"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 039 - The Seven Agate Devils" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

"Very well," Doc Savage agreed.

The bronze man and Ham alighted in front of the Western Building, and Doc said, "We will wait here for you."

Monk drove into the alley and discovered a small court recessed into the rear of the office building. Provided,
probably, for the loading and unloading of trucks.

Monk drove into this, turned off the ignition, and got out.

Monk’s small eyes were sharp, and walking much in the paths of danger had given him an almost animal
alertness. This accounted now for his observing of something suspicious.

The something was a man who had popped his head around the corner of a door which opened on the little
freight court. The fellow had obviously been watching Monk, and he jerked back suddenly.

Monk scowled, taking a moment to make up his mind. He was in a suspicious mood after the events at the
airport, so he dashed for the doorway.

The man he had discovered, ran. His feet made noise in a passage. Monk charged after him. The rapidity with
which he gained on his quarry surprised even himself.

The fleeing man was short, but very fat. He was not built for fast movement. Somehow, he resembled a
gorged buzzard trying to get started in flight. He even flapped his arms in a way that carried out that
impression.

The fleeing man was running past open doors, the rooms beyond which were darkened. Monk kept on his
trail, centering all attention on catching him. That was a mistake.

A chair swung out of a darkened doorway and broke itself to bits on Monk’s nubbin of a skull. Monk put his
head down, turned a perfect somersault, landed flat on his back, and did not move.
MONK was not entirely senseless, but the effect was about the same. He could not see very well, and there
was no strength in his body for resistance. He felt hands half drag, half walk him down the passage. They
were going back the way they had come.

The homely chemist heard the rumble of sliding doors, then caught that distinctive gasoline-and-oil odor
which garages have. He got his eyes open, and bright light made his eyeballs ache. This slight pain seemed
to help dissolve the mists in his head.

He felt something making new pain against his side, looked down and saw a gun.

The man who held the gun was big, had a heavy-featured, brutal face. He looked like a man who would use
the gun.

"Who the devil is this ape?" he demanded.

"He’s Andrew Blodgett Mayfair, commonly called Monk," said a new voice. "One of Doc Savage’s men."

Monk twisted to scowl at the speaker. The fellow made interesting inspection. He was a well-built man, who
would have been handsome but for one thing—the lower part of his face.