"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 052 - The Land of Fear" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

pathetic appearance of a bewildered watchdog. The other, tall, brown-eyed, smooth-shaven, was
younger, but his features appeared tired; his broad shoulders slumped.

The cab slid to a stop before a hotel.

"I’m Harlan Spotfield," said the taller of the two men, as he halted before the room clerk. "I want three
adjoining rooms for myself and my companions." A strange ring, a large cameo set on a gold band,
flashed as he reached for a pen.

The room clerk glanced at the register after they had signed. "Harlan Spotfield. Virginia Jettmore.
Richard Castleman. All of Genlee, Africa," he read.

Spotfield turned, broad shoulders squared. "I’m going to Doc Savage at once," he said. "You two go to
youah rooms. Stay there. If—if you don’t hear from me in two hours, you know what to do. Carry on.
Much depends on us. Many lives are at stake."

Many tragedies might have been prevented, many people would have been saved much trouble, if the
three had used a simpler method of getting in touch with Doc Savage—if they’d used a telephone.

At least one person would still be alive. But that realization was only to come later, long after the damage
had been done, when even Doc Savage’s trusted lieutenants were beginning to know the meaning of fear.



VIRGINIA JETTMORE already knew. Her wide, flaring skirt billowed and swung as she paced the
hotel room, small hands clenched, face frozen. She watched a clock ceaselessly.

"Two hours—and no word." The girl’s voice was emotionless, devoid of feeling, but its very flatness
carried an ominous note.

The little man started. His head lifted, and the fear he’d shown before was nothing compared with the
stark terror his face now reflected.

"It’s followed us!"

The little man rose to his feet, his eyes darting wildly, like those of an animal seeking to escape from a
trap; his mouth worked spasmodically, but no words came.

"Stop it!" cried the girl. "Moah than our lives are at stake! Wait!"

Richard Castleman sank back, the light of sanity slowly returning to his features.

Virginia Jettmore walked to the phone, lifted the receiver. "Get me Doc Savage’s office, please," she
said. Her voice was steady, but the hand that held the receiver was white, the fingers twisted and
strained.

A voice answered. For a moment, Virginia’s face dropped its tenseness; then her words poured out in a
steady stream. She stopped, and her features changed.

The small man watching her needed no explanation to understand the words she was hearing.