Читать книгу Mystery under the Sea: A Doc Savage Adventure - Lester Bernard Dent - Страница 7

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Part of the rug was gone.

The expensive panel of weaving had been cut with a sharp knife and a segment, roughly circular in shape, removed. No trace of this could be seen.

The missing section bore such printing as the mutilated man had managed to accomplish with his foot before he collapsed.

The door gaped open, and Doc Savage went to it. Half through, he found a form sprawled on the shiny tiling of the corridor floor. The victim was senseless, apparently having been knocked out by a blow over the head.

It was dapper Ham, and he had fallen atop his innocent-looking black cane. Doc Savage carried him into the reception room.

Monk proved upon examination, merely to be unconscious, likewise from a head blow, and Doc started administering to him, to Ham, to bring them out of their forcibly induced slumbers.

Monk, the toughest of the pair, revived first. Lost in a mental fog, he mumbled words.

“Justa dumb shyster, Ham,” he squeaked faintly. “Sailors’ pants are big at the bottoms because——”

He broke off, sat up suddenly, blinked several times, said abruptly in a rational voice, “Man, have I got bells in my head!”

“What happened?” Doc asked him.

Monk jabbed a hairy, contemptuous thumb at Ham, who was beginning to stir. “It was the shyster’s fault. He brought some woman and a guy with her. They——”

“It’s a lie!” Ham said, without opening his eyes. “It was Monk’s fault. He should have been on the lookout.”

“Lookout!” Monk squawked. “You brought them in——”

“And they promptly knocked me senseless,” Ham finished. “I met them down in the lobby, while I was trying to trace that fellow with the burned mouth. They said they had some important information, so I brought them up.”

“It was the woman,” Monk growled. “She had two guns. She tried to push one through that swell dinner I just ate. Then she popped me over the ear with the other one. I kinda lost interest.”

“They obviously tricked me into bringing them up,” Ham admitted without pride.

Doc Savage indicated the missing section of the rug. “How did they know about that?”

Ham puckered his forehead, as if trying to think of the best way of admitting an indiscretion.

Homely Monk snorted, “The girl was a knockout. Boy, did she have what it takes! I’ll bet Ham told her all about what had happened.”

“Shut up, you ape!” Ham snapped. “She said the man with the burned mouth was her brother, and wanted to know what had happened to him. She was sobbing and carrying on, and it kind of got under my skin.”

“So you told her about it,” Monk jeered.

“I did!” Ham yelled, angrily. “And you would have done the same thing, you missing link! She was so pretty and so grief-stricken——”

“You know just as much about women as you know about sailors’ pants,” Monk told him, unkindly.

Ham contemplated Monk, as if he would greatly relish separating the homely chemist from his gnarled ears.

“I made a mistake,” he admitted, grudgingly. “Those two tricked me into getting them in here, and knocked us out. Then they stole part of the rug, so that we would not have a chance to figure out what the poor devil was trying to print there.”

Monk scowled at Ham, as if the latter had committed some crime which could never be forgiven.

“That means the message was important,” the simian chemist pointed out. “It’s gone. And I think there was enough of it that we could have translated the thing. You couldn’t read it right off, of course, but——”

“We will see about that,” Doc Savage interposed.

The bronze man now moved the massive inlaid table into the center of the room and stood upon it, from which point he could reach the ceiling. This was decorated in modernistic fashion, with trim triangles and discs of shiny metals and colored glass. Under his manipulation, what had appeared to be an ordinary glass plate came away and proved itself a part of a motion picture camera, which was recessed into the ceiling.

“A few moments will be required to develop this,” he said, and took the film magazine into the laboratory.

After he had been working a few minutes, Doc called to Ham, “Telephone Paradise Beach on Long Island Sound and see if you can learn anything about a strange visitor.”

Ham consumed two headache pills. Then he used the telephone.

“The fellow appeared at Paradise Beach,” he said when he finished. “He swam in from the Sound, knocked out two guards and fled. A moment later, a motor boat landed a group of masked men who pursued him. No one at Paradise seems to know more than that.”

Doc Savage was using a quick-developing process of his own on the motion picture film, which was of miniature size. The whirring of the device which wound the film through the developer solution ceased. He transferred the film to a reel and carried it to a projector.

“When did you start that camera?” Monk asked, curiously.

“Just before leaving to take the man to the ‘iron doctor,’ ” Doc replied. “The camera control, you know, is just inside the library.”

The film clicked through the projector.

“There it is!” Monk exploded, suddenly. “Say, we got a fine shot of that message!”

“We will run the rest of the film,” Doc Savage said. “Another look at that woman would be interesting.”

It had happened about as Monk and Ham had said. The film showed Monk peering at the inscription on the rug and scratching his head, when the door opened and Ham came in, closely followed by a blonde girl.

“Boy, oh boy!” Monk murmured. “Is she a queen!”

