"046 (B052) - The Vanisher (1936-12) - Lester Dent" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

There was no wind; even the leaves on the shrubbery hung lifeless.
The only sign of life was a row of lawn sprinklers which were in operation, hissing steadily. The mushrooming mist of water glistened in the sunlight. The spinning sprinkler heads hissed like snakes.
Doc crept forward. The sprinklers were spaced rather closely, and seemed permanent installations, with pipes underground. Picking a spot where the sprinklers' spray fell thinnest, Doc scuttled forward. Even then, he was dampened slightly from head to foot.
He approached a window. It was his idea to reconnoiter before making any other move.
But when he was still a dozen feet away from the nearest window, a frostily casual voice addressed him.
The voice said, "That lawn is underlain with a capacity burglar alarm system, consisting of wires surrounded by a high-frequency field which, when the capacity of it is changed by the introduction of a bulk such as yourself, actuates a sensitive relay through an amplifier, resulting in the giving of an alarm almost the instant you were on the place, in case you are interested."
DOC stood very still. He was familiar with the capacity method as applied to burglar alarms. His flake gold eyes roved in search of the individual who had made the rambling speech.
Then Doc saw him. The man was lean, not especially tall, and had the look of an athlete. His lips could have been fuller; there were dark pouches under his eyes, and his hair was a nest. His voice had not lied; he was young.
He held a revolver, and he stood just inside the window, sighting his gun under the sash, which was opened a little.
Doc studied him carefully, and decided the revolver was pointed at his chest. That was better, because he wore a bulletproof undergarment of chain mail in which he had confidence.
With infinite slowness, so that the other could see that he was making no sudden moves, Doc inserted two fingers inside his vest and brought out a small metal object. He let the other see it, and carefully shoved it out in front of him, as if to drop it.
The puffy-eyed young man began, "It is always gratifying to witness what might be called horse sense in a person, since that kind of sense is likely to be lacking under trying conditions such as—"
Doc squeezed the metallic globule. A cloud of black smoke came from it. The smoke came with such abruptness that it was almost a black flash. It hid Doc completely.
Doc leaped to one side, whirled and leaped in retreat.
The young man with the gun did not shoot, somewhat surprisingly. It would not have done much good anyway, since the sepia mass of black smoke hid Doc completely. But nine out of ten men would have cut loose with lead.
Doc was making good speed. It seemed certain that he would get away. He approached the line of sprinklers.
And stopped!
A long moment he stood there, just inside the flying spray. Then he retreated, flake gold eyes fixed on the mist from the sprinklers. That mist had changed color. It was different. It had a bilious aspect, a pungent, rather obnoxious odor.
A chemical had been introduced into the water. To venture into the mist from the sprinklers would undoubtedly mean unconsciousness and maybe death.
It was very apparent now why the house had been surrounded so completely by the sprinkler installation.
A MOMENT later, the young man with the pouches under his eyes came walking around the cloud of smoke, his revolver ready. He reached out a hand gingerly, at the same time keeping a watch on Doc Savage, and inserted a finger into a tendril of Doc's black vapor. He looked relieved when it did not nip him.
"Harmless," he said. "Not at all like the stuff coming from the sprinklers, which, if you venture into it, I can guarantee will kill you instantly."
Doc said quietly, "This place seems to be thoroughly equipped against attack."
"Isn't it, though," smirked the young man. "Such unusual defensive measures, too."
The smirk did not go with the pouches under his eyes nor the worried look, the aspect of strain, which close inspection showed in his eyes and features.
The young man peered steadily at Doc Savage, and seemed to be groping in his memory. He gestured toward the house with his revolver.
"In," he said. "And if you make a move, I shall shoot you neatly between the eyes, or as close to that spot as I can, which I will assure you should be quite close, considering that I have a trunkful of medals for pistol shooting, a number of them won not so many years ago."
They went into a reception hall which was colonial-looking, and held a genuine antique piece of furniture or two, along with some rather good fake antiques.
The young man of long speeches picked up a newspaper from a table and looked at Doc Savage's picture on the front page, under the caption:
DOC SAVAGE
is involved in penitentiary mystery
The young man said, "Your being Doc Savage does not surprise me, since there was something familiar about you which I did not realize at first as being the presence in my memory of the knowledge that I had seen your picture in the newspaper along with the story of your being connected with this affair which has apparently so mystified everybody, but which is actually far more remarkable than any person, even with the wildest imagination, has so far suspected, and the exact nature of which you may or may not know, but if you expect me to tell you much, you are going to be mistaken, because—"
Doc gave up waiting for the sentence to end.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Max Landerstett is the name," said the young man of many words.
DOC SAVAGE failed to change expression and asked, "You are presumably the young man in whom Sandy Yell is so interested."
The wordy young man became very still. His mouth was shut and the faint movement of his nostrils in and out as he breathed was noticeable.
He began, "The fact that you know of Sandy Yell leads me to the conclusion that she has in some manner obtained a contact with you since she was so unfortunately tricked or forced into shooting at you in the penitentiary with the trick camera, a procedure which was nothing if not risky, considering—"
"Sandy Yell is waiting at the edge of the estate," Doc interposed.
"Huh?"
"She could hear you if you shouted from a window," Doc continued. "But two of my men, Monk and Ham, are with her."
"We'll have to do something about that," said the young man with the worn eyes. "Under the circumstances, it is essential that I get my hands on Sandy and especially your two men, but just at the moment it does not occur to me exactly how—"
"With your permission, I shall call to them to come in," Doc said.
"Eh?"
"No tricks," Doc said. "I shall call to them, tell them everything is shaping up satisfactorily, and advise them to come in."
The young man considered. "That means you are willing for them to become prisoners?"
"Right."
"It also means you are perfectly sure you can get away whenever you want to? Am I correct?"
"You are."
The young man showed nice teeth in a smile that was not amusing. "You are at least frank, and I will say that for once I do not appreciate frankness, although previously I have considered it a nobility of character which—"