Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 012 - The Man Who Shook the Earth

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THE MAN WHO SHOOK THE EARTH
A Doc Savage Adventure by Kenneth Robeson
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? Chapter I. THE FAKE NEWSPAPERMAN
? Chapter II. THE MYSTERIOUS JOHN ACRE
? Chapter III. THE GIRL AFRAID OF EARTHQUAKES
? Chapter IV. MISS MAN-SNATCHER
? Chapter V. THE EARTH-SHAKER’S TRAIL
? Chapter VI. THE MAN WHO COULDN’T TALK
? Chapter VII. MURDER TRICK
? Chapter VIII. IN TERROR’S SHADOW
? Chapter IX. MOVER OF MOUNTAINS
? Chapter X. CUT WIRES CLEW
? Chapter XI. SOUTHWARD DASH
? Chapter XII. DEATH UNMIXED
? Chapter XIII. A SUSPECT KILLED
? Chapter XIV. MASKS THAT DISSOLVED
? Chapter XV. PRISONERS FOUR
? Chapter XVI. A GATHERING SINISTER
? Chapter XVII. THE DEATH SHAKE
Scanned and proofed by Tom Stephens
Chapter I. THE FAKE NEWSPAPERMAN
THE man looked as tough as sin. But he was crying. He whimpered. He bubbled at the mouth like a child half
crazed with horror and fear. He perspired, although the night was cold.
"Hear it?" he moaned.
A rumbling was coming out of the innards of the earth. The sidewalk vibrated feebly. There was steady, hollow
uproar.
"It’s comin’!" the man whined. "Listen, Velvet! It’s gettin’ closer an’ closer—"
His ears were tufts of gristle. They looked as if they had been chewed upon in the past. A groove a quarter of
an inch deep slanted across his face. It explained itself. Some one had once tried to cut his throat, but he
had ducked. The knife that had made the groove had sheared off the end of his nose. His nostrils were two
fuzz-rimmed holes opening straight out in his face.
He gibbered: "We ain’t got time to get clear before—"
Velvet hit the fellow squarely on the blubbering mouth that was bisected by the knife scar.
"Maybe you’ll pipe down!" he snarled.
Velvet was dressed in evening clothes, but he had tied a large black handkerchief around his neck, so that it
hung down and concealed his white collar and white dress-shirt front. He carried himself with the studied
squareness of a man proud of his physical strength and looks.
The big man, knocked back against the building wall by the blow, dragged finger tips over his crushed mouth.
He sobbed: "Can’t you hear the noise it’s makin’ as it comes?"
The rumble underground grew louder and louder. Metal gratings on near-by windows jingled in their sockets.
Warm, ill-smelling air gushed up through a grille in the sidewalk.
Suddenly the innards of the earth seemed to suck the uproar away. It vanished, leaving only sounds of traffic
and moan of a cold wind.
"A subway train, you dope!" sneered Velvet, and tucked the black handkerchief more securely in his collar.
It was night. Enough light reached them from the corner street lamp, however, to show the expression on the
big man’s scarred, stupid face. It was utterly blank.
He gulped: "The subway!"
Velvet laughed harshly. "Even if you ain’t been in New York before, Biff, you should have read of subways.
Oh, that’s right, too. You can’t read."
"Biff" rolled his eyes, and they grew sullen, ugly. Crouching there, he seemed to become as dangerous and
savage as a beast. He hated to be reminded that he could not read.
"Some day I’m goin’ to get fed up with you," he told Velvet fiercely.
Velvet laughed again. An animal-like ferocity had come into his tone, also. "Any time you feel lucky, cull!"
They glared at each other. It was Biff who first twitched his gaze aside.
"Never mind," he mumbled. "Let’s talk about Doc Savage."
WITH a bestial savagery, the two had snarled at each other. Now, with the swiftness characteristic of
animals, they dropped their belligerency. Shoulder to shoulder, they moved over into the gloomy lee of a
parked truck.
Biff made impatient grumbling noises.
"What are we waitin’ on?" he demanded. "It’s on the eighty-sixth floor. Ain’t that what the back-number
newspaper you was readin’ said?"
"That’s what it said." Velvet scowled in the gloom. "Say, how do you think we’re going to do this?"
"Go up and bust in and—"
"And get busted!" Velvet finished disgustedly.
Biff seemed to have recovered completely from the somewhat uncanny fear which the underground rumbling
had caused. He drew a revolver from inside his clothes. The gun was so blue as to be almost invisible in the
darkness. He spun the cylinder. It clicked like a clock being wound.
