Doc Savage - 089 - The Magic Island, page 5
"Two-bit laid it onto them?"
"Yes. Possibly he was passing the buck, though."
Lupp's face was twisted with astonishment and uneasiness. He was deceived.
The voices went on:
Ben Brasken: "What's Lupp supposed to have done?"
Doc: "Plenty. What would you say if you were told Two-bit claimed Lupp shot a hospital attendant during the excitement. That sounds like murder, eh?"
Ben Brasken: "Whew! Then they'll hang Lupp!"
Doc: "Possibly."
Brasken: "Maybe they can't prove it."
Doc: "If Two-bit testified that Lupp murdered the man, they would."
Brasken: "Gimme a minute to think, and I'll tell you all I can."
Doc: "Very well. In the meantime, I'll see what Lupp has to say, if he is awake."
DOC appeared in the door, glanced at Lupp, seemed surprised to find him conscious.
"Ready to talk?" Doc asked.
"Go to the devil!" Lupp snarled.
Doc said wearily, "Johnny, you might as well call the police."
Johnny strode to the telephone.
"Wait a minute!" Lupp exploded. "What're you tryin' to pull on me here?"
Doc Savage said quietly, "It is very simple. Listen."
The bronze man went back to the connecting door, opened it and leaned through.
"Two-bit," he said, "are you still sure Lupp murdered that hospital attendant when he was trying to escape?"
"Me fella velly celtain," replied a voice that would hardly be taken for any but Two-bit's.
From where he sat, Lupp could not see the bronze man imitate the voice.
"Damn!" Lupp groaned. "Look here! How about us making a deal?"
"What kind?" Doc queried, turning.
"You turn me loose," Lupp countered, "and I'll let you in on the biggest thing you ever--"
At least four bullets came crashing through the door.
VIII
MURDER VICTIM
THE unexpected, even at its mildest, is startling. A man who almost steps on a mouse may jump only a little less mildly than if he had stepped on a jungle lion.
Johnny leaped as high as his chair. When he came down, he had in one hand a weapon which resembled an oversized automatic pistol, but which was really a supermachine pistol of Doc's development. A Western bad man of the '80s could not have drawn his shooting iron quicker.
Lupp yelled, "I'm in the center of the room, guys! Be careful!"
Johnny leaped to the door into the inner room, waited there, his machine pistol ready. He seemed surprised when Doc Savage shoved him on into the room with Long Tom and Renny and slammed the door.
Lupp was now shut off from them in the next room. And the guns were crashing in the corridor. Blasting the lock out, no doubt.
Johnny exploded, "But, Doc! When they come through the door, with this pistol and mercy bullets, I can--"
"You might," Doc Savage said quietly. "But that would not find Ben Brasken."
"Oh," Johnny said, understanding.
"Keep them from getting in here," Doc warned.
Renny and Long Tom had likewise produced machine pistols.
"Fat chance!" Renny rumbled.
The shooting in the other room abruptly ceased. The men in the hallway kicked the door in.
The round Oriental, Two-bit, led the raiders. His associates were tough-looking fellows.
THEY ran to Lupp. Since he was handcuffed to the chair, and the chair was stout, they could not get him loose. They picked him up chair and all.
"Get Ben Brasken!" Lupp yelled. "He's in the next room!"
"That Doc Savage fella tell you stoly," explained Two-bit.
"What?"
"We still got Ben Brasken."
Lupp understood then that he had been tricked. He was too shocked to get mad.
"Beat it!" he ordered.
Two-bit and the others showed willingness to do that. They carried Lupp and the chair into the hall, popped into the elevator. The elevator operator sat in one corner of the cage, mouth open, jaw skinned, breathing.
The cage went down.
"How'd you find me?" Lupp wanted to know.
"Velly simple." Two-bit shook his shoulders. "Me lait till men take you away. I follow."
"Oh." Lupp grimaced. "Damn Savage anyhow. But he still don't know what it's all about yet."
