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

Doc made four trips down and he was sure.
Of Ham, Max Landerstett and Igor De Faust, there was no trace. There were no bodies.
"I am doing my best to believe it!" Hoppel said, earnestly, when Doc informed him of what was below. "Poy, am I struggling to believe it! But I don't know!"
"You saw no one come to the surface?"
"Not a son-of-a-gun, yes!"
Doc filled vast lungs with air and went down again. The bronze man had learned the art of unequipped diving from men who were masters of it—the pearl divers of the South Seas, men who could remain beneath the surface as much as three to five minutes. Using the flashlight, he began to search the cruiser.
Only one thing aboard interested Doc. In the after cabin he found it. He brought it to the surface.
"What it is?" asked Hoppel, curiously.
"An old-time music box," Doc said.
The music box was a large one, not the parlor type which were designed to sit on the whatnot and tinkle a tune when a lid was lifted, or when they were moved. This one was more on the order of a street grinder's music box, although it was not fitted with carrying straps.
Doc lifted the lid. The mechanism looked intact, and there was a large brown envelope, water-logged, lying on top of the mechanism.
Doc cranked the music box. A whirring of mechanism responded, then a tinkling, jangling refrain which did not have much musical quality, but did have plenty of volume.
Doc opened the brown envelope. It held a typewritten note addressed to himself. The typewriter ink was waterproof enough that the missive was still legible.
DOC SAVAGE
You have heard the sound of a music box on two previous occasions, would have heard it a third time had the noise of your plane's engines been less, and so I knew you would be interested enough in this music box to take it to the surface. It seemed the logical place to leave this note, which I do want you to read and consider seriously.
I am engaged in a work for the good of the American public. That a few men must die is unfortunate, but not enough to sway me from my objective.
In fact, a campaign of terror is the only thing that will secure my ends.
You are at liberty to take whatever steps against me you wish. You would probably take them regardless of what I said. Of course, you will get killed, and your man Ham, as well as Syrmanthe Yell, Max Landerstett and the rest will die.
Use your own judgment.
I will sign this so you will recognize it—The One with the Camel Back.
Hoppel had been leaning over Doc's shoulder, reading, and now he snorted, "Max Landerstett!"
"Why?" Doc queried.
"Them long sentences, yes, no?" said Hoppel.
Doc offered no comment.
THEY taxied the plane around a bit, and Doc dived once more to the sunken cabin cruiser. He gave attention this time solely to the aperture eaten in the hull. The hole was located at the forward cabin, and it seemed as if the double-planked hull, the ribs, or frames, and much of the cabin interior itself had been eaten out by the acid.
He came up, got in the plane and taxied close to the wharf in front of Hoppel's estate. There was a slight breeze now, enough to keep the plane away from the wharf if it were lashed at the end of a long line.
Hoppel looked at what was left of his house and said, "Mine hermit days are over, or whatcha think?"
There was a crowd of curious people, two fire engines, firemen and several policemen about the house, which had by now rather burned itself to ashes.
Doc asked Hoppel, "Have you any idea why the humpback picked on you?"
"Was Max Landerstett who done the picking," said Hoppel.
"Thought of any reason for his holding you?"
"Yes, not a one."
"You have no idea of what is behind this?"
"Nix," said Hoppel. "Me, I am gasserflab— flattergas—stumped!"
Doc studied the big, strange-talking fellow. Whatever the bronze man's thoughts were, they did not show in his weirdly active flake gold eyes.
"What is your business?" Doc asked.
"Good feller."
"Eh?"
"I am just mix around, sorta circulate. Politicians, they eat and drink me outa house and home and patience. Some time, they do me a favor."
Doc said, "Lobbying must be profitable."
Hoppel sighed.
"Oh, I run a holding company on side."
"Holding company?"
"Sure, Mike. We buy things and hope they go up."
Doc swung along the deck toward the shore.
"We will wait for Monk to report," he said. "Monk was to follow the girl, Sandy Yell."
But many hours passed and Monk was not heard from.
Chapter 13. MYSTERY'S REIGN
THAT afternoon, at five o'clock—a chance observer of what happened remembered that a bank clock was striking at the precise instant—a well-dressed man walked out of a governmental department building in Washington, D. C. The man was walking toward the corner when a humpback stepped out of a doorway.
The strange part about this was that none of the onlookers, and there were several before the incident was over, could tell for sure whether the humpback was male or female. All did agree that it was a horrible-looking character.