Doc Savage - Devils Of The Deep Part 7

The one thing Stevens hadn't noticed was that the bronze man paused for an instant after he touched the k.n.o.b of the door at the back of the laboratory.

Few persons except Doc would have recognized the tiny current of electricity that flowed through that doork.n.o.b.

The bronze man did. And he knew at once the type of trap that awaited them. For coupled with the electricity there was a faint but unmistakable odor.

It was the odor of silicate.

The trap was unusual, but it was one of the most deadly that could be prepared. When the atmosphere is filled with silicate, an electric spark will set off a terrific explosion.

Opening the door would create the necessary spark. For that matter, if Doc let go of the k.n.o.b after once grasping it, the spark might be created, depending on how the wiring had been arranged.

Doc took no chances. With his left hand he whipped a small length of wire from his equipment vest. He hooked it to the doork.n.o.b at one end, and fastened it against the metal sill on the opposite side.

Then he swung the door open. The wire kept the circuit from being broken, prevented a spark.

Without hesitation Doc stepped over the wire, into the room. Ham followed.

Three small b.a.l.l.s appeared in the bronze man's hand. He smashed the first on the floor. Instantly a thin mist appeared to fill the room as condensed moisture saturated the air, destroyed the danger of a blast.

A moment later, Doc yanked Ham to one side, threw a second ball toward the far wall and third at the door through which they had just entered.

This caused the explosion Roland Stevens heard.

The small, gla.s.s pellets were a type of directional explosive Doc had invented. They caused an outward blast, did not injure those behind them.

Ham darted back down the corridor in search of Stevens. He was just too late.

When the dapper lawyer returned, he found Doc inspecting an open safe. Casual examination was sufficient to show it had been rifled.

"Someone was here before us?" Ham queried.

The bronze man nodded.

"Stevens?""I do not think so," the bronze man said. Doc searched the wrecked room rapidly. His low, trilling sound brought Ham to sudden attention.

But when Ham looked at what Doc held in his hand he failed to see its significance. It looked to him as though Doc had found only the core out of a toy electric dynamo, the type used by children.

"A clue?" he asked excitedly.

Doc did not reply directly. Instead, "I think we should return to the office and see what Monk has discovered," he said.

IT was a decidedly abashed Monk who made his report.

"Daggonit, I had a devil of a time convincing that flatfoot I wasn't a masher," the homely chemist said.

"An' when I did finally get that over to him, the girl had disappeared and so had the mugs that jumped on me."

Ham howled with laughter. Monk's discomfiture made up for a lot, as far as the dapper attorney was concerned.

The homely chemist made a pa.s.s at Ham. Ham retaliated.

Doc paid no attention. Nor did he seem concerned over Monk's lack of success.

He showed Long Tom the object he had retrieved from Roland Stevens' laboratory. It may have meant nothing to Ham, but it brought a whistle of amazement from the lanky electrical expert as he examined it.

The bronze man gave Long Tom a rapid sketch of what had occurred at the New Jersey laboratory, and of Stevens' story.

"I can duplicate this," Long Tom said quietly.

"I believe it can be improved upon," Doc agreed.

Long Tom vanished into Doc's well-stocked laboratory. The bronze man sketched rapidly.

Soon Long Tom returned. His arms were loaded with supplies.

Monk and Ham still were squabbling as Doc and Long Tom left. Neither the chemist nor the attorney was concerned about that. They knew that if they could help, Doc would call upon them. Until then they would wait, and would show as little curiosity as possible.

But if they exhibited no curiosity, others did.

The bronze man and Long Tom secluded themselves in a big workshop in an ancient-appearing building on the North River. It bore the sign "Hidalgo Trading Co." Doc was the Hidalgo Trading Co. The building housed much of his equipment, including planes of all types, a dirigible, a trim yacht and even a submarine.

As several days pa.s.sed, the "Hidalgo Trading Co." building became the center of considerable activity.

At one end of the block, apparently there to get seamen's trade, appeared a peanut-and-hot-chestnut stand. The owner wore ancient clothes and a tattered cap. These contrasted strangely with manicured fingernails.Directly across the street, a new lunch wagon opened for business. It attracted few customers, but those it did get seemingly liked it very much. At least, they spent most of their time there.

At the same time fis.h.i.+ng became a popular sport at a pier directly adjoining Doc's workshop. The fishermen didn't have much luck, but that didn't seem to discourage them.

The owner of the peanut stand apparently knew the fishermen. But, strangely enough, neither the fishermen nor the peanut man paid any attention to those who hung out in the lunch wagon.

Chapter X. MONK AND HAM GO HUNTING.

THE terror of the Atlantic struck next just off the Florida keys. An American tanker was the victim. The raider took on fuel, blasted the s.h.i.+p with a torpedo, then machine-gunned the crew members as they tried to swim to safety.

Only three managed to escape. Two of these went insane.

Delegations from every State along the seaboard called on the President. Something had to be done, and right now, was the message they brought.

None could suggest what the remedy was to be, however.

Denials had come from every warring nation that they had a submarine near American sh.o.r.es. Denials also came from Russia and other neutrals.

