"039 (B073) - The Seven Agate Devils (1936-05) - Lester Dent" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

MONK and Ham produced weapons from under-arm holsters. These were guns that resembled oversize automatics, but really were supermachine pistols, capable of firing at a tremendous rate of speed. Bullets they discharged were the type commonly called "mercy bullets," slugs which merely produced quick unconsciousness without inflicting more than a superficial wound.
The rather grotesque-looking weapons began to vibrate and give off a great moan of sound, like the humming of a gigantic bullfiddle.
Two of the uniformed men on the stairs cried out, wheeled and tried to run. But the chemical in the mercy bullets worked quickly. The men collapsed, came thumping down the steps.
Dropping two members of the party had a marked effect on the other uniformed men. There was sudden panic, hasty flight back up the steps. Some of them, though, kept their nerve, seized the two who had fallen, dragged them out of sight
"Them guys are fakes!" Monk roared. "Where's the real bank guards?"
Monk and Ham darted to the stairs, went up together on hands and knees, machine pistols ready. Pell was shivering behind them. They popped their heads over the top step, then jerked back as guns made noise and bullets whined at them.
Doc Savage was running down a small hallway to the right of the vault. At the end of this there seemed to be another flight of steps. He reached them, mounted and disappeared.
A hissing started and vapor fell from small and previously unnoticed vents in the ceiling.
Monk and Ham began gasping, choking, as they crouched on the steps.
"Tear gas!" Monk gasped.
The tear gas, they knew enough about banks to realize, was coming from the regulation protective devices. One of the fake guards must have actuated the controls which released the stuff.
Knowledge that the vapor would soon blind them, made Monk and Ham desperate. They did an apparently insane thing. They came erect and charged up the steps toward their foes.
The move was not entirely madness, however, for both Monk and Ham wore light bulletproof undergarments. They habitually wore these when walking in the paths of trouble, and they had donned them at the hotel.
They were more than a little surprised when no shots greeted their appearance. They strained tear-streaming eyes. They saw the unexpected. The uniformed raiders were making a hasty exit through the bank's front doors.
Cars drew up to the curbing. The uniformed fake guards piled into the machines, and the cars roared away.
Doc, who had come up another stairway, ran to Pell's town car. He made a move as if to get in, but did not, and walked around to the rear. The gasoline tank had been punctured, probably with a stout knife. All of its contents had leaked out.
"That," Monk growled, "sinks us!"
It did. They did not find another car in time to take up pursuit.
THE bank had not been robbed. The uniformed raiders had simply walked in, overpowered any resistance, then forced every one to act as if nothing unusual were happening.
The genuine bank guards had been locked in a vice president's office.
"I cannot understand it!" declared a bank employee. "There was money in plain sight. They took none. What do you suppose it could mean?"
Monk and Ham, in the confusion, discovered Doc Savage coming up the steps from the vault room with the limp body of a uniformed fake guard in his arms. The prisoner was the fellow who had opened the vault for them, and who had tried to crush the bronze man's skull with a gun.
Doc carried his burden into one of the low-railed enclosures in the bank and sat the fellow down in a chair, so that he faced a large desk lamp.
"He still out?" Monk demanded.
"Still," Doc agreed.
Monk grinned. "Well, we got somethin' outta the scrap, anyway. We got that fella. He can give us some idea of what's behind this."
Monk spoke as if he took it for granted that the unconscious man would talk when he awakened. Monk was acquainted with some of the unusual and highly effective means which Doc Savage used to make unwilling men talk.
Around them, the bank people milled curiously. Police were circulating, asking questions. There was somewhat of a tumult of voices.
Came a sudden crash. It was loud, over the voice babble. A hole surrounded by a web of cracks appeared in a window near the chair where Doc had placed the unconscious man.
The prisoner was obviously senseless. Yet he did a strange thing. He jumped completely out of the chair. He stood there as rigid and stiff as if he were turned to stone. Then he made dull noise falling to the floor. A little fountain of crimson began to play out of his throat.
"He's been shot!" a woman screamed.
"The bullet came through the window!" Doc rapped.
The bronze man flashed to the door. Monk and Ham were close on his heels. Policemen flocked behind them.
Across the thoroughfare, a car was rolling slowly as if just getting in motion. Police machines parked up and down the street had their headlights turned on, and these illuminated the occupants of the rolling machine. Doc and his two aids recognized them.
"The bald-headed girl!" Monk howled. "She shot the guy!"
"Her partner is along!" Ham echoed.
There was no mistaking the identification. The oddly matched pair of the airport attack—the attractive, competent girl who was a master of jujutsu, and the strange-looking man with the neck of a turkey—were in the machine, and their manner showed plainly that they were anxious to get away from the spot. The girl drove.
"They shot that guy inside to shut his mouth!" Monk bawled again.
Doc Savage ran for the machine. His two aids trailed him. The car was moving very swiftly, too fast for the bronze man to catch it.
"They're gonna get away!" Monk wailed.
A moment later, it looked as if he were wrong.
Chapter V. THE ROCK DEVIL
ANOTHER CAR had been parked near the end of the block. A large sedan. It wheeled out from the curb and stopped directly crosswise in the street. The street was narrow, and the car was long enough to block the thoroughfare.
The spectators were now treated to a bit of quick thinking. For split-seconds, it seemed inevitable that the girl would crash into the other machine.
Then the girl spun her steering wheel hard to the right. She headed for the spot at the curb vacated by the blockading car. Her machine hit the curb hard, and held together. It hopped the sidewalk.
A clothing store window was directly ahead. The car hit it. The crash was unbelievably loud. Plate glass flew high in the air and showered the street. The car disappeared into the store.
After they lost sight of the machine, they could hear a great roaring of its motor and a crashing and thumping of show cases being knocked about. Then there was a second crash of plate glass.
The store into which the girl had driven was a corner one. She had simply wheeled through the fragile show cases and driven out through the other window. All four tires of her machine must have been flat. It made a great racket going away down a side street.
"That gal sure believes in takin' her chances!" Monk barked.
Doc sprinted down the street.