"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 160 - Colors For Murder" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

speak will be recorded for Mr. Savage's later attention.” This was exactly what the voice must have said
before, she decided.

“Damn!” she said wildly.

She hung up—hung up violently, and with a helpless feeling of weakness that caused her to cling to the
receiver for a moment, supporting part of her weight on it. It was ridiculous to feel so thwarted by
encountering a silly mechanical device.

She shouldn't have been so shocked. Walter, she recalled, had told her that Savage was addicted to
mechanical gadgets, according to what Renny Renwick, the engineer, had told him. But she wanted the
man, not one of his gadgets.

Irritably, nervously, she flung out of the phone booth, and bumped headlong into a large young man who
was gawking at something overhead, evidently the mural paintings on the lobby ceiling.

“Oops! Beg pardon,” he said.

She said nothing. Awareness of the young man did not, actually, penetrate her distracted thinking; he was
just someone she bumped into, and she went on, walking rapidly. A taxi. She would take a taxi. Or a
bus, maybe a bus would be better.

When she had moved some distance, there was a delayed-action effect, and she realized that she had
bumped into a large young man. Very large, in a rangy, spring-muscled, impressive way. She glanced
back. She did not see him. There were several wide backs turned to her, but none of them exactly fell in
with her hazy recollections of the large young man.

She went on, her footsteps the quick clicking voice of panic. But not far. Because a man got in front of
her; when she stepped to the left, he stepped to the left too, then he said, “I am Mr. South, with the
airline.”

“Oh!”

“You are Miss Nelson? Miss Della Nelson?”

“What do you want?” she asked tightly.

He bowed slightly. He gave her his sweet-faced smile. “I am a vice-president of the airline, Miss
Nelson,” he said, telling lies with the soft sincerity of gospel truth. “There was, on the plane on which you
arrived, a passenger who died. We—ah—very unfortunate. There are certain aspects of the death we
feel we should investigate. So, if you will accompany me . . .?”

“Go with you? Where?”

“To the office in another building. It will only take a few moments.” His smile, like a kitten, showed again.
“If you have friends meeting you—” He paused invitingly. He wanted to know whether anyone was
meeting her. That was rather important, since he was preparing to kill her. But she did not answer, so he
added, “Otherwise we will gladly, at no cost, furnish a limousine to take you wherever you wish.”

She released her breath suddenly, wildly.