"Robeson, Kenneth - Doc Savage 1937 12 - The Golden Peril" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

"We are convinced that the headquarters of this mysterious Leader is somewhere
in Switzerland. As a League of Nations representative, I am empowered to ask you
to go to Europe, find that man and block his plans."
"Seems like quite an undertaking to me," a third voice put in unexpectedly.
The speaker was sitting far back in one corner. A thin, not very tall man, he
was pulling absently at an ear that was much too big. His complexion was sallow
and unhealthy-looking. He appeared a physical weakling.
Only those who had tangled with Major Thomas J. Roberts, better known as "Long
Tom," knew what an error that was. Nor did his appearance indicate that he
really was one of the world’s most famous electrical engineers.
Doc’s fingers played a rapid tattoo on the top of the desk. His flake gold eyes
surveyed Baron Vardon.
"A coup of such magnitude as you suggest would be difficult," the bronze man
said.
"Practically impossible, I’d say," drawled Long Tom. Still tugging at his ear,
he came to his feet slowly and sauntered from the room.
"I assure you this is not only possible, but so," Baron Vardon said earnestly.
"And whoever The Leader is, he rules by fear. We have had reports he kills by a
hand of death. Men who have seen victims of the hand of death say bloody fingers
and palm appear on the neck. The features contort, horribly—"
Doc lifted one hand suddenly. A faint red light had appeared on a big panel at
one side of the room.
"Anyone know you came to New York, Baron Vardon?" the bronze man asked quietly.
His black-clad visitor started, his eyes receded in his thin face. "N-no. But
why?"
"Several men are trying to break into this office," Doc responded softly.
"But they can’t get in, can they? I’m safe, am I not?" Baron Vardon’s voice was
hoarse, his features twisted with quick fear.
"No, they cannot get in unless I wish them to," said Doc. "But I believe we
should see whom we are opposing. Just sit quietly. I am going to release the
doors." The bronze man moved a foot on one spot on the floor.
Five men were in the hallway. One was working on the lock of a door which bore
the sign: "Clark Savage, Jr." The others carried businesslike automatics. Their
faces were hard and weather-beaten.
"Speed it up! Get that door open!" one of them barked. The lock-picker snarled
in reply.
Then an amazing thing happened!
The door opened of its own accord. On either side of it panels also slid open. A
gap fully twenty feet wide was created in the office wall.
And inside, apparently rushing forward, appeared an entire company of armed men.
They carried submachine guns. Their faces were horrible grimaces. They seemed to
be leaping from behind shell-torn trees and out of huge shell-holes.
A yell of terror and horror came from the five attackers in the hall. One threw
up his gun, fired, then turned to run. Three of his companions also started to
take to their heels.
"Halt!" The leader roared the order. His own eyes were gazing wildly. He was
making an apparent effort to keep his courage. Then his eyes became normal.
"Stop, you fools!" he bellowed. "It’s a trick! There are no men there! See,
they’re not moving forward at all!"
The running gunmen stopped and looked back. Even as they looked, the scene