of Doc Savage himself, and there were tiny wrinkles at the corners of her blue eyes, a squint that might have come from going bareheaded a great deal in the sun.
"I am Doc Savage," Doc admitted, and studied the girl.
Her age was twenty or less. Her clothing, while neat enough, was certainly nowhere near the current style in cut, and looked as if she had made it herself, although the general effect was nice enough.
"I want to talk to you powerful bad," the young woman said rapidly. "Let's go outside where we can do our talkin' without nobody overhearin'."
Mountain bred—from her voice. She advanced, and it was evident that she was exquisitely pretty.
"I'm Frosta Raymond," she said, "but you ain't never heard of me."
"Any connection with Chelton Raymond?" Doc asked her.
She seemed to grope in her memory, then shook her head slowly.
"No-o-o. Kain't say that I ever heard of one in the Raymond tribe called Chelton."
"What do you want to see me about?" Doc questioned.
The girl drew in breath slowly, then let it out, and there was a faint quaver, a trace of a shudder, with the exhalation.
"I've been a-hearin' that you and your five assistants make a business of helpin' folks out of trouble," she said.
"You are in trouble?"
"Not me, exactly. But I want you to look into somethin'—a somethin' that has killed nigh onto twenty people."
Doc Savage did not change expression, but it was almost these identical words that Chelton Raymond had addressed to him over the long-distance telephone.