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

DELLA NELSON looked about nervously at tool cabinets, engines on stands, men in coveralls. Having
ducked through the first door she had reached, she was, she saw, in an engine overhaul shop.
Somewhere a spray gun was hissing with fierce, angry spurts, and the air had the biting odor of an engine
cleaning solvent. Over to the left, lurid purplish flashes of light sprang from a welding torch. She wheeled
and, for frightened moments, watched the door through which she had come.

She had seen the policeman; she half expected him to appear, but he didn't. Nor did the man who had
tried to trick her come through the door. She imagined he had fled. Remembering his sweet face, she
shuddered violently.

She approached a mechanic. “I beg pardon.”

“Yeah?”

“Where can I find a policeman?”

He was startled. “Darned if I know. You mean a company cop?”

“I mean any policeman!”

The urgency on her face, and the greater amount of it in her voice, jolted him into pointing, saying, “You
go that way, lady.”

“Will you go with me, please? And if you have something you can use as a weapon, will you bring it?”

“I'll be damned!” the mechanic said. He was not afraid, and he picked up a wrench. “Okay, lead on.
What's happening?”

“I think a man was going to kill me.”
“The hell you say!” The mechanic put the wrench in his pocket and held it so that it looked as if it could
be a gun. They left the shop hangar, walked in the open for a while, and reached the terminal building.

Della was looking at the large young man. She discovered him standing beside the newsstand, when the
mechanic said, “There's a cop, lady.”

“Thank you,” Della said. She wondered if she should be suspicious of the large young man. He had, she
believed, shifted the position of his face so that she could not get a good look at it. She tried to recall
whether he had done something suspicious the other time she had seen him, which had been immediately
after leaving the telephone booth from which she had endeavored to get Doc Savage.

The policeman was large, hearty, and looked like a cop should look.

He said, “So somebody bothered you!” He sounded the way a cop should sound, too.

“Tried to kill me,” Della corrected.

The officer seemed properly impressed. “I noticed the Sergeant over yonder a minute ago. We better go
talk to him,” he said. He took her arm, they approached another burly officer, also in uniform, and he
said, “This is Sergeant Ellis, Miss—er—”