A rather gaudy bunch of handkerchief protruded from the breast pocket of Biff’s coat. He picked this out. It
proved to be tied around the hilt of a knife which had a blade more than a foot long. It was carried in a
concealed holster in his coat lining. He could get it quickly by grabbing the handkerchief.
"I won’t bust so easy," he said in a soft tone.
Velvet shook his head slowly. His voice was not ugly now. "If you could read, you might not be so sure."
Biff replaced gun and knife. "What’s readin’ got to do with it?"
"The newspapers," Velvet said, "seem to think this Doc Savage is quite a guy. And I think you can rest
assured that he is quite a guy. The boss didn’t send us no five thousand miles to watch a second-rater."
An automobile passed. Its headlights flashed briefly on Biff’s face. Shadows on the bottom of the scar across
his face gave it the aspect of a short black snake.
He growled: "I ain’t afraid of any damn man—"
"Them has been the last words of more than one cluck," Velvet assured him. "I’m running this show. You
stay here, see? Stand around and think what a tough guy you are. Do anything. Just keep away from that
skyscraper, and give a man with brains a chance to work."
Biff thought that over, then rumbled: "I don’t like your lip!"
Velvet ignored the remark and passed out a second dig. "Don’t run when you hear the next subway train."
Biff made an ugly sound deep in his chest. "You know what I thought it was! I had reason to be scared!"
Velvet reached out and gave him a not unfriendly shove.
"Sure, big boy, I know," he said. "If I hadn’t have known what it was, I’d have been more scared than you
were."
The street gloom swallowed him.
THERE are two skyscraper sections in the city of New York. One is on the lower end of Manhattan Island,
centering around Wall Street. The other is a few miles to the north, in the midtown district. In the latter area
was a structure which was probably the finest in the city.
This building was a spike of steel and brick which jutted up nearly a hundred stories. Its exterior was smooth
stone and bright metal. Its architecture was modernistic, plain, dignified. It gleamed richly in lights reflected
from the Great White Way, not very many blocks distant.
The lobby of this skyscraper was impressive. The elevators which served the upper floors numbered in the
scores. The lobby itself was remindful of the interior of a cathedral.
Velvet, walking across the gigantic vestibule, felt as insignificant as a fly on the floor of an ordinary room. He
shrugged off the sensation and threw out his chest. At this hour of the night only a few elevators were
operating. Velvet stepped into a cage as large as a living room in an ordinary home.
"Eighty-six," he said,
He had, of course, removed the black handkerchief from his collar. The somber cloth had merely been in
place to make himself less conspicuous while he conferred with Biff in the side street. It reposed in his
pocket, however, handy for possible future use.
The elevator emptied Velvet into the eighty-sixth-floor corridor. He glanced about. The builders of the
skyscraper had not scrimped on space. The corridor was high, wide; luxurious carpet covered the floor. Its
nap felt an inch deep when Velvet walked across it.
The man, appraising his surroundings, made a silent whistle of slight amazement.
"This Doc Savage seems to be a big shot," he told himself quietly. "He has to be, to afford to hang out here.
It’s a good thing I didn’t let Biff try his strong-arm stuff."
Velvet waded the carpet down the corridor. His gaze roved over door numbers. He reached the one he
desired. Somewhat blankly, he stared at the panel.
The door was very plain, and of heavy bronze. The bronze was what interested Velvet. It was the first time he
had ever seen that metal look nearly as rich as gold.
In tiny letters of a bronze color, slightly darker than that of the door, there was a name:
CLARK SAVAGE, JR
"
That’s the gentleman," said Velvet. His tone was ugly.
He looked for a bell, found none, and tried the knob. The door was locked. He made a face, then knocked.
The door promptly sprang wide open.
Velvet leaped backward as wildly as if he had been confronted by a flame-spouting dragon.
It was an astounding personage who had opened the door. He was fully a head shorter than Velvet, but would
weigh almost twice as much. His enormous, hairy hands dangled well below his knees. His eyes were tiny,
and sunk in deep pits. They resembled twinkling stars set deep in gristle. Every exposed inch of his skin was
covered with a crop of hair only slightly less coarse than barbed wire. One of his ears was punctured as if for
an earring, except that the perforation was about the size of a rifle-bullet hole.
The man would not have to be in a very dark alley for a spectator to mistake him for a gorilla.
"Something I can do for you, buddy?" he asked.
