Read Online Doc Savage: Death's Dark Domain by Will Murray Lester Dent Kenneth Robeson - Free Book Online Page B

forth apologies and offers of assistance.
    By then, Emile Zirn—if that was the man’s true name—had been bustled into a waiting
     sedan by two men who were there to meet him. One accepted the typewriter case and
     there was a great deal of congratulatory handshaking. The sedan whined away, its tail
     pipe expelling cold fumes.
    Long Tom hailed a taxi and said, “Follow that sedan!”
    The taxi man understood English. Some, at any rate.
    “Which sedan?” he asked politely.
    “Never mind,” said Long Tom, exiting the hack. “Shove over.”
    The driver resisted Long Tom’s attempt to take the wheel from him, so the puny electrical
     wizard gave him a quieting sock on the jaw, which had the added benefit of throwing
     the hackie into the seat opposite.
    Long Tom shut the driver’s door behind him, took the wheel. The cab surged out of
     the waiting area, and away into busy traffic.
    Long Tom had managed to keep the other sedan in sight and fell in behind it.
    Traffic was a confused clot of machines. Many were older models. Most drove decorously,
     owing to a recent dusting of snow which, under the steady pressure of tires, was turning
     to a slippery brown slop.
    Long Tom kept the sedan in sight as it wended its way through the picturesque city.
     He passed three statues of the late king. All were draped in black crepe.
    The sedan’s destination was not long in coming.
    It was the Naxa—a new luxury hotel situated near the government zone.
    “Luck for a change,” Long Tom muttered.
    He didn’t think so when he barged into the modernistic reception area and confronted
     the startled clerk.
    “Three men just checked in, one named Emile Zirn. What room did they take?”
    The clerk said stiffly, “No one by that name is registered in this hotel. And who
     are you?”
    Long Tom hesitated. He did not want the local press to know that he was in Tazan;
     hotel staff are notorious tipsters.
    “Walter Brunk,” he clipped out, producing his card. “Investigating an international
     jewelry-smuggling ring. Now about the three men who just checked in—”
    “Room 44. I can provide you with a spare key…?”
    The man took the key off a brass hook and dangled it out of reach. Obviously, he was
     angling for a tip.
    Long Tom produced a five-dollar bill from his billfold and the frown that descended
     upon the clerk’s long face exceeded his own. Long Tom switched to a ten, but this
     produced no facial alterations.
    Reluctantly, the electrical wizard parted with a twenty-dollar bill and the key found
     its way into his outstretched palm.
    After Long Tom disappeared from the lobby, the clerk picked up a telephone and asked
     the switchboard to connect him with a certain room. When he had his connection, an
     excited exchange commenced. Had Long Tom Roberts overheard it, and understood the
     language being spoken, he might have reversed his course and hastily exited the Naxa.
    For the conversation was couched, not in the language of Tazan, but rather in the
     tongue of Tazan’s Balkan rival, Egallah!
    Unsuspecting, Long Tom took the stairs to the fourth floor and crept along a well-carpeted
     corridor redolent of some floral scent. He turned toward the battery of elevator shafts,
     and halted sharply after a single step.
    The stretch of corridor was dark. Illumination was furnished by indirect wall lights.
     These were dark.
    Reaching into a pocket, the slender electrical wizard produced a small flashlight.
     This operated by a spring-generator, which required winding at intervals. Long Tom
     had given the device a brisk wind before entering the hotel. He thumbed it on, raced
     it around.
    The carpet underfoot was a rich, expensive purple, with a nap that felt inches deep.
    Long Tom stopped quickly, picked up the glittering object which had caught his eye.
     He turned it curiously in his hand, tingling with sudden interest.
    It was a penknife, the uselessly small gold-handled variety that snaps on the end
     of a watch