"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 179 - The Green Master" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

Chapter II
IN Doc Savage's laboratory, one light in a bank of many lights flashed, and Ham Brooks, attorney and
associate of Doc Savage, came over and plugged the scanning screen into that socket. This gave him a
view of the interior of their special elevator, which was somewhere near the twentieth floor and rising.
“Just the missing link,” Ham said, and started to shut off the scanner. He took a second look. “Hey! Old
Monk looks as if he had been dog-bitten.”

Doc Savage, making adjustments on a fluoroscopic analyzer, asked, “Something wrong?”

“With Monk?” Ham shrugged. “Who can tell with a guy like that. He was made wrong in the first place.”

Doc Savage made no comment. As far as he could recall, neither Monk nor Ham had spoken a pleasant
word to or about each other for years, and it could get a little tiresome. Actually, they were very close
friends.

Doc was one of those men who—he considered it a great handicap—looked fully as unusual as his
reputation. He was a physical giant with a startlingly bronzed skin, hair a little darker bronze, and eyes
that were like pools of flake gold always in motion, a rather unnerving effect. He had a handsome face,
but its handsomeness was a matter of angles and strong lines, which he felt redeemed it somewhat.

Monk came in presently. Undoubtedly, there was something amiss. He sauntered past them, rather too
elaborately, and disappeared back of a chemical processing rack, after answering Ham's “Hello,” with a
polite “Hello,” of his own.

“He didn't have some nasty remark,” Ham said in alarm. “Something's wrong with the guy. Do you
suppose he's sick?”

“Better find out,” Doc suggested.

Ham Brooks, a dapper, thin-waisted man who overdressed for all occasions and carried a thin black
sword cane in the most romantic manner, sauntered back and exchanged a few words with Monk.
Monk's answers were exceptionally polite. Ham became convinced Monk was in trouble, and he
demanded, “What's wrong with you, stupid?”

“Nothing,” Monk answered nervously. “Nothing at all.”

Ham came back to Doc. “Monk must be dying,” he reported. “He was polite to me.”

Doc Savage approached Monk casually and asked, “Feeling O.K. this afternoon?”

“So-so,” Monk said, and didn't meet Doc's eye.

“So low down, you mean?” Doc suggested.

Monk clenched both hands. He said, “Damn!” in a strained voice. Then he turned to Ham Brooks and
said, “Get out of here, Ham. Beat it!”