Читать книгу The Golden Peril: A Doc Savage Adventure - Harold A. Davis - Страница 6

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Few sounds penetrated to Doc Savage’s office on the eighty-sixth floor of one of Manhattan’s skyscrapers. That office might have been in a world by itself, far aloft, with view unhindered by surrounding structures. But there was a curious, strained tension in that office.

“You’ve got to help, Mr. Savage. No one but you can do so. For you to refuse may mean unreckoned tragedy.”

The speaker’s voice was urgent, pleading. A tall man, he was dressed entirely in black except for a brilliant, white shirt. His eyes and hair were black, but his thin, mobile face, detracted from the somberness of his costume.

“Already there have been riots, some indication of what is afoot,” he went on quickly. “I am sure the peace of the world is at stake, perhaps the fate of the world as well. You must act!”

His black eyes flashed entreatingly to the man seated behind the only desk in the room.

That man stirred slightly. He was a big man, but did not show it. He was so well put together that the impression was not of bigness, but of power. His face and hands were the color of golden bronze—a bronze that exactly matched the color of his hair.

But it was his eyes that held the attention of his visitor. They were like pools of flake gold. They were penetrating, with an almost hypnotic influence.

“What definite information have you that such a plot exists, Baron Vardon?” Doc Savage asked. His voice was low, but it had a peculiar timbre, one that made it carry clearly and distinctly.

The black-clad man sat more erect in his chair. His fingers toyed with his black felt hat.

“As I explained, I am on the League of Nations staff. We receive much information that is not made known to the general public—information that comes to us from all our member States. Recently, we have heard much of a mysterious man known only as The Leader. Who or what he is, we do not know. But of his actions we know much.”

Baron Vardon paused, frowned as if collecting his thoughts.

“We know that a skeleton organization of well-trained fighting men is being organized in every country in the world. Already, there have been a few outbreaks. You remember the recent ones in China, Africa and South America. Those were merely tests of power. The big coup is still to come. It awaits some signal. What this signal is, we also do not know.”

“And just what do you wish me to do?” the bronze man asked.

“We are convinced that the headquarters of this mysterious Leader is somewhere in Switzerland. As a League of Nations representative, I am empowered to ask you to go to Europe, find that man and block his plans.”

“Seems like quite an undertaking to me,” a third voice put in unexpectedly.

The speaker was sitting far back in one corner. A thin, not very tall man, he was pulling absently at an ear that was much too big. His complexion was sallow and unhealthy-looking. He appeared a physical weakling.

Only those who had tangled with Major Thomas J. Roberts, better known as “Long Tom,” knew what an error that was. Nor did his appearance indicate that he really was one of the world’s most famous electrical engineers.

Doc’s fingers played a rapid tattoo on the top of the desk. His flake gold eyes surveyed Baron Vardon.

“A coup of such magnitude as you suggest would be difficult,” the bronze man said.

“Practically impossible, I’d say,” drawled Long Tom. Still tugging at his ear, he came to his feet slowly and sauntered from the room.

“I assure you this is not only possible, but so,” Baron Vardon said earnestly. “And whoever The Leader is, he rules by fear. We have had reports he kills by a hand of death. Men who have seen victims of the hand of death say bloody fingers and palm appear on the neck. The features contort, horribly——”

Doc lifted one hand suddenly. A faint red light had appeared on a big panel at one side of the room.

“Anyone know you came to New York, Baron Vardon?” the bronze man asked quietly.

His black-clad visitor started, his eyes receded in his thin face. “N—no. But why?”

“Several men are trying to break into this office,” Doc responded softly.

“But they can’t get in, can they? I’m safe, am I not?” Baron Vardon’s voice was hoarse, his features twisted with quick fear.

“No, they cannot get in unless I wish them to,” said Doc. “But I believe we should see whom we are opposing. Just sit quietly. I am going to release the doors.” The bronze man moved a foot on one spot on the floor.

