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

"Where you goin'?" Monk yelled, legging after the bronze man.
"The blockading car!" Doc rapped.
That reminded Monk to do something he had not thought of before. He stared in an effort to get a look at the driver of the blockading car.
The occupant was a man whose very black clothing was his distinguishing feature. His suit was black, and his hat, also, which was not uncommon; but he wore also a black shirt and a black necktie. The fellow had a face somehow remindful of the countenance of a bird of prey, the nose a beak.
The bird-beaked man fought steering wheel and gearshift lever. The heavy car jumped back and forth, straightening itself out in the street. With a protesting squawk from spinning tires, the car got under way.
Doc Savage was incredibly fast on his feet, but there is a limit to the ability of even the best of tendons. He failed to overtake the car.
The heavy car took the corner on two wheels and was gone into the night.
There was now gusty noise of many motors in the street, as the police cars got into motion, taking up a furious pursuit. The police machines went off quite triumphantly, officers occupying them filled with confidence, which, as it developed, was not justified. The chase proved a flop. They found no trace of either of the two machines which they sought.
Back in the bank, Monk and Ham had recovered enough from the excitement to start quarreling again.
"The guy was shot so that we couldn't question him," Monk said. "But who was that bird in black, an' why'd he beat it after he tried to stop the girl's get-away?"
"Oh, get a recording made of it!" snapped Ham. "None of it makes sense! None of it will make sense, until we see what's in that safe-deposit box."
Getting access to the safe-deposit box proved to be not so easy. There was explaining and much persuasion on the part of Montgomery Medwig Pell before Doc Savage was given permission to enter the box.
During the argument, Doc occupied himself by making an examination of the dead fake guard. His search was thorough, and it brought to light only one thing which seemed to interest the bronze man.
"What's that?" Monk demanded.
Doc Savage passed over an object which he had taken from a pocket of the dead man's vest. It was an oblong wooden box, which bore no label at all. It had a slide top. Monk shifted this back.
Inside the little box reposed a cigar that was of obvious excellence. There was no band on it, and no label; no printing whatever was in the box.
Doc took cigar and box and stowed them carefully in a pocket.
Montgomery Medwig Pell came over and said, "They will now let us examine the safe-deposit box."
The box contained one package. It was wrapped in ordinary paper such as might have come from any grocery store. The package was about the size of a loaf of bread.
Doc removed the paper. A cardboard container was disclosed: a shoe box. It was encircled with string, which Doc snapped. He removed the lid.
"Blazes!" Monk said.
The box held three objects:
One was a small bottle of syrupy-looking liquid, unlabeled.
The second object was a folded bit of paper. Doc Savage opened this. They all read it:
GO TO S. P. F. L. 7 FOR INFORMATION
"Very illuminating," Ham said, dryly.
"This gets stranger and stranger," Monk agreed. "Open that other thing."
The "other thing"—the third and last object in the box—was wrapped in cotton. Doc Savage picked the cotton apart.
"Whe-ew!"
Monk gasped.
It was a small and exquisitely carved statuette of blue stone. It was the likeness of a devil, complete even to horns and spiked tail.
There was utter silence in the vault, as the men looked at these objects. Ham broke it.
"Give the devil to Monk!" he suggested. "Kindred souls should associate."
Monk scratched his head, trying to think of a sufficiently biting retort, then gave it up.
"Lookit!" he grunted. "This statue is a different color!"
They had all noted that. The stone of which the thing was made was of a different hue and texture. Its color was that of a cold winter day. It was almost transparent.
"Agate," Ham decided.
Monk held the thing up. "Wonder if the face of the thing is the likeness of anybody we know?"
He scrutinized the features; but not until Doc produced a tiny pocket magnifier and offered it, were they sure.
"Blazes!" Monk gurgled. "It's a woman's face!"
"It's the face of that bald-headed girl we had the run-in with at the airport!" Ham echoed.
They stood in silence for some time.
At last, Monk picked up the bottle which had been in the safe-deposit box. "At least, I might figure out what this is," he said. "Chemistry is my line."
He uncorked the bottle. The result was highly discomfiting. There was a swish! Vapor spurted out of the bottle, as the liquid contents vaporized instantly. The stuff sprayed over Monk.
The reek of an odor that was like camphor, yet not like it, filled the vault.
MONK emitted a howl, dropped the bottle, turned and ran. Why he did this, it was hard to say. He already had the stuff all over him.
But, feeling no ill effects, the homely chemist stopped. Great anxiety was on his homely features for a few moments. Then he began to look less thoughtful.
"The stuff—ain't—poison—I guess," he said, hesitantly.
"You were your usual bright self when you opened that bottle," Ham told him.
"Aw-w!"