"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 176 - Terror Wears No Shoes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

Monk moved around the room, lifting a few pictures and looking behind them. He unscrewed a couple of
light bulbs and inspected them closely to see whether they were microphones in disguise—he knew that
trick could be done, and the light bulbs would still give the proper amount of light and everything. He
looked at Doc, and Doc shook his head warningly, so Monk spoke in Mayan, the ancient dialect of
Mayan which they had learned long ago at considerable pains, and which as far as they knew no one but
themselves in so-called civilization was likely to be able to speak.

Monk said, in Mayan, “We exhausted the last possible clue as to the identity of Washington Smith
today.”

Doc frowned. “No results?” He spoke Mayan also.

“Absolutely none. Whoever Washington Smith is, was, or where, is a complete blank mystery. And
believe me, we've done some pretty subtle combing on the matter.”

“The name's pretty obviously a pseudonym.”

“Just a name somebody used for that one act of tipping you off to this business, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“That doesn't help much.”

“No, it doesn't. But I can understand the use of an assumed name, and the extreme care to conceal
identity.”

“Sure, Washington Smith's life wouldn't be worth two bits,” Monk agreed, still in Mayan. “But I'll lay you
a little bet that when we find Washington Smith, if we do, the party turns out to be somebody with a
knowing way in dark places. No amateur could cut off a trail so completely.”

Doc Savage dropped the Mayan and said in English, “Well, we've got to find some trace of Long Tom
Roberts somehow.” He said this as if it was the matter they had been discussing.

Monk had sprawled in a chair. He got up. “I think we've about got that one drilled out,” he said.

Doc Savage looked at Monk sharply, and made a soft sound that meant considerable excitement. “You
don't mean Makaroff?”

“That's right.”
“What about him?”

“He got in from the north,” Monk said. “He's at her hotel. Suite seven-zero-nine.”

“Alone?”

Monk snorted. “Practically—for him. Three bodyguards who never seem to sleep. Maybe their
non-slumber ability is why he felt able to cut it down to three.”

Doc Savage said with a kind of violent pleasure, “This is a break!”