DOC SAVAGE: THE INFERNAL BUDDHA (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage) by Kenneth Robeson, Lester Dent, Will Murray Page A
Tags: action and adventure
Ads: Link
there will be no stopping it!”
If this rather fantastic warning made any impression on the hulking engineer, it did not show in his manner.
Renny was soon lost in the undergrowth. The lapping of waves resumed and the jungle seemed to slumber uneasily.
The Chans waited in the darkness, eyes wide, ears alert. They wore the expressions of persons suffering under a death sentence.
Chapter 6
The Miracle Man
NEW YORK IS a metropolis mixing affluence and poverty. Great apartment houses exist shoulder-to-shoulder with the seediest slums. Common citizens take the subway, while others are chauffeured around in the swankiest of limousines.
One such machine hurtled through the canyons of Manhattan as the day was drawing to a close. Its size and appointments indicated that it belonged to a person of means. In the driver’s compartment, the chauffeur wore the crisp gray of his rank. A voice in his ear bellowed out:
“Faster, Maitland! Time is of the essence.”
“Yes, sir.”
The chauffeur poured on speed and took corners with utter unconcern for pedestrians. He ran lights, horn blaring. Taxi cabs darted out his way. Trolley cars braked to a halt to avoid him.
Bowling through a busy intersection, he blew past the traffic cop with such haste that the officer’s cap was knocked off. By the time the officer had recovered his headgear, the limousine was out of sight.
The officer thought better of calling headquarters. No telling how high up the occupant of the limousine rated. Returning his whistle to his mouth, he resumed directing traffic.
“Some of these swells think they own the town,” he grumbled.
The limousine lurched onto Fifth Avenue, and began barreling toward a skyscraper that among those crowding mid-town, towered over all others. Over a hundred stories high it reared, its spire catching the fading afternoon light.
“There!” cried the limousine owner. “That is the building. Snappy!”
The chauffeur bore down on the gas pedal. An intersection lay ahead. This time the traffic cop stationed there was not looking the other way. He saw the big black car exceeding the speed limit and blew a blast on his whistle. He stepped into the path of the limousine and lifted a white-gloved hand.
“Go around him, Maitland.”
But it was too late for that. Traffic was closely packed. There was no turning.
The chauffeur depressed the brake. In the rear compartment, the owner was thrown forward in the seat cushions. This did not improve his temper.
The cop approached the driver, saw that he was only a uniformed flunky and held his tongue. With his nightstick, he tapped on the back window until it rolled down.
“We got a speed limit in this town,” he announced to the occupant within.
“I am in a great hurry, my man.”
“I could see that. Give me your name.”
“I am on a life or death mission.”
“So they all say,” growled the unimpressed officer. “Now what was that name?”
“I have urgent business with Doc Savage.”
The cop looked up from his notepad.
“Doc Savage, you say?”
“Yes, he is expecting me. And if he learns that you are interfering with our business, there is no telling what he will do!”
The cop was a savvy specimen. He knew the reputation of Doc Savage, knew also that he did not throw his weight around.
“Tell you what. I’ll write up your ticket, and if Doc Savage says it’s O.K., the commissioner will tear it up. They’re good pals, from what I hear.”
From the rear compartment, the limousine owner gave vent to a string of inarticulate noises. It was evident that this was a man who did not like to be kept waiting.
Patiently, the cop wrote the ticket, tore it off his pad and presented it to the fuming occupant.
“Any kick, take it up with the police commissioner. He’s a good egg.”
The limousine got under way once more. This time it proceeded at a more decorous pace.
From the rear, the owner voiced his opinion of the minions of the law in general and one
If this rather fantastic warning made any impression on the hulking engineer, it did not show in his manner.
Renny was soon lost in the undergrowth. The lapping of waves resumed and the jungle seemed to slumber uneasily.
The Chans waited in the darkness, eyes wide, ears alert. They wore the expressions of persons suffering under a death sentence.
Chapter 6
The Miracle Man
NEW YORK IS a metropolis mixing affluence and poverty. Great apartment houses exist shoulder-to-shoulder with the seediest slums. Common citizens take the subway, while others are chauffeured around in the swankiest of limousines.
One such machine hurtled through the canyons of Manhattan as the day was drawing to a close. Its size and appointments indicated that it belonged to a person of means. In the driver’s compartment, the chauffeur wore the crisp gray of his rank. A voice in his ear bellowed out:
“Faster, Maitland! Time is of the essence.”
“Yes, sir.”
The chauffeur poured on speed and took corners with utter unconcern for pedestrians. He ran lights, horn blaring. Taxi cabs darted out his way. Trolley cars braked to a halt to avoid him.
Bowling through a busy intersection, he blew past the traffic cop with such haste that the officer’s cap was knocked off. By the time the officer had recovered his headgear, the limousine was out of sight.
The officer thought better of calling headquarters. No telling how high up the occupant of the limousine rated. Returning his whistle to his mouth, he resumed directing traffic.
“Some of these swells think they own the town,” he grumbled.
The limousine lurched onto Fifth Avenue, and began barreling toward a skyscraper that among those crowding mid-town, towered over all others. Over a hundred stories high it reared, its spire catching the fading afternoon light.
“There!” cried the limousine owner. “That is the building. Snappy!”
The chauffeur bore down on the gas pedal. An intersection lay ahead. This time the traffic cop stationed there was not looking the other way. He saw the big black car exceeding the speed limit and blew a blast on his whistle. He stepped into the path of the limousine and lifted a white-gloved hand.
“Go around him, Maitland.”
But it was too late for that. Traffic was closely packed. There was no turning.
The chauffeur depressed the brake. In the rear compartment, the owner was thrown forward in the seat cushions. This did not improve his temper.
The cop approached the driver, saw that he was only a uniformed flunky and held his tongue. With his nightstick, he tapped on the back window until it rolled down.
“We got a speed limit in this town,” he announced to the occupant within.
“I am in a great hurry, my man.”
“I could see that. Give me your name.”
“I am on a life or death mission.”
“So they all say,” growled the unimpressed officer. “Now what was that name?”
“I have urgent business with Doc Savage.”
The cop looked up from his notepad.
“Doc Savage, you say?”
“Yes, he is expecting me. And if he learns that you are interfering with our business, there is no telling what he will do!”
The cop was a savvy specimen. He knew the reputation of Doc Savage, knew also that he did not throw his weight around.
“Tell you what. I’ll write up your ticket, and if Doc Savage says it’s O.K., the commissioner will tear it up. They’re good pals, from what I hear.”
From the rear compartment, the limousine owner gave vent to a string of inarticulate noises. It was evident that this was a man who did not like to be kept waiting.
Patiently, the cop wrote the ticket, tore it off his pad and presented it to the fuming occupant.
“Any kick, take it up with the police commissioner. He’s a good egg.”
The limousine got under way once more. This time it proceeded at a more decorous pace.
From the rear, the owner voiced his opinion of the minions of the law in general and one
Similar Books