Velvet blinked. From that apish, ferocious-looking giant he had expected a voice that was a whooping roar.
But the homely fellow’s voice was tiny and mild.
"I’m looking for Doc Savage," Said Velvet.
"He ain’t here," replied the pleasantly ugly monster in the door.
VELVET considered this. He adjusted his black bow tie. "That’s tough," he said. "Maybe you can help me
out. What’s your name?"
"They generally call me Monk," said the homely fellow.
Velvet’s lip curled. "You can’t blame ‘em for that. You’re the janitor here, aren’t you, Monk?"
"Did somebody tell you?" "Monk" asked, in his small voice.
"I’m a good guesser." Velvet showed all of his white teeth in a somewhat wolfish grin. "Listen, Monk, do you
want to make two hundred dollars?"
Monk snorted. "What a question to ask!"
"O.K., then," Velvet said rapidly. "Now listen: I’m a newspaper reporter. I’ve been trying to interview this Doc
Savage, but I haven’t had any luck. I can’t even see him. I want you to let me stay here in the office after you
lock up. In that way, I can see him. I’ve got to get a story for my paper, the Times-Flash."
Monk pulled thoughtfully at the ear which had the bullet hole in it. "Well, I don’t know—"
"Two hundred dollars," Velvet reminded. "And I promise you—I won’t tell Doc Savage how I got in."
"Five hundred," Monk said.
Velvet’s face turned fierce. He gritted, "Why, you chiseler—" then thought better of it. He shrugged his neatly
tailored shoulders, spread his hands. "You win," he said.
Producing a wallet, Velvet counted out a sheaf of greenbacks. "It’s lucky the Times-Flash pays for this."
Monk smacked his lips loudly in satisfaction, took the bills, and pocketed them. "Thanks, mister," he said.
"I’ll leave you now."
"Sure," Velvet agreed. "You don’t want to be here when Doc Savage comes."
Monk squinted. His tiny eyes were almost lost in their gristle pits. "Do you know Doc Savage by sight,
Mr.—er—"
"Velvet, John Velvet," said Velvet, then grimaced. He had been caught off guard a little. He had not intended
to give his name. "Well, no, I’m not exactly sure that I can recognize Doc Savage."
"Good night!" Monk exclaimed. "You’re about the only person here in New York who wouldn’t know him by
sight!"
Velvet dropped his lids to hide the sudden, ugly hardness in his eyes. "I’m a new reporter—from the West."
"You’ll know Doc Savage easy enough when you see him," Monk said. "He’s a great bronze giant of a figure.
In appearance alone, he’s about the most remarkable man you’ve ever seen. His eyes will strike you, too.
They’re a strange color, like pools of flake gold that are being stirred around all the time. When a man looks
at ‘em, something just kind of happens to him. It’s hard to explain—"
"You’d better explain it some other time," Velvet said hastily. "Clear out, Monk. Savage might show up and
find out you had let somebody into his office."
Without a word, Monk walked into the corridor. He shut the door behind him.
Velvet made a face after the retreating gorilla of a man. He chuckled. "That guy is even dumber than Biff."
Then Velvet glanced about the office.
This was apparently the outer room of a suite. There was an expensive rug on the floor. Chairs were big, and
made for comfort. Near the two great windows stood a table, the top of which was completely inlaid and
looked costly. At one side, near a door, stood a large locker. On the other side of the room was an enormous
safe.
Velvet went to the locker and gave its handle a twist. He failed to open it. He tried the door alongside. That,
too, resisted him.
Velvet swung over to the gigantic safe, and learned it was shut securely. It would be about as easy to enter
as a bank vault. Velvet shrugged and turned away. He lit a cigarette.
"Well, what if they are locked," he grumbled. "I didn’t come up here to steal anything. My game is bigger
stuff."
He seated himself beside the telephone stand, which was near the great inlaid table, remained there,
smoking, staring steadily at the phone. He was waiting for something. The expression on his face was eager,
and utterly villainous.
MONK was grinning with all of his homely face as he left an elevator in the lobby of the skyscraper. His
expression was one of smug satisfaction, as he swaggered across the lobby, heading for the street door.
Two elevator operators, standing at attention in front of their idle cages, bowed from the waist as Monk
passed. Their manner showed respect and possibly a little awe.
Had Velvet been a witness, he would have thought it more than passing strange for a janitor to rate such
deference.
Out on the street, Monk walked rapidly. The fact that his arms were some inches longer than his legs gave
him a comical aspect. Several pedestrians turned around and stared wonderingly after him.
