"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 129 - The Secret of the Su" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

Dr. Wilson spoke into the telephone.
“Thank you very much,” he said. “But I would rather place this matter in the hands of Doc Savage
personally, instead of an assistant. . . . I'm sorry, and thank you. Will you have Doc Savage telephone me
collect when he can be located? . . . Yes, Dr. R. W. Wilson, Logantown, Georgia. Good-by.”

He started to hang up, then said rapidly, “Hello, hello, are you still there? . . . I want to impress on you
that this is a frantically vital matter, possibly one of the most important things that has happened to this
generation. I am sure Doc Savage would be vitally concerned, and that as soon as he knows its nature,
he will certainly act. . . . Yes, thank you. I know you will try to get hold of him. Good-by.”

That time he replaced the receiver, and pulled his shoulders up straight. But the defeat and the fear was
still on his face.

He didn't seem exactly sure what he should do.

Finally he spoke to himself again, muttering, “I hope they can locate him. He is the one man capable of
dealing with such a fantastic thing.”

The telephone rang then, and he snatched it up eagerly. But it was only Laura, the operator. “The charges
will be four dollars and eighty cents with tax, Dr. Wilson. I'll put it on your bill.” Then Laura added, “I
just remembered who this Doc Savage is, Dr. Wilson.”

“Thank you, Laura,” Dr. Wilson said.

Laura asked, “Isn't he the one they call the Man of Bronze? The man who is supposed to be such a
fabulous combination of scientific skill, mental wizardry and physical prowess? And he makes a business
of helping people out of trouble, when the trouble is fantastic or weird and beyond the facilities of the
police? Isn't that Doc Savage?”

“Yes, that is the man,” Dr. Wilson said.

“I was thinking I had read an article somewhere about him,” Laura said.

“Thank you, Laura, and good-by,” Dr. Wilson said. He hung up.

And again he just stood there, a man who did not know what he wanted to do.

FINALLY Dr. Wilson went into another room, a neat old-fashioned front parlor.

Slow John was there.

“Slow John, “ Dr. Wilson said. “Why didn't you tell me about this incredible thing years ago?”

The Indian's face was inscrutable, composed with the expressionlessness of his race.

He did not answer.

Dr. Wilson knew the Indian was uncomfortable.

“Don't feel badly, Slow John,” he said. “I am not reproaching you, or accusing you of doing something