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

"Yeah," Monk said, again vaguely. "Well, well. So you know me?"
"In newspapers, your photograph, yes," said Hoppel. "Me, I remember her."
"You couldn't forget her," Ham said, dryly.
Sigmund Hoppel grinned at them like a big dog that has just met some other dogs. Sigmund Hoppel was a big man, big every way, from top to bottom and around the middle.
His face and his mouth and his eyes and his grin were all big. The diamond on the little finger of his left hand was big. He had been perspiring and that gave his skin a greasy cast, which together with the fact that he was dark made it look as if lard and coal dust in quantities had gone into his make-up.
Both Hoppel and De Faust fell to staring at Doc Savage.
"Poy, Oh poy!" said Hoppel. "Me, am I a relief that Doc Savage are on this pizness!"
Ham, who was never too careful of anybody's feelings, grinned and started—it was plain in his eyes—to make some crack about the way Hoppel murdered the King's English. Monk calmly kicked Ham's shins, all but knocking the dapper lawyer's feet from under him.
Doc Savage asked, with his flake gold eyes on Hoppel and De Faust, "Just what is happening here?"
Hoppel started to speak too hurriedly. He choked on the English words, then stuttered.
"Please, maybe you could tell us?" he questioned earnestly at last.
"Actor—make-up—Mexico—" De Faust murmured vaguely.
HAM, shifting from one foot to another to favor his agonizing shins, spoke to Hoppel and De Faust. "You gentlemen mean to tell us that you do not know why you are in this room, prisoners?"
"As a guesser, you are a good stabber," said Hoppel. "She's the truth."
"This is surprising," Ham said.
"She no surprise you half so much as she surprises us," declared big Hoppel. "Two weeks for now we have been all over with surprise. What you call him? Gatterflast? Flattergas—gasserflat—"
"Flabbergasted," Monk supplied wearily.
"Denks, mister," said Hoppel.
Doc Savage asked, "You have been prisoners two weeks?"
"Wait," said Hoppel. "Let's count him."
He went to a window sill. The window beyond was closed with what seemed to be a steel shutter, but along the window sill he pointed to a row of deep scratches.
"My belt buckle put him here," he explained. "One scratch each time they feed us. Lemme see. Zirteen scratches. Dat whatcha call lucky as hell, no?"
"Thirteen meals, but how many days?" Monk asked.
"Zirteen days, on account they slip us the zoup once a day."
Monk opened and shut his big mouth. Hoppel's grammar was getting him down. The man seemed to have a conglomeration of most of the mistakes made by foreigners starting to learn English.
"Actor—make-up—Mexico—" De Faust murmured vaguely.
Monk growled, "Listen, Hoppel, is he nuts?"
"If I am, I would be the least surprised of any one, considering what is happening," De Faust said calmly and rationally.
There was a rattle at the door lock. The panel opened, and Max Landerstett put his head and a gun inside.
"I have been listening with the greatest of interest, and I am surprised," he said, "to hear such a strange story, such a fantastic story of a fortnight's imprisonment coming from two such gentlemen as Hoppel and De Faust, although I never have held any great ideas about their veracity, which is probably in keeping with their character, yet none the less, I am—"
"Going to get Doc Savage out of there," Sandy Yell interrupted from behind Landerstett.
"Yes," said Landerstett. "Doc, come out."
Doc came out. They shut and locked the door on the other prisoners.
MAX LANDERSTETT'S eyes were bright above their dark pouches, and he made a small gesture to draw attention to the gun in his hand.
"Don't forget what I said about the medals for shooting, for I can assure you that the aforesaid mention was no exaggeration in any sense, but was a true statement—"
"Max," said the girl, "I'll bet you talk after you are dead."
"I hope so, because I love to talk," Max grinned. "Doc, you will walk down that corridor. May I call you Doc, since we are in a way of becoming very chummy?"
Doc Savage said nothing. The corridor was paneled in a cherry red, done in a natural tint that showed good taste. A runner covered only a part of the floor. Passing through a door brought them into a vast room with a ceiling so high that it seemed lost in infinity.
A great expanse of hardwood floor was waxed glassy, and in the center stood a table that was a bulk of mahogany, and several neat mahogany chairs with bright red leather seats.
"Park yourself," invited Sandy Yell.
Max Landerstett waved an arm expansively to draw attention to the huge size of the room and began, "Note the cathedral proportions of our cubbyhole which will make it comparatively easy for me to get at least one, and maybe more, pot-shots at you should you decide to make a break, but of course you will not decide to—"
"Sh-h-h-h!"
Sandy Yell interposed. She looked at Doc Savage. "We've brought you in here to ask you questions."
Doc watched her as if she did not interest him particularly.
"We want to learn just how much you know," said the young woman.
"What I know?" Doc asked. "Or what conclusions I have reached?"
"That's it," said the young woman eagerly. "What conclusions you have reached."
"You would not like them," the bronze man said, dryly.
The girl blinked both eyes. "So I wouldn't like them?"
The concussion of a great crash filled all of the house. The crash started with the bang! of an explosion, and after that there was the uproar of falling dйbris, and that trailed away to permit the steady ringing of an alarm bell to be heard,