"036 (B027) - Mystery Under the Sea (1936-02) - Lester Dent" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

It was possible that Renny spoke deliberately, in order to start things. The gang with the captive heard his whisper. They started violently and stared into the murk.
Then Renny hit them. He weighed around two hundred and sixty pounds, all of it bone and gristle. He knew just about every rough-and-tumble fighting trick in the book, and his huge fists were about as effective as two concrete blocks.
Two men dropped before they even had a chance. A third got his guard up, both fists doubled in front of his face. Renny swung, not around the guarding fists, but at them, driving them back against the man's jaw. The fellow dropped.
Doc Savage had entered the fray with Renny. His corded arms gathered in two men. He crushed them close, fell with them. His metallic fingers were very busy for a moment. When he stood up, the pair did not rise.
Doc Savage had developed the ability to produce abrupt unconsciousness in a somewhat unusual way—by administering pressure on certain spinal nerve centers. It was much more effective than a knockout blow.
Ham entered the mкlйe in a manner calculated not to ruffle his immaculate clothing. He unsheathed his sword cane. The tip of the blade was coated with a sticky, bilious-looking substance, which was actually a chemical concoction that produced quick unconsciousness. A slight prick was sufficient to administer it.
He dropped the surviving man.
The late prisoner, he who resembled a rabbit, stumbled clear. All of his leg movements seemed rather clumsy.
"Wonderful! Marvelous!" he gasped. "They have had me in their power for weeks!"
"Ha!" Ham rapped sharply. "Now I remember who he is."
"Stanley Watchford Topping is his name," Doc Savage said. "He is one of the great authorities on deep-sea marine life."
"That is indeed I," said the rabbit man.
He said it so that it sounded, somehow, a bit silly.
Chapter 6. THE BRASS CASE
During the next few minutes, Doc Savage, Ham and Renny did little but remain concealed in the brush and keep the scrap with the schooner going. There had been no opportunity to question the man they had rescued, Stanley Watchford Topping. Now there came a lull.
Stanley Watchford Topping was at Doc Savage's elbow.
"You said something about their holding you prisoner," Doc suggested.
"For weeks," agreed the little rabbit of a man. "It has been quite hideous, I can assure you."
Doc queried, "What was their purpose?"
"The schooner," mumbled Topping. "She is my craft."
Six evenly spaced shots came from the schooner. It was a revolver. The lead knocked about in the foliage, the echoes rattled about the cove.
So far, the fighting had not drawn outside attention. Nor was it likely to do so, this being an isolated spot, the nearest traveled road nearly a mile distant. Moreover, not many persons were abroad this early in the morning. If the skirmish continued on into the day, it might tell a different story.
"Why did they hold you?" Doc Savage asked Topping again.
"Piracy!" said Topping.
"Piracy?"
"Exactly!" the rabbitlike man snapped. "They took possession of my schooner and they held me captive, so I could not give an alarm."
"Have you any idea why they wanted the boat?" Doc Savage asked.
"It is the one I use in my deep sea expeditions," announced Topping. "It has some remarkable equipment aboard, devices such as you will not find anywhere else. Apparently, they wanted to use this equipment."
"For what purpose?"
"That" said Topping, dramatically, "is an amazing story. You would not believe it."
"Suppose you tell it," Doc Savage suggested.
Two tongues of flame spurted over the schooner rail—a rifle this time. The jacketed lead came too close for peace of mind.
"I will do better than tell you," Topping said, grimly. "I will show you."
"What do you mean?" Doc demanded
"I own the land around this cove," Topping explained. "I keep my schooner here, because it is an excellent anchorage. I have a house. It is only a little distance from here, on the higher ground."
"Newspapers have run stories about your establishment here," Doc Savage told him.
"Yes, I know," agreed the man. "But if we can reach the house, I can show you something."
"What?"
"I would rather show it," Topping said, after hesitating. "It will be more believable."
More shots whacked from the boat. Renny leveled his machine pistol, let it moan two short bursts. After the whooping echoes had died, there was silence—excepting for occasional sounds of movement aboard the schooner, which showed that the defending force had not been put out of commission.
Topping suggested, "If we could just get to the house—"
"All right," Doc Savage told him. "Those fellows on the schooner will stay put, especially since it will be daylight before long."
Doc Savage called to Ham and Renny and, with Stanley Watchford Topping, they eased back through the shrubbery.
Monk, they surmised, was still guarding the girl.
The house was big, which was about all it had to recommend it to the eye. It had as much architectural comeliness as three or four boxes of unassorted sizes arrayed one against the other. There were not enough windows in the house.
"It is inside, this thing you want to show us?" Doc Savage asked.
Topping wiggled his nose. There was now light enough to see this small rabbitlike habit of his.
"Inside." He nodded. "It will explain everything."
Renny rumbled, "Holy cow! Then what're we waitin' outside for?"
They advanced to the door. Topping shoved it open, then he hesitated.