Read Online DOC SAVAGE: THE INFERNAL BUDDHA (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage) by Kenneth Robeson, Lester Dent, Will Murray - Free Book Online
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sir.”
“Any friend of Doc Savage is a friend of the law’s,” called the cop as, with a clanging, the trolley resumed its route.
The conductor was also very helpful. He stopped the trolley, not at a posted stop, but at the corner nearest to the spire in which Doc Savage, whom everyone seemed to know, held forth.
From there it was a short walk.
THERE was a doorman, who very courteously held a door open for the elderly woman, and a cigar stand clerk who pointed to an elevator that was off in a corner, away from the banks of lifts that seemed to fill the modernistic marble-and-brass lobby. The elevator whisked the old woman upward with such speed she all but lost her breath. It deposited her on a lower floor.
There was a door from which bright light seeped through a pane of ground glass. There was no name on the glass, only a number.
The old woman approached, her chin trembling with anticipation. There was a bell-push and she pressed it. The buzzer was not loud, but the door instantly opened.
A wasp-waisted man with the handsome chiseled features of a stage actor and dark, penetrating eyes greeted her.
“Are—are you Doc Savage?” the old woman asked.
“My good woman, I am merely one of his associates, Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks.”
The old woman blinked, impressed. Doc Savage must be an important personage indeed if a brigadier general considered himself merely a subordinate.
“Take a seat, if you please,” invited Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks.
The old woman entered. There was an anteroom, of good size, and beyond it, visible through an open door, a man sat at a desk. He resembled, to the crone’s age-weakened eyes, a bull gorilla in a very disreputable suit.
She took the nearest seat. It was one of the few vacant chairs in the anteroom. The others were occupied.
The man who had greeted her conducted each person in his or her turn to the adjoining room where the homely gorilla dealt with them. Most persons were disposed of with alacrity. Others remained with him behind the closed door for long minutes.
No one, so far as the old woman could determine, were granted an audience with Doc Savage.
It soon came to her ears that the handsome man was known familiarly as “Ham.” When he was called Ham, the handsome one frowned severely, as though that was something he would permit only with intimate friends. This waspish man, touchy about his name, was especially notable because of his attire. He was dressed in the absolute height of fashion, complete with morning coat, striped trousers, spats and a neat dark cane, which he kept tucked under his arm.
He looked very injured of dignity when the homely fellow at the desk hailed him as “Hey, you overdressed shyster lawyer!” He favored the homely individual with a dark frown.
And a bit later, when the homely man at the desk, in a moment of relaxation between interviews, picked up a shiny nickel and turned it in his fingers and chanced to remark that the five cent piece was bright enough to see his own reflection in, the dapper one advised unkindly, “That’s not your reflection. That’s the buffalo.”
The pair evidently did not get along sociably, and the homely fellow was either called Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Blodgett Mayfair, or “Monk,” a nickname which certainly fitted him. He was an industrial chemist of note—one of the best, despite his unlovely looks. Ham—otherwise Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks—probably had the most astute legal mind ever produced by Harvard Law School.
The old woman, to bide the time while she waited, took stock of those who had arrived before her.
Many seemed to be cut from the same worried cloth as herself. They looked ordinary in their manner, dress and appearance—except each carried with them some burden of the soul. They waited with studied patience.
Some of the visitors were of a different class. One of these made a particularly overbearing display.
The gentleman
“Any friend of Doc Savage is a friend of the law’s,” called the cop as, with a clanging, the trolley resumed its route.
The conductor was also very helpful. He stopped the trolley, not at a posted stop, but at the corner nearest to the spire in which Doc Savage, whom everyone seemed to know, held forth.
From there it was a short walk.
THERE was a doorman, who very courteously held a door open for the elderly woman, and a cigar stand clerk who pointed to an elevator that was off in a corner, away from the banks of lifts that seemed to fill the modernistic marble-and-brass lobby. The elevator whisked the old woman upward with such speed she all but lost her breath. It deposited her on a lower floor.
There was a door from which bright light seeped through a pane of ground glass. There was no name on the glass, only a number.
The old woman approached, her chin trembling with anticipation. There was a bell-push and she pressed it. The buzzer was not loud, but the door instantly opened.
A wasp-waisted man with the handsome chiseled features of a stage actor and dark, penetrating eyes greeted her.
“Are—are you Doc Savage?” the old woman asked.
“My good woman, I am merely one of his associates, Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks.”
The old woman blinked, impressed. Doc Savage must be an important personage indeed if a brigadier general considered himself merely a subordinate.
“Take a seat, if you please,” invited Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks.
The old woman entered. There was an anteroom, of good size, and beyond it, visible through an open door, a man sat at a desk. He resembled, to the crone’s age-weakened eyes, a bull gorilla in a very disreputable suit.
She took the nearest seat. It was one of the few vacant chairs in the anteroom. The others were occupied.
The man who had greeted her conducted each person in his or her turn to the adjoining room where the homely gorilla dealt with them. Most persons were disposed of with alacrity. Others remained with him behind the closed door for long minutes.
No one, so far as the old woman could determine, were granted an audience with Doc Savage.
It soon came to her ears that the handsome man was known familiarly as “Ham.” When he was called Ham, the handsome one frowned severely, as though that was something he would permit only with intimate friends. This waspish man, touchy about his name, was especially notable because of his attire. He was dressed in the absolute height of fashion, complete with morning coat, striped trousers, spats and a neat dark cane, which he kept tucked under his arm.
He looked very injured of dignity when the homely fellow at the desk hailed him as “Hey, you overdressed shyster lawyer!” He favored the homely individual with a dark frown.
And a bit later, when the homely man at the desk, in a moment of relaxation between interviews, picked up a shiny nickel and turned it in his fingers and chanced to remark that the five cent piece was bright enough to see his own reflection in, the dapper one advised unkindly, “That’s not your reflection. That’s the buffalo.”
The pair evidently did not get along sociably, and the homely fellow was either called Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Blodgett Mayfair, or “Monk,” a nickname which certainly fitted him. He was an industrial chemist of note—one of the best, despite his unlovely looks. Ham—otherwise Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks—probably had the most astute legal mind ever produced by Harvard Law School.
The old woman, to bide the time while she waited, took stock of those who had arrived before her.
Many seemed to be cut from the same worried cloth as herself. They looked ordinary in their manner, dress and appearance—except each carried with them some burden of the soul. They waited with studied patience.
Some of the visitors were of a different class. One of these made a particularly overbearing display.
The gentleman
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