"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 144 - Strange Fish" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

Abner sulked for a moment.

“I didn't want to tell you,” he said uneasily, “but I saw that fat man two or three times this evening. I think
he was following you.”
The cold ants suddenly re-traveled Paris' spine. The creepy feeling was so strong that she wondered:
what on earth is eating me?

She knew that Abner was worrying. He was the worrying type. A cranky old biddy. He'd fret all night, if
she didn't ease his mind.

“Don't worry about it,” she said, more lightly than she felt. “Tomorrow, if he's still around, I'll have
Gonnerman or some other nice cop change his line of activity.”

“But what's he following you for?” Abner blurted.

“I haven't the slightest shade of an idea,” Paris said truthfully. “Now quit worrying, and go to sleep.”

“Thank you, Miss Paris. Good night.”

“Good night,” Paris said.

She sat there, analyzing the strange fright that had seized her. This morning she'd felt fine, so it couldn't
have been one of her indigo days. The change had come that afternoon. She had seen the fat man, and
after that things hadn't been the same. The fat man, then, was upsetting her.

It was strange that the fellow should have such an effect on her nerves.



DAYLIGHT was streaking the eastern clouds with flame-colored light when Paris was awakened. It was
a bizarre morning sky, packed with clouds that looked sulky and dramatic. It took Paris some seconds to
begin wondering what had awakened her.

The east wall of her bedroom was all plate glass, the better to see the breathless view of the
Queensborough bridge and the river beyond. But this morning the view seemed composed entirely of the
dark clouds.

Paris decided that Callahan had shown up for work, and had made some small noise that had awakened
her.

“Callahan!” Paris called.

There was no answer, and the stillness seemed to draw her nerves tight. She wished she had had a gun,
but there wasn't one. Guns are not usually kept lying around New York apartments.

Oh, she was dumb! There was a shotgun in the closet with her sports things. She slipped from between
the covers and got the gun, a good 12-gauge skeet weapon. She loaded it. By now she felt a little foolish.

She went to the door, holding the gun casually, convinced now that there was nothing alarming.