"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 122 - The King of Terror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

eyes that were like pools of always-stirred flake gold, and hair that was a bronze only a little darker than
his skin. Now he was something torn in a crimson puddle on the floor.

Francis and Percy stopped shooting.

They tossed their guns on the floor.
They noticed what seemed to be smoke around them. Percy fanned at this vapor.

“Bit of a fog,” he complained.

“Smoke, I imagine,” Francis agreed. “I don't recall smokeless powder making a smoke like that before.
However, the job seems to have been done well enough.”

They turned and walked out of the building. Both of them had produced handkerchiefs, and were
fastidiously wiping their hands.

The mangled figure of Doc Savage disappeared as soon as Francis and Percy were out of sight.

Literally and actually, the body disappeared.

A panel opened in the side of the hall; a panel which no casual observer would have noticed as a door,
and Doc Savage came out. Doc Savage was personally unharmed.

“Monk, Ham, you clean up this mess,” he said. “And be ready for a call.”

Monk and Ham came out of the opening that had been concealed by the ingenious panel.

“We better go along,” Monk said. He sounded hopeful.

Doc said, “No, stay here.”

Monk nodded, but not with enthusiasm. Monk liked excitement, and standing around here after the
excitement was over didn't appeal to him.

Monk's life was probably dedicated more to excitement than to any other one thing. Certainly he liked
trouble more than his profession, which was chemistry. Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Blodgett Mayfair,
which was Monk's full name and title, was rated one of the great industrial chemists of the era. He didn't
look it. He was a short man, very wide, as wide as tall almost, as hairy as a baboon with rusty red hair
that resembled finishing nails, and with a face that would stop a clock if any face would.

Ham Brooks-who was, like Monk, one of a group of five men who worked closely with Doc
Savage-also had a title. He was Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks. He had fame in two
lines-law and clothes. In law, he was good enough that Harvard Law School was always pointing him out
as one of its better examples. And as for clothes, tailors who loved their work often followed him down
the street just to watch clothes being worn as they should be worn.

Doc was gone now. Presumably he was on the trail of Percy and Francis.

“Who were those two fellows?” Monk asked.