Read Online Doc Savage: Glare of the Gorgon (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 19) by Kenneth Robeson, Lester Dent, Will Murray - Free Book Online Page A
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whirling depths.
There had been persons passing by just moments before. Even through the bulletproof glass, the bronze man could hear curses and cries of complaint.
Eventually, the smoke cleared and Doc popped open the door, stepping out.
Despite all the smoke, the explosion had not been as violent as it first seemed. The bronze giant accosted several passersby, determined that they had not been injured, merely shaken up, and waited to see if they developed any symptoms in the aftermath.
Meanwhile, having regained their sight, Monk and Ham emerged from the vehicle. Out of padded armpit holsters, the pair yanked compact machine pistols, which they waved about as if eager to unleash hot lead on the perpetrator.
But there was no perpetrator in sight. Merely thinning gray smoke, and a bitter charcoal odor. Doc Savage was quietly questioning the people who had been caught up in it.
Ten minutes passed before the bronze man felt confident enough to permit them to move on.
That was when they noticed the gruesome greenish-yellow splotch on the garage door. It was gigantic, fearsome, terrifying. Fully twelve feet tall, it loomed over them, its great snaky skull seeming alive with viper-headed tentacles.
“Jove!” exploded Ham.
Monk stared, slack-jawed, grunting, “I half expect them heads to hiss at me.”
Going to the barrel, Monk discovered it was open at the top, the insides scorched black from fire and smoke.
Monk bent down as if to take a deep whiff of residue, but Doc stayed him with a quiet admonition.
“Too dangerous. I will open the garage door. Give the barrel a kick to roll it inside.”
Monk pulled back with alacrity, saying, “Gotcha.”
Ham went to the sedan dashboard, pressed a button. A radio signal caused the great door to roll ponderously upward.
Thereupon, Monk gave the barrel a lusty boot, and it went crashing down the ramp, finally rolling to a dead stop against a support pillar.
When Doc drove past, Monk hopped onto the running board and rode along with them to a parking area jammed with other vehicles.
Exiting the sedan, Doc Savage said, “We will examine the barrel later. Right now I wish to pursue our investigation as rapidly as possible.”
As they rode the super-speed elevator up to the eighty-sixth floor, Ham gripped his sword cane until his knuckles grew white while Monk made fierce faces.
“We are bein’ followed around town, ain’t we?” Monk said to no one in particular.
“We are,” confirmed Doc.
“And that drum down there was meant to scare us off, right?”
“Obviously,” inserted Ham tightly.
Stepping off into the corridor, Monk took in the bile-colored blotch on the corridor wall and growled, “I’m gonna study this real close.”
“First, let us put the residue from the hotel under the spectrometer.”
“Good idea,” said Monk. “That hag shadow ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
They repaired to the great laboratory while Ham Brooks remained in the reception room, making rapid telephone calls, endeavoring to look into other angles of the growing mystery.
Doc and Monk set up the spectrometer, which burned unidentified matter, releasing their constitute spectra. This was a fancy way of saying that the colors produced by this process revealed the chemical composition of any substance being tested.
Doc and Monk took some of the residue from the hotel-room hatch and subjected it to the process.
They did not have to wait long, but when they beheld the spectrum results, Monk’s eyes went wide and he gave out an inarticulate grunt.
Doc’s unique trilling drifted out briefly; it had a wondering quality.
“This is new in my experience,” he admitted.
“Whatever this junk is,” Monk muttered, “I don’t recognize it, either.”
Not satisfied, Doc took another sample, and repeated the process. The results were the same. The color line produced did not match anything he knew.
To an ordinary scientist, this would not have been very significant. The world
There had been persons passing by just moments before. Even through the bulletproof glass, the bronze man could hear curses and cries of complaint.
Eventually, the smoke cleared and Doc popped open the door, stepping out.
Despite all the smoke, the explosion had not been as violent as it first seemed. The bronze giant accosted several passersby, determined that they had not been injured, merely shaken up, and waited to see if they developed any symptoms in the aftermath.
Meanwhile, having regained their sight, Monk and Ham emerged from the vehicle. Out of padded armpit holsters, the pair yanked compact machine pistols, which they waved about as if eager to unleash hot lead on the perpetrator.
But there was no perpetrator in sight. Merely thinning gray smoke, and a bitter charcoal odor. Doc Savage was quietly questioning the people who had been caught up in it.
Ten minutes passed before the bronze man felt confident enough to permit them to move on.
That was when they noticed the gruesome greenish-yellow splotch on the garage door. It was gigantic, fearsome, terrifying. Fully twelve feet tall, it loomed over them, its great snaky skull seeming alive with viper-headed tentacles.
“Jove!” exploded Ham.
Monk stared, slack-jawed, grunting, “I half expect them heads to hiss at me.”
Going to the barrel, Monk discovered it was open at the top, the insides scorched black from fire and smoke.
Monk bent down as if to take a deep whiff of residue, but Doc stayed him with a quiet admonition.
“Too dangerous. I will open the garage door. Give the barrel a kick to roll it inside.”
Monk pulled back with alacrity, saying, “Gotcha.”
Ham went to the sedan dashboard, pressed a button. A radio signal caused the great door to roll ponderously upward.
Thereupon, Monk gave the barrel a lusty boot, and it went crashing down the ramp, finally rolling to a dead stop against a support pillar.
When Doc drove past, Monk hopped onto the running board and rode along with them to a parking area jammed with other vehicles.
Exiting the sedan, Doc Savage said, “We will examine the barrel later. Right now I wish to pursue our investigation as rapidly as possible.”
As they rode the super-speed elevator up to the eighty-sixth floor, Ham gripped his sword cane until his knuckles grew white while Monk made fierce faces.
“We are bein’ followed around town, ain’t we?” Monk said to no one in particular.
“We are,” confirmed Doc.
“And that drum down there was meant to scare us off, right?”
“Obviously,” inserted Ham tightly.
Stepping off into the corridor, Monk took in the bile-colored blotch on the corridor wall and growled, “I’m gonna study this real close.”
“First, let us put the residue from the hotel under the spectrometer.”
“Good idea,” said Monk. “That hag shadow ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
They repaired to the great laboratory while Ham Brooks remained in the reception room, making rapid telephone calls, endeavoring to look into other angles of the growing mystery.
Doc and Monk set up the spectrometer, which burned unidentified matter, releasing their constitute spectra. This was a fancy way of saying that the colors produced by this process revealed the chemical composition of any substance being tested.
Doc and Monk took some of the residue from the hotel-room hatch and subjected it to the process.
They did not have to wait long, but when they beheld the spectrum results, Monk’s eyes went wide and he gave out an inarticulate grunt.
Doc’s unique trilling drifted out briefly; it had a wondering quality.
“This is new in my experience,” he admitted.
“Whatever this junk is,” Monk muttered, “I don’t recognize it, either.”
Not satisfied, Doc took another sample, and repeated the process. The results were the same. The color line produced did not match anything he knew.
To an ordinary scientist, this would not have been very significant. The world
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