Two-bit looked as calm as ever. "We listen," he sing-songed. "We note stlange words coming from you."
Lupp swore and looked fierce. "Don't get the wrong idea, pigtail! I was getting ready to save my neck, maybe set a trap for Savage. I thought he had you and Ben Brasken, and that you talked."
After that there was silence.
The cage reached the lobby. Several persons were staring curiously, and there was a crowd of small proportions out in the street. The shots upstairs, of course, had been heard.
The raiders calmly shot part of the bulbs out of the chandeliers, shot some of the glass out of the front windows, and the spectators all used good judgment: They dived into the handiest shelter.
Two-bit and the others carried Lupp to two cars parked on the street. They divided their number between the machines, and the cars got going.
A police siren was howling in the distance.
Big-fisted Renny, leaning out of a hotel window, heard the siren. From the window, he could not see the street, but he could hear the cars going away.
On the inner side of the window sill was a deep nick. The tine of a grappling hook had made it. To the end of the grapple was attached a long, thin very stout silk line. Doc Savage had gone down this.
Renny squinted into the darkness. He could not see Doc. For that matter, the bronze man had been gone for some moments.
Renny snorted and went out to make explanations to the police, who had by now arrived. This would not be too difficult. Doc Savage and his men held a special commission from the California governor designating them as special investigators with police authority, which took in a lot of territory.
Long Tom, the electrical wizard, opened a metal case--Doc Savage's equipment was transported in metal containers which looked very much alike except for painted numbers--and brought out a short-wave radio transmitting and receiving apparatus. The antenna which this used was hardly larger than a walking stick, and telescoped. He switched it on, adjusted the dials, and left it on.
Soft crackles of static and nothing else came from the loud-speaker for almost half an hour.
"Long Tom," Doc Savage's, voice said from the speaker.
"Coast Avenue and Tuna Street," the bronze man said, when Long Tom answered. "Better hurry."
COAST AVENUE meant water-front dives. Tuna Street was wholesale fish. There was plenty of darkness. The wad of clouds above had started leaking fine rain.
Johnny stood in a dark alley and jumped a foot at least when Doc Savage spoke beside him.
"The pier to which the Benny Boston is tied is at the end of this street," Doc Savage said. "The trail led to a waterfront rooming house near by. The proprietor of the rooming house advised me, when he was questioned, that a man answering the description of Ben Brasken had taken a room, along with some other men."
"We're gettin' close to the end of the trail," Renny rumbled softly.
"The rooming house is a labyrinth of a place," Doc continued. "There are at least three entrances and exits. That means each of you will have one to guard, while I go up and flush the game."
"Let's go," Long Tom said grimly.
One entrance to the rooming establishment--by stretching a little it might have been called a hotel--was through a gloomy drinking place which had sawdust and wooden sand box garboons on the floor. Another entrance was a blowsy door with a sign, "Beds 15c, 25c, 50c." The third gave into an alley and was probably as much used as any of the others. Doc stationed his men.
The bartender in the drinking place also ran the rooms, collecting for them at least. When Doc entered, he sidled over and spoke.
"Some of them fellers you was askin' about just left," he said.
Doc described Ben Brasken quickly.
"Was that one with them?" he asked.
"Nope. Not unless he went out one of the other doors. They do sometimes, you know. Don't make no difference to me. Everybody pays in advance here."
The proprietor seemed all right. He could not have any Chesterfield manners and run a place like this.
Doc mounted the stairs quickly. Ben Brasken was ensconced in a room which he had secured all for himsell by paying for the three beds it contained. Or Ben Brasken's companions had paid for the room, rather.
Doc gained the door, listened outside it. He remained there for a long time. There was no sound of anything living within the room. Doc turned the knob. The door was unlocked. The bronze man went in.
Ben Brasken was there.
Doc backed out of the room and called his men. They gathered around the bronze man and looked at Ben Brasken. The looks they directed at Ben Brasken were short, and afterward they looked everywhere but at Ben Brasken.
