"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 097 - The All-White Elf" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

"No, no, I was just—well, being facetious," the girl said swiftly.

She’s a very poor liar, Haatz thought. And very upset.

He said, "I like for people to tell me the truth."

Audine Million’s answer was slow coming.
"Really, Mr. Haatz, aren’t you presuming a little?" she said finally. "After all, we hardly know each other."

"Yes, we hardly know each other," Haatz agreed dryly. "As a matter of fact, that’s why I called you."

"I don’t understand."

"And I," said Haatz, "don’t understand that remark about your brother and something strange going on."

Again, there was a silence. This time, the girl did not reply. She hung up. The click was a slow one, as if
she had placed the receiver on the hook very thoughtfully.

Haatz stood and bit at a thumbnail for a time. Then he went into his bedroom, and got two heavy woolen
socks. He put one sock inside the other. Then he entered the kitchenette, poured a box of common salt
into the socks, and smacked the result against the palm of one hand. He had a very good blackjack.

He opened the hall door. Smitty was standing there. Haatz hit Smitty with the salt-filled socks. He tried to
land the blow on Smitty’s temple, but the man ducked. The blackjack, glancing off the top of Smitty’s
head, knocked the fellow to his knees.

Haatz grabbed the socks with both hands and wound up like a baseball pitcher and did his best to brain
the other man. More by accident than design, Smitty got his head out of the way and the socks hit his
shoulders, so that there was a loud report and a white spurting of salt as the socks split. Smitty flattened
out on the floor. He pulled a gun out of his clothing.

The gun made a deafening noise. The bullet made cold the left side of Haatz’s face, went on up and made
a neat round hole in the ceiling plaster, and, on the floor above, started a woman screaming.

Haatz jumped back, slammed the door. The only gun he had was a .30-06 caliber big-game rifle. There
is a Federal regulation about the ownership of a gun with a barrel less than sixteen inches long, but this
one certainly didn’t come under that prohibition.

He got the rifle, clipped some of the cartridges—they were almost the size of fountain pens—into the
magazine. He tossed a chair against the door. The man outside promptly fired a bullet through the panel.
With the .30-06, Haatz proceeded to blow channels through door and wall.

The man outside ran.

HAATZ heard the man’s feet rapping the corridor floor, and peered through a hole he had blown in the
door. He saw Smitty scoop up his balled topcoat, which had been holding the elevator door open, leap
into the cage, close the door. Lunging down the hall, Haatz reached the elevator door. He lifted his rifle.
For a moment, he calculated where he should aim; then the rifle blasted flame and lead against the sliding
metal door.