Five men were in the hallway. One was working on the lock of a door which bore the sign: “Clark Savage, Jr.” The others carried businesslike automatics. Their faces were hard and weather-beaten.

“Speed it up! Get that door open!” one of them barked. The lock-picker snarled in reply.

Then an amazing thing happened!

The door opened of its own accord. On either side of it panels also slid open. A gap fully twenty feet wide was created in the office wall.

And inside, apparently rushing forward, appeared an entire company of armed men. They carried submachine guns. Their faces were horrible grimaces. They seemed to be leaping from behind shell-torn trees and out of huge shell-holes.

A yell of terror and horror came from the five attackers in the hall. One threw up his gun, fired, then turned to run. Three of his companions also started to take to their heels.

“Halt!” The leader roared the order. His own eyes were gazing wildly. He was making an apparent effort to keep his courage. Then his eyes became normal.

“Stop, you fools!” he bellowed. “It’s a trick! There are no men there! See, they’re not moving forward at all!”

The running gunmen stopped and looked back. Even as they looked, the scene changed.

The company of armed men faded. Gigantic seas took their place. Huge waves with white-topped spray appeared. The beat of surf came, low at first, then, louder.

But no water splashed on the office floor.

The gunmen laughed, their nerves still jerking with their release from fear. Now they could all see it had been a trick. They did not know how they had been fooled; it was enough to know that they were not really facing a company of armed men. With cautious steps they moved into the room.

And now the waves began to disappear. The office itself came into view. At one side was seated a man dressed in black. Behind a desk sat Doc Savage.

“You wished to see me, gentlemen?” the bronze man asked.

Four pistols came up as one. Four bullets tore toward the bronze man. Doc Savage slumped. His head went down on his desk. Then those weapons were turned toward Baron Vardon. Again a hail of death poured out.

“Run! Run for your lives!”

The four gunmen turned with sudden fear. The cry had come from behind them, where their leader stood. The men took one look and then obeyed. They dived frantically backward.

For the door and the panels on either side were closing. Frantically, the gang chief threw his weight against one of those panels, tried to hold it back. The panel moved on.

Shrill screams of terror came from the four men inside. Desperately, they threw themselves through the opening. The shoe of one was caught. The heel was nipped off as neatly as if by a sharp knife.

“Let’s get out of here, that was too close,” their leader rasped. He was breathing heavily. “Another moment and we’d have been trapped in there. And even if we did get Doc Savage, his men are still alive. They would have killed us.”

Doc Savage lifted his head, smiled at Baron Vardon. “Professional soldiers of fortune from their appearance. Would you not say so, Baron Vardon?”

The baron’s face was a startling white in contrast to his black clothes. Nervously, he pulled a handkerchief from a pocket, wiped his brow.

“I—I guess so,” he breathed. “But—but, I still can’t understand why we’re still alive.”

“It is too bad they discovered the doors closing so soon,” the bronze man went on, apparently unheeding the other’s remark. “Another moment and they would have been caught, then they could have been questioned at leisure.”

“But—but they had guns. They surely would have killed us, had they remained,” exclaimed Baron Vardon.

“No,” Doc Savage corrected. “I do not believe they would. You see, they merely thought they saw us. When I pressed my foot on a certain spot on this floor, I opened the doors, and bullet-proof mirrors dropped. You have seen the childish tricks with mirrors used at amusement parks, where a person would appear without a body. This was on the same order. In addition, the mirrors were of a type which permitted us to see through from this side, but prevented them from seeing us.”

“And—and I——” Baron Vardon gulped. “I suppose they saw something that frightened them at first. That was it.”

“Yes. Merely some motion pictures projected against the mirrors, with a few added sound effects. Sometimes the sight of those pictures suffice to frighten away intruders. These fellows were of sterner stuff.”

Baron Vardon swallowed hard, and an admiring grin appeared on his face.

“It was wonderful,” he said. Then his expression changed, became serious. “But you see, this attack alone proves that we are up against something desperate. It would have to be if hired gunmen were sent all the way from Switzerland to kill you and, just because I am asking your aid. You must help us!”

