"042 (B046) - The Midas Man (1936-08) - Lester Dent" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

The man now drew out of his shirt the tablet from the museum.
William Harper Littlejohn gaped at the object.
"I'll be superamalgamated!" he exploded.
"It worth anything?" demanded the fake reporter.
"Antiquity indubitable!" murmured William Harper Littlejohn.
"There's a lot more of these thing," said the fake gentleman of the press.
"Is perlustration a potentiality?" murmured William Harper Littlejohn.
The visitors looked dizzy. The one playing the part of reporter grinned.
"Don't you know any little ones?" He held up a hand with thumb and forefinger separated about half an inch. "Little ones about that long? Words, I mean."
"Can I see this trunk?" asked Littlejohn, thereby proving that he did know some small words.
"You sure can," said the reporter. "It's in my rooming house. You wanta go out?"
"Subitaneously!" agreed William Harper Littlejohn.
William Harper Littlejohn was ordinarily a gentleman of caution. His long association with Doc Savage had made him so. He was one of a group of five men, each one remarkable in his way, who had associated themselves with Doc Savage, partially for the sake of the adventure involved, but also because they had an unbounded admiration for Doc Savage.
William Harper Littlejohn was a bug on archaeology, and highly enthusiastic over this tablet. He had recognized it as genuine, and had visions of turning up a find of archaeological relics.
His enthusiasm evaporated in an explosion of colored lights inside his skull, a moment after he was seated in a dark-blue taxi on the street. He did not even see the blackjack blow coming.
By the time he got himself organized, handcuffs were on his ankles and wrists, and a piece of sponge filled his mouth, strapped there with adhesive tape.
The blue taxicab threaded through city traffic. A lap robe was thrown over William Harper Littlejohn, concealing his bony form on the floorboards. He struggled, but upon receiving a kick in the ribs, desisted. He could hear his captors talking.
"That was simple," declared the captor who had played cameraman.
"Brains," said the other. "Brains is what makes the world go 'round."
Chapter II. THE MUMMY CASE BUSINESS
THE blue cab went through the Holland Tunnel into New Jersey.
William Harper Littlejohn squirmed, and managed to get hold of the floor carpet. He took a firm grip. Then he groaned loudly. The groan was to cover the sound of the carpet tearing as he ripped a piece out. He had to groan three times and strain with all of his might before he was successful. When victory crowned his efforts, he held a piece of carpet about the size of the palm of his hand.
Thanking his lucky stars for the presence of the enveloping lap robe, William Harper Littlejohn worked with the bit of carpet.
What he was doing took almost fifteen minutes.
The lank geologist's apparent inactivity had allayed the caution of his captors only a little. When he reared up suddenly, violently, they fell upon him. William Harper Littlejohn, however, struggled with great ferocity.
He managed to stand up straight and shove his head hard against the top. It broke through.
In the excitement, the men failed to note the bit of rug being flung from his manacled hands through an open window.
William Harper Littlejohn was wrestled down and received a booting for the trouble he had caused.
"We're gonna lose patience with you!" one of the men gritted.
The last half hour of the journey was through sparsely settled country. The car rolled into what seemed to be an estate. William Harper Littlejohn was now blindfolded, lifted out and carried across a porch that creaked into a house. His blindfold was removed and the sponge taken out of his mouth.
He was in a dark cave of a room. The walls were painted black, which was unusual. There was a solid black rug on the floor, which was even more unique.
But the one article of furniture was most startling of all. It was approximately eight feet long and three wide—an irregularly shaped box with a lid. William Harper Littlejohn was startled into using small words, something he rarely did.
"A mummy case!" he gasped.
A man went out, evidently to the car, and came back carrying a pair of pliers. He showed these to the prisoner.
"See these?" he demanded. "They're gonna reduce your vocabulary."
William Harper Littlejohn could hardly help seeing them; they were almost jammed in his eyes.
"An anagrammatical conjugation of exigency!" he muttered.
"There!" growled the man with the pliers. "That's what I mean! No more of them words! Them jawbreakers! For every big word you use, we're gonna pull one of your teeth. A tooth for each word we can't understand! Savvy?"
William Harper Littlejohn blinked and looked as indignant as a securely bound man could.
"I don't understand what this is all about," he snapped. "Why did you seize me?"
"You have no idea?" demanded the other.
"No!" retorted William Harper Littlejohn. "I'm completely puzzled!"
"Swell!" grinned the other. "You're gonna be more puzzled, before we get done!"
They laid hands upon the skeletonlike form of Littlejohn, lifted him, and calmly plunked him down in the mummy case.
WLLLIAM HARPER LITTLEJOHN had been able to give the mummy case merely the slightest of inspection, but he had recognized it as being a genuine article. And the idea of lying in a mummy case failed to appeal to him.
"I object to this treatment!" he yelled.
"We know how you feel!" said one of the men, with grim sympathy.
William Harper Littlejohn growled, "Inacquiescence is—"
The man with the pliers sprang forward. He endeavored forcibly to pry the prisoner's mouth open. There was brisk action for several moments, during which the pliers failed to get a firm hold on any of the captive's teeth.
"I'll let that one go!" the man with pinchers decided, grudgingly. "But for every big word from now on, you lose a tooth! Listen! They call you 'Johnny,' don't they?"