Monk ignored this. He kept going as if he had some place which he wished to reach in a hurry.
The night air was rather chilly. It was getting colder. Overhead, clouds were matted. Indications were that it
would be a bitter night, with a probability of snow before long.
Monk came to a park a few blocks from the skyscraper. In the chilly, windswept center of the park, a long
wooden shack had been erected. The brightly lighted interior of this gave off the aroma of coffee, doughnuts,
and sandwiches. From the shack a long line of men stretched.
Monk calculated the length of the line. There must be about four hundred men in it. There were very few of
them who were not shivering with the night’s chill.
Monk continued on past the line, to an all-night bank. When he came out of the bank, he was carrying five
hundred one-dollar bills. He had exchanged Velvet’s bribe money for them.
Monk went to the man who was ladling out food to the breadline. A few words, and the money exchanged
hands.
Five minutes later, each down-and-outer who passed in the breadline was getting a crisp dollar bill. To most
of them, a dollar was a young fortune. It meant a bed for the night, a meal or two tomorrow.
A close observer might have detected salty drops of gratitude in a number of eyes. Other skeptical souls
walked off wondering loudly, but happily, if the dollar bills were genuine.
The grin on Monk’s simian features was even wider as he went to a near-by drug store and entered a phone
booth.
Consulting the phone directory, Monk got the number of the Times-Flash. Velvet had said he worked for this
sheet. Monk called the newspaper, and got the city editor on the wire.
"I’d like to talk to Mr. Velvet." Monk was merely checking up on Velvet’s story.
"Who?" growled the city editor.
"Your reporter named Velvet."
"There’s nobody by that name working on this paper," the city editor said shortly. "Furthermore, there never
has been."
Monk lost his smile. "Have you got a reporter trying to interview Doc Savage? Give me the truth about it. This
is important."
"We sent no reporter to see Doc Savage," the city editor said firmly.
Chapter II. THE MYSTERIOUS JOHN ACRE
MONK broke his connection. His anthropoid features were a study. He scratched among the reddish bristles
which stuck up straight on top of his head.
Outside, a newsboy passed. He was piping in a cold-shrilled voice. "Earthquake! All about the big
earthquake! Read about it!"
Monk called the number of a hospital which was noted all over the world for the remarkable surgical feats
which were performed there.
"Is Doc Savage there?" Monk asked. "I’m a friend of his."
The man at the hospital hesitated, then said: "I do not believe that Doc Savage is free to answer the
telephone at the moment."
"Why not?"
"Doctor Savage is conducting one of his demonstration operations. There are more than two score of famous
surgeons watching."
Monk showed no surprise at this. Doc Savage, famous man of bronze, was considered by those in the
profession to be the greatest living surgeon. Doc did not practice professionally, but frequently performed his
surgical magic while other surgeons looked on. He did this to demonstrate new technique, to teach others to
do what he himself had learned through intensive study and research.
"What kind of an operation is Doc doing this time?" Monk asked the hospital attendant casually.
"An extremely delicate piece of work to remove a paralytic condition from the nerve center of a man’s left
eye," explained the fellow at the hospital.
Monk started slightly. "What?"
"Doc Savage is operating on a left eye," the hospital attendant reported. Apparently he felt loquacious. "This
will be a remarkable feat, if successful. Sight has been lost to this eye since an injury was suffered in the
Great War."
Varied expressions were convulsing Monk’s homely features. Astonishment, anxiety, and delight struggled
for possession of his pleasantly ugly lineaments. He seemed too overcome to speak.
"
The successful completion of this eye operation will be one of the greatest feats of its kind ever performed,"
continued the man at the hospital. There was awe in his tone.
Monk found his voice. "Is the guy being operated on tall and bony?"
"Right," the other replied. "He is a remarkable physical specimen, but in excellent condition. The nerves of
his eye, it seems, have been allowed to strengthen for years since his injury in the War, in order that the
operation might be feasible.
"That the operation was not performed earlier was due to Doc Savage’s realization that to do so would result
in permanent loss of vision in the eye. He has waited until the time was ripe."
"What’s the name of the man with the bad eye?" Monk demanded thickly, his voice strained.
"William Harper Littlejohn. He is a famous archaeologist and geologist."
Monk leaned against the booth side. He was perspiring. The hospital attendant’s words had obviously put him
under a great strain.
"Listen," he pleaded. "Go see how that operation is coming along, will you? This guy Littlejohn is a pal of
mine. I didn’t know he was being operated on tonight."