“I think it might be interesting at that, Doc.”

Baron Vardon glanced up swiftly. Long Tom had returned to the room. His thin, unhealthy-appearing face was blank of all expression, but one big ear wiggled slightly as he looked at the bronze man.

Doc Savage’s flake gold eyes looked long and hard at Baron Vardon. “We never refuse help where we may assist in any way to correct injustice, or to prevent evil,” he said quietly. “We will undertake the task, Baron Vardon.”

Emotion twisted the baron’s mobile face. His features came alive. He leaped to his feet, raced forward and grabbed Doc’s hand, shook it hard.

“I am delighted. I had hoped, of course, for your help. But to hear you give me your promise makes my trip really worth while. You will leave at once for Switzerland?”

“We will start our search for The Leader as soon as possible,” the bronze man said.

“Good! Get in touch with me at my hotel if I may assist you in any way.” The baron turned to leave, hesitated at the door, his face becoming solemn. “But be careful. I have heard much of this hand of death. I will not rest easily until I know you have succeeded.”

The door closed behind Baron Vardon.

“He’s O. K., Doc,” Long Tom said. “I checked with Geneva. He’s an accredited representative, and was sent here to contact you. Funny, I had him figured out as a phony.”

The electrical wizard pulled one lob of his oversized ear thoughtfully. “When you tapped that code in Mayan for me to check on him, I thought you believed him a fake, also,” he added.

“I do not care to embarrass guests,” the bronze man said. “Baron Vardon might have understood the code had it been in English.”

Long Tom looked up sharply. “And by the way, Doc. Isn’t it time to be hearing from Blanco Grande? Shouldn’t another gold shipment be on its way?”

“I expect such a message at any time. Probably we——”

The bronze man broke off suddenly. A scream of dreadful agony, of pain and knowledge of death, penetrated the office walls. It was a thin cry, high-pitched. It came from the hallway.

Long Tom moved fast. He appeared slow beside the bronze man. Almost before the electrical engineer had unlimbered his long legs, Doc Savage was out from behind his desk, had reached the door. He moved with the smooth, unbelievable speed of a man in the perfection of physical condition.

The office door came open. Doc Savage leaped into the hallway, knelt beside a body that lay there. A low, trilling sound seemed to fill the air. It appeared to come from no one spot, yet from everywhere. It was a strange, eerie thing.

Long Tom hurtled over the bronze man. He understood what that trilling sound was. It came unconsciously from the lips of Doc Savage when he was either surprised or sounding a warning.

The thin electrical wizard did not halt. Whatever had happened to that limp figure on the floor, he knew Doc could take care of it much better than he could.

He glanced once at the elevator indicator, saw no change was within six floors of them, then his thin legs darted like pistons as he raced toward the end of the hallway and started down the stairs.

It was five minutes before Long Tom returned. His unhealthy-appearing face wore a look of chagrin. He was breathing heavily.

“No one in sight,” he said, his tone filled with disappointment.

Doc was still kneeling beside the fallen figure. The bronze man had a physician’s kit beside him.

“Adrenaline did not work. No restorative I had succeeded,” the bronze man said.

Long Tom looked down. The fallen figure was that of a boy. He wore a messenger’s outfit. His visored cap lay upside down on the floor. Inside it was a yellow envelope.

Then Long Tom’s eyes opened and he whistled slightly. On the boy’s neck, growing more clear with each passing instant, was the shape of a hand. It was a hand of blood—blood that came from the boy!

“The hand of death,” Long Tom grated.

Doc Savage rose to his feet slowly. His flake gold eyes were sad. It was seldom that his astounding knowledge of medicine failed to save a life.

Carefully, he opened the envelope that had been in the messenger boy’s cap. Again came that low, trilling sound.

“What is it?” Long Tom asked swiftly.

Silently, the bronze man handed him the message. It read:

GOLD HAS ARRIVED OKAY STOP WILL SHIP TO YOU

TOMORROWCARLOS AVISPA