"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 074 - World's Fair Goblin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

The cop got a flashlight and a gun and three other cops and went into the shaft. It was very dark. At
various points in the old mine, there stood wax figures of miners and these wax men were equipped with
miners’ caps which bore lights—electric lights that imitated the old-time miner’s kerosene lamp. It was
observed that none of these lamps were lighted; and the current seemed to be off.

"It was a dog, of course," the cop said, although they had not seen any.

"The people who saw it don’t describe any dog," another cop told him.

"Listen, I’ll show you. I’ll call the dog. Here, doggie—here, doggie—"
That cop never called another dog again. As long as he lived, his vocal chords would freeze when he
started to call a dog—because he could not help remembering what he got when he called this dog.

It was probably eight feet high. It was not that wide. It had arms, legs, body. It had eyes that were great
and awful, and it had strength that was the most awful of all.

They saw it only an instant, not very clearly at that, for it hurled rocks at them, boulders as large as
barrels.

The policemen fled around the corner.

When the policemen had gathered their courage—and ten more cops and four submachine guns, riot
equipment and tear gas—they advanced. They found nothing.

No goblin, no way the goblin could have gotten out. No nothing.



Chapter II. HIDDEN TRAIL
RUNNING north and east from the Theme Center of the Fair—the spot where the Perisphere and
Trylon were located—were broad avenues and malls branching out like the spokes of a wheel.

The Hall of Medicine was on one of these spokes. It was a long, yellow-colored structure just north of
the circular walk bordering the mammoth Perisphere. Inside was the operating amphitheater, built like a
small theater, with circular tiers of seats forming an observers’ balcony. Seated tense and silent, white
masks over their own faces, visiting medical men watched in awe. They were seeing one of the most
amazing things of their lives.

Other than the weird panting sounds that came from a mechanical device that looked similar to a
punching bag, located near the head of the operating table, there was no other sound. That bag pulsated
as oxygen mixed with anesthesia was fed to a small, still form on the white operating table—the figure of
a boy from the slums of New York.

A tumor was being removed from the boy’s brain. It was a type of operation never done before.

Motion-picture cameras whirred, recording the procedure.

Above that still form only the surgeon’s eyes were visible. Amazing eyes. The eyes were magnetic, and
like restless pools of rich flake gold. Set well apart, they were compelling and clear, holding the attention