"123 (B113a) - The Talking Devil (1943-05) - Lester Dent" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

"I thought you were supposed to be the world's leading brain surgeon," he said.
Doc passed up the compliment, explained, "In a matter as serious as this we prefer to have a consensus of opinion."
Montague Ogden nodded. He seemed to be surprised, but to consider the matter reasonable now that he thought of it.
"Could I bring in Dr. Nedden?" he asked. "He is my private surgeon."
Doc Savage nodded. He had not heard of Dr. Nedden, but that did not mean the man could not be good.
"Certainly," the bronze man said. "Call Dr. Nedden." They transferred Sam Joseph to the hospital, a small but wonderfully equipped hospital uptown, which specialized in brain cases, and which was largely supported by Doc Savage. He did most of his work there. Doc did not, as a matter of fact, do a great deal of surgery for surgery's sake, his specialty being stubborn and unusual cases upon which he could apply new and experimental technique.
Dr. Nedden appeared. He was a stocky man, face reddened by the outdoors sun, clothes immaculate, who seemed to know what he was doing.
"I have examined the patient previously," he explained. "The unusual cerebropsychosis aroused my interest, and I was fairly sure it was cerebral fibroma. I made a thorough examination with a cerebroscope and found nothing to support any other diagnosis."
Doc Savage called in two more specialists, and their diagnosis was the same.
"Cerebral fibroma."
Monk asked, "'What the heck's a cerebral fibroma, anyway?"
"A brain tumor. A fibrous type. That makes it very difficult to remove," Doc Savage explained.
"'Why don't doctors use words you can understand?" Monk wanted to know.
"For the same reason that chemists do not use small ones," Doc told him.
Monk had to grin at that. There was nothing more incomprehensible to a layman than a chemical formula, even when you simplified it and used the symbols. But if you took one of those chemicals and tried to explain what it was by using small words, it would run into an afternoon's work.
Doc Savage found Montague Ogden.
"Your office manager, Sam Joseph, has a brain tumor," Doc told Ogden. "An operation is the only answer."
"He will not die?"
"There is no such thing as a minor or a completely safe operation," Doc told him frankly. "But he should pull through."
"Oh, I want him to. Sam means a lot to me. He has always practically run everything for me."
Doc said, "Dr. C. B. Sticken would be a good man to do the surgery."
"Yes, I - " Ogden's eyes flew wide. "What did you say?"
"I recommend C. B. Sticken for the surgery."
Montague Ogden looked as if he was going to faint.
"But you must do it!" he gasped.
Doc Savage explained patiently, "This is not a sufficiently unusual or difficult case to warrant my doing the surgery, and, furthermore, Dr. Sticken is fully qualified."
Montague Ogden seemed horrified at the idea.
"I insist on you doing it!" he cried. "Why, I wouldn't think of anyone else! I'll pay any fee."
"It just happens," Doc Savage said, "that I do not work for a fee."
"What? Oh, yes, I remember. You get your funds from some unknown source. Well, then, I'll donate any sum you name to any organization you wish if you will do the operation." *
"That will not be necessary. Dr. Sticken is capable - "
"I'll donate a hundred thousand dollars," said Montague Ogden, "if you will do this operation."
Doc Savage studied the man. "That is not necessary."
"I mean it. A hundred thousand, Mr. Savage. To any charity, or army or navy relief group you care to name." The man was so earnest he was pale.
"All right," Doc Savage said finally.
DOC Savage did the operation in the special amphitheater pit at the brain clinic. It was a cup-shaped arena surrounded by the most transparent type of glass. Beyond the glass were seats for witnessing surgeons. The lighting was fluorescent and brilliant.
As was always the case when Doc Savage was operating, the amphitheater was crowded. There were very few students among the witnesses, the majority being brain surgeons of established name and reputation, some of them men who had hurriedly caught airplanes and flown halfway across the continent in order to watch a master at work.
Doc Savage made the scalp incision, laid back the scalp, then used a special electrical bone knife of his own invention, a device which would cut without shock, having the property of rendering bone and nerve more insensible to shock in the area near the cutting head.
The operation progressed with brilliance up to the point where Doc reached the spot where the tumor should be.
There was no tumor.
The thing was so astounding that Doc was stunned. He stood there rigid and speechless, then after a few moments made the small trilling sound which was his unconscious habit in moments of intense mental stress. The trilling was low, exotic, might have been the product of an eerie wayward breeze in a naked forest. It had a ventriloqual quality, seeming to come from everywhere rather than any definite spot in the operating room.
There was certainly no tumor, either a fibroma or otherwise. There was only one thing Doc could say, and he said it. "I have made a mistake," he said.
------------------ * Doc Savage's mysterious source of fabulous wealth is located in a remote lost valley in Central America, an enormous golden treasure guarded over by a clan of descendants of ancient Maya. ------------------

Chapter III. A PLAN ROLLING

DR. NEDDEN, the man who had been introduced into the case as Montague Ogden's private doctor, was one of the spectators in the arena above the operating pit.
He got out of there in a hurry.
He found a cab. "Across town," he ordered. "And hurry!"
Dr. Nedden leaned back in the cab. He seemed to have been holding himself in, and now he relaxed. As men sometimes do after they have been under terrific strain and try to relax, he started going to pieces.