"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 077 - The Merchants of Disaster" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

Then he dismissed that problem from his mind. He had to call help, had to get someone to aid him. He
could call police, or Federal men, but then, if this proved to be a hoax or false alarm, he would be the
subject of ridicule.

But he knew instinctively this wasn’t a false alarm. And if it meant what it said the police and Federal men
probably would be helpless anyway.

Les Quinan was unaware of the passage of time, did not realize that his secretary had gone to lunch, that
he was alone in the office.
Inspiration had struck him. He would call Doc Savage—Clark Savage, Jr. A smile lighted his features.
He should have thought of that before. Doc Savage was the one man for this job. For Doc Savage had
fought mysterious forces before. He had been victorious, and conquered even when the odds were great.

The lawyer swung around, reaching blindly for a telephone.

He heard the door of his office open and close. Dimly, he made out a tall, lean figure approaching him.

"Busy! Can’t see you!" he almost shouted. "Come back some other time!"

His visitor’s slow, unhurried approach did not pause.

The tall man’s eyes flicked over the glasses the lawyer wore, noted the scribbled paper with its group of
letters on the desk. He nodded, almost sadly, as if confirming something that pained him.

"Were you going to telephone someone?" he asked politely. His voice was low, refined.

"Get out, I said," Quinan barked. "I’ve got to get Doc Savage. I’ve—" His lips shut firmly, as if he had
said more than he had intended.

"Ah!" The other’s voice remained low. "So you were going to call the famous adventurer and mental
marvel, the man who spends his life fighting evildoers. How touching."

Les Quinan came to his feet. There had been a subtle change in the other’s tone, a touch of menace. For
the first time the lawyer felt a touch of fear, realized the secret he had learned might be dangerous.

"Will you go?" he snapped. "I—"

The tall man moved, swiftly. Quinan saw the move but faintly. Instinctively, he tried to dodge. Then he
swayed drunkenly for a moment and collapsed to the floor.

His visitor calmly drew a handkerchief, wiped a faint stain of crimson from a long, slender knife.

Still calmly, the tall man gathered up the papers on the lawyer’s desk, put them in his pocket. On his way
out he gathered up the notebook Quinan’s secretary had used in taking his excited dictation.



Chapter II. A CALL FOR HELP
THE story told by Quinan’s secretary had no significance to the police. Even when the girl told them her