The girl, twentyish, arrestingly blonde, might have stepped out of some particularly excellent chorus. Her frock had that careless modishness which only the best designers achieve.

One thing in particular caught their eyes: her jewels. Diamonds—on her fingers, on her throat, circlets of them about her wrists. They were all large stones.

“She was wearing a fortune,” Ham said.

Monk growled, “Look at the gorilla with her.”

Monk had called the girl’s companion a gorilla. It would have taken a psychologist to explain why he did that. Probably because he secretly resented any man being in the company of a specimen of the feminine sex so entrancing.

The diamond girl’s companion was a tall, sturdy and not unhandsome young fellow with a markedly weather-beaten face. His hair was either naturally light or sun-bleached, and was wavy; it bore a close resemblance to molding clay. The young man wore a blue pea-jacket, and trousers that did not have an ordinary cut.

Monk promptly drew attention to the trousers.

“Lookit,” he grunted. “Sailors’ pants, big at the bottoms.”

Ham began, “They wear them with large bottoms merely because it is the style——”

“Wrong!” Monk snapped. “They’re big so——”

“There is a sound track on this film,” Doc Savage interposed. “We will connect the scanning cell and the amplifier to the loud-speaker. Whatever they said might be of interest.”

The necessary connections did not require long. As the film began moving again, the loud-speaker hummed and the blows which struck down Monk and Ham were distinctly audible. Monk had emitted a tremendous groan in the course of his Waterloo and Ham now seemed to find this vastly amusing. He chuckled over it until a speech from the diamond girl silenced him.

“Quick, Seaworthy,” snapped the young woman. “We won’t try to smear that message on the rug. We’ll cut it out.”

She had a voice which recorded beautifully.

Her companion, whom she had called Seaworthy, frowned at the rug and said, “Just what was Verne trying to write? Can you make it out?”

The girl moved over and studied the rug.

“Oh!” she gasped. “That would have put Doc Savage right on the trail! He would have learned all about Taz. We must get rid of it. Cut it out.”

Seaworthy produced a knife and went to work.

The girl stood to one side during the cutting operation, and it was apparent that she was under strong emotional strain. Once she made a sound very like a sob.

“Poor Verne,” she said, quietly. “They must have caught him. I wonder if he got the acid into the bilge of their ship.”

“If he did, the tub’ll sure sink,” grunted Seaworthy. “That’ll cook their chances of getting to Taz ahead of us.”

The girl shuddered. “I wonder if it’s worth it. It means millions, and more than money, too. But is it worth it? Sometimes, I wonder why money isn’t abolished. It causes so much trouble.”

“Something else would take its place for people to fight over,” said Seaworthy, who seemed to be something of a philosopher.

Seaworthy rolled the piece of rug, tucked the bundle under his arm, then squinted at the diamond girl.

“Why don’t you want Doc Savage in on this?” he asked her, suddenly. “We might make a deal with him.”

She stamped a foot at him.

“I’m greedy,” she said with frankness. “I want the money, the power that will come from Taz. I wouldn’t get it, if Doc Savage mixed in the affair. He would throw the thing open to the world.”

The two now took their departure. Following which the movie film—it had run on and on—became rather uninteresting. Nothing in the room moved. Except that the part of the rug bearing the writing was gone, there was nothing which really held interest.

“There won’t be nothin’ else,” Monk said.

“No harm in running it through to the end,” Doc Savage replied.

Perhaps a minute later Monk let out an excited whoop.

“Look at that!” he squawled.

“That” was the figure of a man who had glided furtively into the anteroom.

The newcomer’s appearance partook of the more flamboyant qualities of a rainbow. His pants were plum-colored. His coat was of distinct red and blue checks. His shirt was a jaunty yellow; his tie a checkered green. A lemon handkerchief, a green hat and bright yellow shoes completed the ensemble.

The picture of this apparition was projected in the full brilliance of its color. For Doc Savage had long ago ceased using ordinary black and white negatives for photography.

The rainbow man peered furtively around the reception room, then ducked into the library and was lost from sight.

The man returned shortly and stood staring at the section which had been cut out of the rug. Then he went over and kicked Monk and Ham in turn, as if he thought that might awaken them.

“I wondered how I got that sore place on my ribs,” Monk growled.

A voice came from the loud-speaker. The exotically clad man had not spoken, for they could see that his lips had not moved.

“Find anything, Cap’n Flamingo?” the voice demanded.

“Nothin’!” boomed Captain Flamingo in a powerful voice.

“Flamingo, the bird of brilliant color,” Ham murmured. “That name certainly fits the gentleman.”

Captain Flamingo spoke again.

“I’d like to know just what happened,” he said. “What kind of a storm laid these two swabs out like this?”

He walked over and kicked Ham again.

Ham winced, as if the blow had actually fallen again, and said, “I object strenuously to that.”

The voice—it was coming from the corridor—called to Captain Flamingo, “Well, what’re we gonna do about it?”

