"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 018 - The Squeaking Goblin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

"Carn-sarned door’s locked!" snapped the gaunt Tige. "‘Pears like she’s made a’ iron."

The mountaineer delivered a great smash with the ax, with the result that the blade penetrated the sheet
metal. He wrenched it free and struck again, opening a triangular aperture at which he chopped vigorously.

"‘Low I kin git a hand in thar directly!" puffed Tige. "Mought be able to unlock the door."

He struck, chopped, wrenched—and the metal squealed and bent; then he thrust a hand through the hole he
had made, groping for the knob of the spring lock.

"Here, Tige!" called a new voice. "Let me go in there first."

Tige wrenched his hand out of the hole as if he had taken a hold on something hot. He wheeled, his eyes
protruding a little and his mouth sagged far open so that the little lake of tobacco juice within was revealed.

"Chelton Raymond!" he gulped. "You wasn’t in this hure cabin!"

"No," said Chelton Raymond. "Damned lucky for me, eh?"



CHELTON RAYMOND was a long, thin man who looked as if he bathed frequently in peroxide. He was very
blond. His hair, eyebrows, and waxed and upturned mustache were almost white, and contrasted with his
tanned skin. His tan, however, did not have a weathered look, but more the velvety aspect of one who had
gone deliberately and carefully about the business of having the sun darken his skin.

The man’s clothes were rich of fabric, expert of cut. The frames of the spectacles perched on his sharp hook
of a nose were obviously of platinum. He had an air of wealth about him.

He advanced quietly on rubber-soled shoes and reached through the rent Tige had made in the stateroom
door.

"I was up forward, watching through a porthole with these." He drew a pair of binoculars from a pocket, then
let them slide back. "I kept an eye on the shore after the detectives put off."

"Kaitch sight a’ anythin’?" asked Tige.

"Nothing." Chelton Raymond’s voice had a drawl which marked him as having spent some time in the
mountains, possibly his youth, but it was seldom that he slipped into the abused English which was Tige’s
vocabulary.

The stateroom door swung open. Chelton Raymond entered, drew Tige inside, then motioned the private
detectives and members of the yacht crew back, closing the door after them.

"So you-all fixed a jigger in the cheer to fool the fisty cuss," Tige mumbled, eyeing the chair before the
porthole.

Chelton Raymond went over and examined the cleverly constructed dummy of pillows and bedclothing, coat
and a yachting cap, which the chair held. Particularly, he gave attention to the head.