Читать книгу Haunted Ocean - Lawrence Donovan - Страница 8

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During the wrecking of his Manhattan weather instruments, Doc Savage had been holding his silver-winged plane to a line closely bordering the Atlantic coast. Ham and Monk were engaged in one of their usual caustic exchanges.

“An’ a red-headed woman made a fool out of me,” chanted Ham, with tuneless sarcasm.

“Dag-gone it!” piped Monk. “An’ you’ll shut up or I’ll be makin’ mincemeat outta you!”

Doc was watching the lights of Baltimore, a mile below.

A shrill grunt accompanied Monk’s irate exclamation. An animal that looked to be all ears and legs, seemed to sympathize with the apelike chemist’s remarks. This was Habeas Corpus, Monk’s pet pig.

“That shote’s a fine thing to be taking to a conference at Washington,” grinned Ham. “At that, he’ll probably make about the same impression as his master.”

“Is that so?” sputtered Monk. “If you had his brains, you danged shyster, you’d talk a lot less and think more!”

Doc interrupted the pleasant exchange.

“That’s strange,” he said, quietly. “It is just after midnight, but it would seem the sun has decided to come up. Look over to the eastward.”

“Howlin’ calamities!” exploded Monk. “Looks like daylight’s bustin’ on us, an’ comin’ fast! What’s happened to the radio, Doc?”

“Um-um-bum-ulbum-ulbum!” squawked the loudspeaker in the plane.

“It has been going bad for some time,” remarked Doc.

The man of bronze had figured he would make Washington well within two hours. Suddenly he was not so sure about it.

The eerie dawn at midnight was spreading. The east took on a brighter hue. But it was not as if the sun were rising. Usually, an ocean sunrise is varied in color. This was much like a white fan spreading across the horizon.

“Looks something like the northern lights,” suggested Ham.

Habeas Corpus, the pig Monk had picked up in Arabia, was an animal of acute instincts. Now he was standing rigidly. He sniffed and quivered.

“Something about it Habeas Corpus don’t like,” said Monk.

“I don’t like that hog, but he is smarter than any ape,” grinned Ham.

The radio squawking suddenly was cut off. There had been a sound like a tremendous burst of static. Then silence.

“I don’t like that,” stated Doc. “Sounds as if something has smashed things at headquarters.”

From the plane’s motor came a sputter. The engine of finest alloy metal seemed to hesitate. But its cylinders picked up again. Doc’s hand moved a lever. This closed shutters around the motor.

These shutters were of a special material made to resist magnetic influence. It was insulated against any known form of interference by any of the rays thus far invented.

More than just a false sunrise had become apparent over the ocean. The plane was passing over a vast expanse of shore marshes. No human habitations showed.

Above the hissing of the plane’s motor, a low humming became audible. Doc Savage had been hearing this for some time. His ears were easily three times as acute as those of Ham and Monk.

“It might be well to put on the ’chutes,” advised Doc. “Those bogs provide a poor footing for setting the plane down.”

“Are we going to land out here?” piped up Monk.

The plane’s motor gave the answer. Its muffled explosions ceased suddenly.

Doc Savage stared at the switch for a few seconds. The propeller rotated slowly. The man of bronze pushed a button. This should have lighted the instrument board. There was no light. The electrical current had been lost.

“Something wrong with the wires?” questioned Ham.

Doc did not reply. The interior of the cabin now had no lights. They were not needed while daylight had flooded the space. In the uneven line of the shore, the low caps of the ocean swells, a fishing launch sprang into view.

Monk and Ham had hastily slipped their arms through the harness of parachutes. The skilled hand of Doc Savage kept the plane winging in a wide, descending spiral.

They were in daylight. Broad daylight at the hour of midnight. The plane was as silent as if it never had been powered. Wind whistled through the wings in its descent.

“Bale out!” Doc ordered the others.

The man of bronze had made no effort to don a parachute.

