Doc Savage: Glare of the Gorgon (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 19) by Kenneth Robeson, Lester Dent, Will Murray
Tags: action and adventure
Ads: Link
fingerprints thus collected.
“Duke Grogan has been here,” he said firmly.
“Peculiar,” commented Ham. “A thug like Grogan would normally send hirelings to do his dirty work. Why would Duke take the risk himself?”
“When we catch up to him,” Doc said firmly, “we will ask Grogan.”
The bronze man’s grim tone left no doubt in the minds of his two aides that that hour was shortly at hand.
Chapter IX
THE PHONIES
LONG TOM ROBERTS returned to conscious awakening with difficulty.
His first reaction was to let out a moan of pain. His skull throbbed. It felt as if every blood vessel winding through his brain was on fire.
Long Tom had walked the trails of danger for a long time. He knew how incapacitating a skull concussion could be, so he took pains not to move until he could ascertain how seriously he was injured.
His low moaning caused a woman’s voice to say thinly, “He’s coming to.”
“That ruffian!” complained a thin, male voice. “What is to be done with him?”
“I have no wish to speak with Doc Savage, or anyone associated with him, until I know more of what happened to poor Ned,” replied the woman.
Long Tom recognized the female voice. It was Janet Falcon speaking. The man’s voice he could not immediately place. The blow on the head had left him groggy.
“Perhaps it would be best if you went into hiding,” suggested the man.
Long Tom’s memory was slowly returning. The image of a face like a gray corpse came back to him. Malcolm McLean.
Janet Falcon was saying, “I think you are right, Mr. McLean. I do not wish to involve the police. Not until I think things through.”
“I know a place where you will not be found,” said McLean. “Get your things, and come with me. You will be perfectly safe. Doc Savage and his associates will not bother you until you’re ready to speak of this tragedy.”
There followed a bustle of activity. Long Tom took stock of his surroundings. He did not open his eyes. But he could tell from the rough textures pressing on his face and hands that he was lying on the carpet.
When he opened one pale eye a crack, the light was almost blinding. He sealed it.
Deep within him, the electrical genius felt a strong urge to jump to his feet and take control of the situation. But every limb felt hollow, like empty milk bottles. His wiry strength was absent. That told Long Tom that if he sprang into action, he would be swiftly overcome. It was aggravating. He wanted to use his fists on someone.
He remembered that corpse-faced Malcolm McLean had brained him with the brass lamp. Long Tom was inclined to return the favor.
As the prone electrical wizard tested his fingers to see if they would respond to his aching brain, Malcolm McLean and Janet Falcon stepped briskly around him and exited the apartment, drawing the door shut with a click.
After that, there was an interval of silence in which Long Tom endeavored to pull himself together.
It was a slow and painful process, but before long his arms and legs were obeying his mental commands. First, the fragile-appearing electrical wizard sat up on the rug. Then he crawled over to the overstuffed horsehair chair and, with agony warping his pallid features, pulled himself up into a seated position.
The perforated cushion was anything but comfortable. That was when Long Tom remembered the peculiar gun he had stashed there. He did not feel up to excavating it now. He merely settled into the cushion, and tested his eyes against the lights.
When at last he opened them, the electrical expert saw only blackness. For a terrible moment, he thought he had lost his eyesight. Concussions can do strange things to a man.
“This is bad,” he muttered to himself. With relief, it dawned on him that the duo had switched off the lights when they left the apartment. That was all.
Long Tom felt around his person, and discovered his compact superfiring machine pistol still snug in its underarm holster.
“Be thankful for
“Duke Grogan has been here,” he said firmly.
“Peculiar,” commented Ham. “A thug like Grogan would normally send hirelings to do his dirty work. Why would Duke take the risk himself?”
“When we catch up to him,” Doc said firmly, “we will ask Grogan.”
The bronze man’s grim tone left no doubt in the minds of his two aides that that hour was shortly at hand.
Chapter IX
THE PHONIES
LONG TOM ROBERTS returned to conscious awakening with difficulty.
His first reaction was to let out a moan of pain. His skull throbbed. It felt as if every blood vessel winding through his brain was on fire.
Long Tom had walked the trails of danger for a long time. He knew how incapacitating a skull concussion could be, so he took pains not to move until he could ascertain how seriously he was injured.
His low moaning caused a woman’s voice to say thinly, “He’s coming to.”
“That ruffian!” complained a thin, male voice. “What is to be done with him?”
“I have no wish to speak with Doc Savage, or anyone associated with him, until I know more of what happened to poor Ned,” replied the woman.
Long Tom recognized the female voice. It was Janet Falcon speaking. The man’s voice he could not immediately place. The blow on the head had left him groggy.
“Perhaps it would be best if you went into hiding,” suggested the man.
Long Tom’s memory was slowly returning. The image of a face like a gray corpse came back to him. Malcolm McLean.
Janet Falcon was saying, “I think you are right, Mr. McLean. I do not wish to involve the police. Not until I think things through.”
“I know a place where you will not be found,” said McLean. “Get your things, and come with me. You will be perfectly safe. Doc Savage and his associates will not bother you until you’re ready to speak of this tragedy.”
There followed a bustle of activity. Long Tom took stock of his surroundings. He did not open his eyes. But he could tell from the rough textures pressing on his face and hands that he was lying on the carpet.
When he opened one pale eye a crack, the light was almost blinding. He sealed it.
Deep within him, the electrical genius felt a strong urge to jump to his feet and take control of the situation. But every limb felt hollow, like empty milk bottles. His wiry strength was absent. That told Long Tom that if he sprang into action, he would be swiftly overcome. It was aggravating. He wanted to use his fists on someone.
He remembered that corpse-faced Malcolm McLean had brained him with the brass lamp. Long Tom was inclined to return the favor.
As the prone electrical wizard tested his fingers to see if they would respond to his aching brain, Malcolm McLean and Janet Falcon stepped briskly around him and exited the apartment, drawing the door shut with a click.
After that, there was an interval of silence in which Long Tom endeavored to pull himself together.
It was a slow and painful process, but before long his arms and legs were obeying his mental commands. First, the fragile-appearing electrical wizard sat up on the rug. Then he crawled over to the overstuffed horsehair chair and, with agony warping his pallid features, pulled himself up into a seated position.
The perforated cushion was anything but comfortable. That was when Long Tom remembered the peculiar gun he had stashed there. He did not feel up to excavating it now. He merely settled into the cushion, and tested his eyes against the lights.
When at last he opened them, the electrical expert saw only blackness. For a terrible moment, he thought he had lost his eyesight. Concussions can do strange things to a man.
“This is bad,” he muttered to himself. With relief, it dawned on him that the duo had switched off the lights when they left the apartment. That was all.
Long Tom felt around his person, and discovered his compact superfiring machine pistol still snug in its underarm holster.
“Be thankful for
Similar Books