The man at the hospital left the phone. He was gone a few minutes, then reported:
"The operation is over. Doc Savage will be here to speak with you as soon as he removes his working robes."
"Was it successful?" Monk yelled anxiously.
"It was."
MONK emitted a tremendous bawling howl of delight, and did his best to jump up and down in the cramped
confines of the phone booth. The booth was too small to permit successful dancing, however.
In a blissful silence, following his outburst, Monk waited for Doc Savage to reach the hospital phone.
Outside the drug store, the newsboy was still howling.
"Paper!" he cried. "Read about the great earthquake!"
From the phone receiver pressed to Monk’s ear came a voice. It was a remarkable voice, for it seemed
peculiarly able to adapt itself to the limitations of telephone transmission. It came from the metal diaphragm
with the clarity of a bell.
"Doc Savage speaking," said the voice.
"Listen, Doc!" Monk howled. "Why didn’t you tell us you were gonna work on Johnny’s eye tonight?"
"You fellows would only have stood around and moped," Doc replied. "I was just saving you the worry."
Monk snorted. He knew there was logic in what Doc said, but he hardly appreciated the kindness. He would
have preferred to stand outside the operating room and sweat and worry throughout the critical period.
"Johnny" was a very close friend indeed.
"Did it turn out all right—the operation, I mean?" Monk asked, as if he wanted to be reassured that Johnny
was all right.
"It did," Doc replied. "Johnny will be walking around tomorrow, and in a few days, will be reading papers with
that bad eye."
"So soon!" Monk ejaculated.
"The operation was largely one of adjustment," Doc explained. "It’s too technical to go into over the phone.
What’s on your mind?"
Monk had been so concerned over Johnny’s prospects that he had temporarily overlooked the thing which
had first moved him to call.
"I guess I pulled a boner, Doc," he said.
He told of the appearance of Velvet at the skyscraper office, of the five-hundred-dollar bribe which he had
taken, and finally, of the disposal of the bribe at the breadline.
"I nearly keeled over when the guy coughed up five hundred, Doc," he finished. "I didn’t like him a bit. But I
decided to take his money. He couldn’t steal anything around the office. Everything was locked up. And I
knew you did not plan to show up there again tonight."
MONK, waiting for Doc’s reaction to the information, started violently, and glanced around inside the phone
booth. Then he pressed the receiver more tightly to his ear and grinned.
A strange sound was coming from the receiver. It was low, mellow, and trilling, like the song of some strange
feathered creature of the jungle, or the sound of a wind filtering through a denuded forest.
It was melodious, this eerie note, although without tune. It came from the telephone receiver with such
astounding clarity that Monk had been startled into glancing about, thinking it was made by some one in the
booth with him.
Monk had heard this sound before. It was part of Doc Savage, a small thing which he did in moments of
concentration. To his friends, it was possessed of many meanings.
Sometimes, it was Doc’s cry of battle; again, it was his song of triumph. Occasionally, It precoursed some
plan of action. Often it came when Doc was surprised.
Just now, Monk concluded the sound must indicate that Doc was puzzled.
"Everything around the office was locked up?" Doc queried.
"Sure! Everything. This guy couldn’t do any harm. That’s why I relieved him of his mazuma."
"Since the man lied about working for a newspaper," Doc said, "we’d better look into this, Monk. Something
is up."
"So I figured," said Monk.
"I’ll meet you in the lobby of our office building in about fifteen minutes from now."
"Quarter of an hour it is," said Monk, and hung up. He waddled out of the booth.
VELVET had been quite sincere in addressing Monk as the Janitor. The homely, apish fellow looked the part;
his garb was shabby enough. His hair needed cutting badly, and he could have stood a shave to advantage.
No doubt the thing which had misled Velvet most of all was the fact that there did not seem room enough for
a thimbleful of brains behind Monk’s low forehead.
Monk’s looks were deceptive. He was not a janitor; he was a chemist of world-wide repute. His most jealous
colleague admitted that Monk was a magician of the test tubes.
Monk’s short legs pumped like pistons as he headed for Doc Savage’s skyscraper office. The grin was back
on his homely face.
So Johnny would be able to use his left eye now! That was swell!
Johnny and Monk were both members of a group of six remarkable men. Just as Monk was a great chemist,
and Johnny a world-renowned geologist, so were three of the others experts in their lines. One was a lawyer,
another an electrical wizard, and the third an engineer.