“You coming, Doc?” said Ham.

“I will be with you presently,” said Doc.

Ham and Monk opened the door. Monk seized one ear of the pig Habeas Corpus. They went out and dropped.

Doc was sticking with the plane. The silver ship flashed down. The man of bronze had picked out a boggy hammock. Monk groaned.

Less than a hundred feet above the marsh, Doc leveled off. The wind shrieked as the wings pancaked. The air cushioned the descent. The plane struck, settled into the boggy ground.

Doc and his two companions found themselves in a wide space of mucky ground. They sank over their knees. The going was tough enough for Doc and Ham.

Monk’s short legs made it worse for him. The weight of the pig was a handicap.

Monk set Habeas Corpus on his feet.

Doc, walking ahead, rubbed one hand over his smooth hair. Sparks flashed. The atmosphere was charged with some strange force. They came to the shore rocks.

In the marsh, birds were whistling. Some were shrill-voiced, as they greeted the dawn.

Doc climbed the rocks. Ham and Monk followed. Habeas Corpus was still struggling to break away.

Voices of men came from the ocean. Three fishermen on a small launch were tramping their deck and swearing lustily. They were working furiously to get their motor going.

“I surmise we are face to face with whatever has been haunting the ocean,” stated Doc. “That launch has no power.”

The launch drifted broadside onto the rocks. Doc and the others waded in and helped the fishermen beach the boat.

“What in Hades is all this?” growled one of the fishermen. “Is it the horn of Gabriel or something?”

“Well, it might be at that,” replied Ham, cheerfully.

A smudge of smoke showed at sea. It rolled upward from just below the horizon.

“That vessel seems to have stopped,” said Doc.

“Yes,” replied one of the fishermen. “We were out there when this thing started. It’s a coastal passenger steamer. They had to drop their hooks. Their engines quit suddenly.”

Doc Savage mounted a point of rocks. All around he was looking at what appeared to be the circular curtain of night. Darkness had been thrust back only a few miles. They were in the center of the eerie midnight illumination.

It was possible to mark three different boats. Two of these were drifting. The other had anchored.

“We must procure some new means of transportation,” advised Doc. “It is important that we get to Washington quickly.”

The three fishermen accompanied them around the rim of the wide marsh.

On the first paved road no traffic was moving. An electric railway was close. The building of a power substation bulked ahead. In the doorway were four men in overalls.

“What is all this?” said one of the men. “Our own power went off, and when I tried to telephone, it was dead!”

Doc Savage said nothing. He led the way toward a farmhouse. A puzzled countryman and his wife were standing in their yard.

“I ain’t never seen the like o’ this!” grumbled the farmer. “Even the derned chickens thinks it’s mornin’! But there ain’t no sun!”

Doc smiled. “I judge the sun will be along at its usual time.”

Two roosters were crowing at top pitch. They were greeting the morning.

“Have you a car?” Doc asked the farmer. “If so, I will pay you well to get to some other means of transportation.”

Doc smiled as he asked the question.

Two minutes later, the farmer learned the meaning of this smile. His best efforts got no results. The battered farm machine had no power. The farmer looked up with an oath. Once more, he whirled the crank savagely by hand.

Then something happened. It was like some one suddenly switching off a brilliant flashlight. The darkness of midnight shut in the countryside. The small motor of the car started so suddenly it backfired and kicked the farmer onto his haunches.

Night had returned. From the direction of the railway substation came the sudden humming of a dynamo. The power was on. The three fishermen shouted and started back toward the shore.

Doc produced a roll of bills.

“We won’t brother to hire the car,” he said. “We’ll buy it.”

Ham and Monk piled in. Monk dragged Habeas Corpus aboard. The rickety vehicle rattled out onto the highway.

Doc pushed the old motor to the limit. In less than half an hour he had reached an airport and chartered a fast plane. This arrived in Washington after a hop of a few minutes.