"This makes it tough," Renny rumbled grimly, "unless Monk and Ham turned up something in New York."
Johnny drew a sheet over Ben Brasken to shut off the sight. For Ben Brasken's head had been practically cut off.
IX
THE STOLEN AIRSHIP
MONK and Ham, who had been left behind in New York City to do various things, were quarreling. This would have surprised no one who knew them. Rather, it would have been a surprise if they had not been squabbling.
"You'll let me examine that nickel," Ham was saying, "or I'll separate you from your epidermis!"
"That nickel," Monk grumbled, "was a perfectly ordinary nickel!"
This was a falsehood. The nickel had two heads. Monk had just used it to flimflam Ham into going out to get their morning ration of coffee and doughnuts.
"You mistake of nature!" Ham gritted. "We're going to match over again!"
"Any more argument out of you," Monk stated, "and I'll pop you so hard your spirit will have a heck of a time locating your body again!"
They were in Doc Savage's waterfront hangar, a large brick building on the Hudson River which masqueraded as a warehouse. A sign on the front said, "Hidalgo Trading Company." The building was actually a giant, almost bombproof, surrounded by burglar alarms, and held a number of planes, ranging from small single-seater true-gyros to huge transport ships. Moreover, there was a small and unusual submarine, some surface boats, including a diminutive but fast yacht.
The most interesting object, however, was probably the small demountable dirigible which Doc Savage had lately acquired, an all-metal craft which was not large, but which was the only one of its kind inexistence.
It had only two motors, and one small cabin, enclosed within the gas bag. It had a high speed, and was small enough that it could be used to land men in a jungle, for instance, simply by tossing out a grappling hook which would snag a treetop. Moreover, it was stout enough that it could stand a good deal of banging around without damage.
Monk and Ham were watching this dirigible in particular. Kit Merrimore had wanted to buy it.
Monk picked up an envelope, took some papers out, and shuffled through them elaborately.
"I wonder if we'd better telegraph this stuff to Doc?" he pondered aloud. "He wanted information, whatever we could pick up, about a man named Martin Space."
Ham glared at Monk, tapping a toe indignantly.
"Are you gonna get that coffee and sinkers, you fashion plate shyster?" Monk demanded.
"Let me see that nickel!" Ham commanded.
"You'll see stars if you don't get going," Monk said.
A shrill buzzer whined out. It was connected with a button at the door.
Monk went to a device of mirrors by which they could view the vicinity of the door.
"Blazes!" he squeaked. "It's that girl, Kit Merrimore!"
Ham gasped, "She's been hurt!"
THE girl was draped against the door, hanging to the huge handle. She was pale. Her garments were torn. Her right sleeve from the shoulder down was soaked with red.
Monk gasped, "She may be dying!" and started for the door.
"Wait a minute, nickelwits!" Ham snapped.
"Huh?"
"This may be a trick. The hangar here is literally a fortress, and they may know it."
"Yeah," Monk paused. "I'll take a good look around."
He used a pair of binoculars on the wide, almost deserted water-front street. This was Sunday, and there was not much traffic.
"Nobody in sight," Monk decided.
"Be careful," Ham warned.
"Sure."
Monk was careful. He got a boat hook, opened the door a bare crack. The girl was now a limp heap on the grimy pavement outside.
Monk hooked the boat hook in the belt of her sport frock, and gingerly hauled her inside without exposing himself.
Ham stood back, in the meantime, his supermachine pistol held ready.
"Just like you to shoot a woman!" Monk sneered at him.
"These wouldn't damage her," Ham snapped. "They're mercy bullets. Only make her unconscious."
"She's that now," Monk told him.
Having closed the door and fastened it, the homely chemist growled, "We'd better rush her to a hospital," and bent over the young woman.
With his pocketknife, Monk opened the young woman's sleeve from wrist to shoulder.
He stared. His mouth fell open.
"Huh!" he exploded. "She's not hurt!"