The other member of this group of six—Doc Savage—was the leader. Incredibly enough, Doc was a greater
chemist, a greater engineer, a greater lawyer, a more learned geologist, and a more skilled electrical expert
than any of the other five.
Doc Savage’s forte was not surgery alone. His fund of learning covered almost all things. Sometimes those
associated with him were inclined to wonder if this amazing man had not in some miraculous fashion attained
that supreme goal of students—an infinite knowledge of all things.
Fabulous as Doc Savage’s accomplishments seemed, there were actually nothing of the supernatural about
them. They were things which could be duplicated by another, simply by going through the years of
preparation to which Doc had submitted himself. From the cradle, Doc had been trained for a definite purpose
in life.
Doc’s life work was to go here and there, to the ends of the earth if necessary, striving to help those in need
of help, and punishing those who justly deserved it.
The love of excitement and adventure, together with an unbounded admiration for Doc Savage, and the
pleasure they got out of associating with him, held Doc’s live aids in a group.
Monk, just before he reached the skyscraper, stepped aside to avoid a newsboy. The lad was howling:
"Earthquake! Read about the earthquake in South America!"
Monk was not at all interested in earthquakes.
Monk entered the skyscraper lobby. He walked past the phalanx of elevators. Of each operator, he asked a
question.
"Have you brought down a guy from eighty-six within the last few minutes—a bird in evening clothes, who
walked like he thought a lot of himself?"
"That gentleman just left," reported the third attendant.
Monk made a clicking sound of regret with his tongue and the roof of his mouth.
"Here comes Doc Savage!" an elevator operator said dramatically.
THE exclamation was a bit breathless, and filled with awe. It was as if the operator were seeing a famous
personage for the first time. Yet it was certain that this attendant saw Doc Savage many times daily.
Monk turned. He understood how they felt. He had himself been closely associated with Doc Savage for
years, yet he still got something of a wallop each time he saw the metallic giant that was Doc.
Doc Savage, crossing the cavernous lobby, did not look the giant that he was. Tendons and vast muscles
bundled his body like cables, yet they were developed in such universal fashion that they blended in a
strikingly symmetrical whole.
It was only when Doc came close to other men that his huge size became apparent.
Bronze was the color motif on Doc Savage’s skin. Due to the corded hardness of his muscles, he resembled
a statue of the metal. His eyes were weird—flaky golden pools which seemed always astir, always alive.
Doc lifted a hand in a gesture of greeting to Monk. The hand was muscled until it looked as if it had been
wrapped with steel wire, then painted with bronze. However, the fingers were long, regardless of their
obviously incredible strength.
"Let’s go up," Doc said. His voice was as remarkable as it had been when Monk heard it over the phone. Not
loud, it nevertheless carried to the recesses of the lobby.
An express elevator, its progress a hiss of speed, rushed them to the eighty-sixth floor.
"The guy is gone," Monk explained. "I got that from an elevator operator."
Saying nothing, Doc approached the office door. An uncanny thing happened—the door opened at his
approach.
There was no living thing near it.
MONK hastily peered into the office. He was completely at a loss to understand the business of the door
opening. The room beyond was as he had left it. Apparently, nothing was disturbed.
Monk squinted at the outer door, seeking to figure out what made it swing ajar when Doc had approached it.
He shook his head. Then he walked around the office, trying the safe door, the locker, and the doors into the
inner rooms. All were locked.
"It don’t look like the guy bothered anything," he said in his small voice. "That’s funny. Why should he pay
me five hundred dollars, just to get into the office?"
Doc walked toward the door into the inner chambers.
Monk’s hair threatened to stand on end at what happened. The solidly locked door—Monk was mortally
certain it was locked—quickly opened itself as Doc came near. After the bronze man had passed through,
the door closed.
Rushing over, Monk grasped the knob. He exerted all his strength. Monk could take a horseshoe in his big
hairy hands and bend it into the shape of a pretzel. This door, however, resisted him.
摘要：

THEMANWHOSHOOKTHEEARTHADocSavageAdventurebyKennethRobesonThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?ChapterI.THEFAKENEWSPAPERMAN?ChapterII.THEMYSTERIOUSJOHNACRE?ChapterIII.THEGIRLAFRAIDOFEARTHQUAKES?ChapterIV.MISSMAN-SNATCHER?ChapterV.THEEARTH-SHAKER’STRAIL?ChapterVI.THEMANWHOCOU...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：106 页 大小：255.85KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-19

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