"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 175 - The Pure Evil" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

“I'll be careful of the car,” Gail said. “I'm always careful of the car.”

“Sure,” he said. “But be special careful.”

“I'll be extra one-hundred-and-ten-volt careful,” his sister said, and she put the car in gear and drove way
and down the road. She and the car were going approximately seventy-two miles an hour when they
disappeared.

“Careful, she said!” he complained.

Gibble grinned. He said, “She's quite a girl, that Gail.”

Dan looked at Gibble. Gibble was a fairly average-sized man who looked small, and a moderately neat
man who looked sloppy. The color of his face, eyes and hair were all shades of sand.

“Gibble, you make it out here every morning when she brings me to work, don't you?” Dan said.

“Huh?”

“Your time worth much, Gibble?”

Gibble said, “Huh?” again.

“Don't waste it, Gibble, if it is,” Dan said. “And you'll be wasting it, boy. I can tell you that.”

Gibble didn't say anything, and Dan went into the Station and sailed his hat onto a hook and got his
schedule sheets and tracking data forms from the locker and went into the tracking room. Not the tower
one where the radio equipment was, but the one where they were conducting the experiments in
short-range tracking. He told Steigel, the man working the early trick, hello and goodbye. He settled
himself, spread out his cigarettes and matches, and that was the way Steigel saw him when he said his
so-longs and see-you-tomorrows from the door.

That was the last time anyone saw Dan Adams when he seemed to be exactly right.

The tracking statistician was fortyish, thin-faced, brainy, wore prim mannish suits the year around, and
was named Miss Bradley. Miss Bradley's job was correlating all the figures and graphs from the radar
experiments, putting them in shape for digestion by the men with the large brains. She had formed the
habit of dropping around to the trackers every two hours to pick up their sheets.

Miss Bradley came in, leaned across Dan's shoulder and got the sheets, turned away, and was at the
door when she did a double-take. She wheeled back and frowned at Dan.

“Watch out, that expression might freeze on your face,” she said.

Then Miss Bradley's lips slowly parted. Her mouth made itself into a hole and remained so.

Dan Adams neither moved, spoke, breathed. His complete suspense was impressive. He was—Miss
Bradley thought of this now, and remembered it later—like a man who had found a poisonous snake in
his hands, six inches from his eyes. In the radar scope, for example. The scope screen was about six