A smacking sound caused him to glance around.
Ham had fallen face down.
Monk made a frantic effort to stand up, but instead, pitched down across Ham.
MONK, when he opened his eyes, and found himself looking at Ham, who seemed to be awake, made a disgusted face.
"Next time," Monk croaked gloomily, "I'll let you shoot her, and won't ask whether you've got mercy bullets or not."
"Next time," Ham snarled, "I'll have sense enough to pay no attention to you, you stumblebum, when I suspect there may be danger!"
They stopped abusing each other, and looked around. One thing struck them with the effects of a cold bath.
"The dirigible!" Monk howled.
"Gone!"
Their shouts were hardly necessary. There was not the slightest doubt but that the dirigible was gone. It must had been taken out through the big rolling doors at the river end of the hangar, because one of the doors had been improperly closed.
Four men were loitering about the hangar. Monk and Ham had never seen any of the four previously, but they had seen crooks before.
The girl, Kit Merrimore, walked up to Monk and Ham, who had by now realized they were tied hand and foot with stout wire.
"Feel sick?" she asked.
"Yeah," Monk said. "Of embarrassment."
"That gas generally makes them sick at their stomachs," the girl said. "A nice old man I know who works for a chemical concern in New Jersey made it up for me. He said it would knock an elephant out almost instantly."
"Skip it," Monk requested.
"Oh, I like to brag," the young woman smiled. "I had the stuff in a bottle in my sport suit pocket, and I managed to pull the cork while you were ripping my sleeve to examine the wound that wasn't there. You certainly ruined my frock, incidentally."
Monk looked at her. In spite of himself, he grinned.
"How long we been out?" Monk asked.
"About six hours," the girl said.
Monk looked stunned. It hadn't seemed like more than a few minutes.
"We borrowed your dirigible," said the young woman.
They knew that already.
THE young woman now snapped her fingers, called out softly, and there was a stir over to the left. Two animals approached. Habeas Corpus, Monk's pet pig, which had thin, long legs and ears built for flying. And Ham's what-is-it, Chemistry.
Both animals frolicked around the young woman's trim ankles, a behavior which moved Monk and Ham to stare with unbelieving astonishment. Each man had spent innumerable hours training his pet, and a major item had been lessons in not to take up with strangers. Never before had it happened. Monk and Ham were mutually disgusted.
"Ham," Monk said, "for years, you've been wanting to have that hog for breakfast. You can have him. What's more, I'll help you eat him."
"Monk," Ham said as solemnly, "you can put Chemistry's hide over your fireplace, like you've been wanting to do."
The young woman smiled sweetly at them.
"In that case," she murmured, "I'll just take these two animals with me. I think they're real cute."
Monk and Ham groaned together.
One of the men came forward and growled. "We'd better blow, miss. No point in sticking around here any longer."
He pounced upon Monk and Ham and proceeded to make each one swallow a pill. The pills were about the size of Mexican beans, and each one was as bitter as anything either man had ever tasted.
Monk and Ham lay there grimacing, spitting out the bitter taste, and wondered what would happen. They soon found out. Things began to go away in a grayish haze.
The last thing they heard was the girl, Kit Merrimore, thanking them in sugary tones for Habeas Corpus and Chemistry.
X
SEA TRAIL
TWENTY hours later, Monk and Ham were back on their usual basis. Mutual sorrow over the shortcomings of their pets had caused them to be halfway civil to each other for a while, but that had not lasted very long.
"That goriboon of yours," Monk growled, coining a word, "was responsible for my Habeas taking up with that female hell-cat!"
"A soft touch for anything in skirts, you and your hog," Ham sneered.
"I think," Monk remarked, "that I'll see how you bounce."
They glared at each other. Monk was flying their plane with one hand, and had the other made into a fist, ready for knocking purposes.
The plane was over Nevada, just north of Reno, more exactly and was high. It would have been bitingly cold in the cabin, but they had the port closed and the heaters on. They were flying toward San Francisco.