Heated notes were exchanged between all the countries still on speaking terms. Some of these stopped speaking.

Despite the denials, each of the belligerents still blamed its foes. Publicly they announced they would stay a long way from American sh.o.r.es. Privately, orders were issued to increase whatever naval forces they already had there.

Without exception, every country that owned a submarine sent one in that direction. The idea seemed to be to set a submarine to catch a submarine.

More of the United States battle fleet was brought from the Pacific.

Merchant vessels shunned what they thought was the danger spot. The mystery submarine promptly appeared in the Panama Ca.n.a.l sea lane.

Six s.h.i.+ps were sunk with all hands before this was discovered. The attacker was impartial, as usual. One each of the s.h.i.+ps had belonged to Italy, j.a.pan, Germany, Britain, France and the United States.

War talk increased in Congress. The speakers differed in their choice of an enemy, but all wanted to fight.

Secret agents of a dozen nations flocked to the Southern States. More of the same descended on the eastern Mexican coast on the theory the mystery attacker might have a base there.

They had no more luck than Monk and Ham did in their search for Roland Stevens.

IT didn't seem possible that a man as big as Stevens, and one who couldn't very well disguise himself, could literally vanish.

But that apparently was the case.Doc suggested the hunt. He even gave Ham several pertinent questions to ask should that search be successful.

So Monk and Ham went to work. They started at the wrecked laboratory-and got nowhere. No one had seen Stevens leave, and none of the employees there had seen him since.

They checked at Stevens' home; they checked with his friends. They even traced down his bank account, and after a lot of wire-pulling found that no checks had come in with his signature after the explosion at the laboratory.

"He might be dead," Monk suggested hopefully.

Ham snorted. The dapper lawyer had picked Stevens as the villain of the piece. "He perjured himself constantly when we were talking to him," Ham said flatly. "He's not dead."

But he might as well have been. There was nothing at all to show he was still alive.

Monk was the one that finally had the brainstorm.

"You remember that girl?" he asked suddenly.

Ham chuckled. He had been reminding Monk of that girl on an average of once an hour for several days.

"Daggonit, that's just the trouble," Monk howled. "You pestered me so much I forgot all about somethin'

that might give us a lead."

He glowered at Ham. He made his face even more ferocious than usual. "An' if I hear you cry 'masher'

again in that falsetto you call a voice, I'll really mash you!" he promised grimly.

Ham sobered. There were times when Monk could be kidded-and then there were other times. This was one of the other times.

"When she went into that apartment house she used a key," Monk explained briefly. "Now that means she either lived there or someone connected with this bunch we're after lived there. Let's go see."

"If you'd worried more about your simian brains and less about your simian beauty, you'd have thought of that before," Ham said airily. He took the precaution, however, of stepping back and getting his sword-cane ready for action.

Monk merely glowered. Here might be a chance to get revenge for the licking he'd taken before. And this time he would be ready.

They called a cab, gave the address of the uptown apartment house.

Had Doc been at the office, they would have reported where they were going. But he wasn't.

As things turned out, that was too bad.

THE apartment house looked just like a dozen or more others in the same vicinity.

It was a good-looking structure with a neat row of names outside the main door. Beside each of those names was a b.u.t.ton.

When you went calling, you were supposed to press a b.u.t.ton and your host would release the main door so you could enter.Monk and Ham studied the names carefully. They didn't see any they recognized. That is at first.

Then Ham gave a startled grunt. He pointed at one of the name plates. The plate read: "Steve Roland."

"Roland Stevens, or I'm a shyster! Reversing names is an old trick."

"You're a shyster in any case," Monk agreed, "but on this thing I believe you're right."

They didn't press the b.u.t.ton beside that name, however. "Roland's" apartment was listed as 410. They pressed all the b.u.t.tons they could find where the apartment number began with 5.

When the door clicked they went in, waited a while for the people they had disturbed to return to their apartments, then went to the fourth floor.

Neither saw the man who had been reading at the back of the lobby.

As they went up the stairs the man went to a house telephone.

"Suckers finally on way," he reported briefly.

After that he went out of the apartment house, went around the corner and got behind the wheel of a big sedan. He started the motor, lighted a cigarette and settled down to wait.

The door to 410 was locked. Consequently Monk and Ham weren't suspicious at all. On the contrary, they were quite proud of themselves when they picked the lock after ten minutes' hard work.

They opened the door cautiously. No sound came from the apartment.

Monk muttered disgustedly. "Dang it, and I was looking for a fight!"

After they got in the apartment they wondered if their hunch that it belonged to Roland Stevens was right, after all. Stevens wasn't their idea of a lady's man.

This place smelled strongly of perfume. There were even etchings on the walls.

Neither stopped to figure that perfume might have been used to deaden the odor of cigarettes and cigars.

The apartment was a large one. There was a big living room, with a real fireplace. A corridor led off at one side to three bedrooms. A dining room and kitchen were on the other side.

At one side of the room was an old-fas.h.i.+oned secretary type of desk. Both headed that way.

Monk grabbed one drawer, Ham another. There were letters inside each of the drawers. The letters were addressed to "Roland Stevens."