“We will not drop anchor here, that’s certain,” said Captain Flamingo. “We’ll see if we can’t find a cove across the street where we can watch the channel into this little harbor.”

He walked out with the rolling gait of a seafaring man.

The film ran through to its end without anything more of importance occurring. Doc stopped the projector, reversed it until one of the best shots of the ink marks on the rug was depicted, and stopped it.

“An enlargement of this would help,” he said.

The bronze man started the process of making an enlargement from the miniature film frame.

Monk snorted and stabbed a big forefinger in the general direction of the street below.

“You heard what our sailor visitor with the bright duds said, Doc,” he squeaked. “Him and his buddy was gonna watch this place. Ain’t we gonna glom onto ’em?”

“That is one of the few excellent ideas Monk ever had,” Ham said. “If we catch those fellows and question them, it might clear the whole thing up.”

“Want to take care of that while this enlargement is being made?” Doc asked.

Monk rubbed his ribs where, as he had discovered in the picture, he had been kicked. “Do I!”

“Go ahead,” Doc consented.

Monk and Ham lost no time, but seized powerful binoculars, opened the windows, leaned out and began to scrutinize the street below, first turning out the lights in the room behind them. There was little chance of their being observed. The sky above was cloud-gorged, intensely black, and luminance from the street lamps did not penetrate this high. Ham’s eyes proved the most alert.

“See that!” He pointed.

Monk looked and saw an individual who was unmistakably their late visitor of the rainbow clothing. This fellow was stationed in a doorway from which he could observe the skyscraper entrance.

“He’s waitin’ for us, even if he don’t know it,” Monk grunted. “Come on.”

Monk and Ham managed to gain from the rear the roof of the building in front of which their quarry stood. A bit later they left the roof, descended stairs, and peering around an angle in the corridor, they could discern through the frosted glass of an outer door the lurking watcher.

There was little light where Monk and Ham stood. They swapped scowls by way of assuring each other that they were ready. The door had a spring lock, which meant it could be opened from the inside. They turned the knob and went out suddenly.

The rainbow-hued man heard them, turned. He looked very much surprised, but let Monk take one of his arms, Ham the other.

“Well, reef my jib,” he muttered. “I been boarded!”

He did not seem too greatly concerned about it. The reason for that was evident an instant later.

“You’re on a rock, mates,” said a quiet, bitter voice.

Monk and Ham looked up. The areaway was old, elaborate, built for merchandise displays, and there was a line of show windows and a tiny balcony above.

A man was leaning over the balcony with a sawed-off shotgun.

Monk hunched his big shoulders and started to rumble. It was a peculiar trait of Monk’s that he lost his small voice when he got into a fight, his shouts assuming a deep, bass resonance; and he liked plenty of noise at his fights.

Ham emitted a slight, “Ps-s-st! Get smart!”

The bitter-voiced man with the shotgun spoke casually.

“You two birds may have yourselves decked out in bulletproof vests,” he said. “But me shooting down this way kinda takes care of that. This scatter gun is loaded for deer.”

Monk muttered, “Now, how’d that guy know about the vest?”

“It shows under your coat, stupid,” Ham told him. “If you would get a decent tailor and have your garments padded so that vest would not show itself——”

“You two can argue fashions later,” said the man in the rainbow attire.

“I’m comin’ down, Cap’n Flamingo,” said the one above. He tossed his shotgun down to Captain Flamingo, then grasped the railing, swung over and descended without much difficulty.

Flamingo, with his gun, had kept Doc’s two aids covered.

“Get going,” the two prisoners were ordered.

“You guys were all set for this,” Monk complained.

“Sure,” chuckled Captain Flamingo. “Why do you think I been standin’ down there where I could be seen from Doc Savage’s windows?”

“I’ll bite,” Monk gritted. “Why?”

“Why, you might say we were fishing,” Captain Flamingo told him. “Fishing for just what we got, see?”

“But whatcha want with us?” Monk grunted.

“Observe, and ye shall learn,” chuckled Captain Flamingo. “Now, reef the tongues and let’s steer a course.”

They got underway. A series of hallways led completely through the block. When they reached the next street, Captain Flamingo showed himself on the sidewalk. A car promptly came cruising toward the unmistakable beacon which his gaudy raiment made.

The car was a sedan, not expensive, not new, and not well-kept, but very large. The driver had a thick neck and a round face. His skin had a raw, red look, as if it had been sandpapered recently.

He wore a sailor hat. There was a name on it.

Captain Flamingo looked at the sailor hat and gave an excellent demonstration of a man about to have a fit. He grabbed the driver’s throat with one hand and the sailor hat with the other.

“Have you plumb lost your ballast?” he snarled.

Then he got a look at the name on the cap:

TROPIC SEAS

“Huh!” gulped Captain Flamingo. “Put some wind in my sails, matey. What’s the idea?”

“If somebody got a look at me, or if I was to lose that hat,” said the driver, “I figured it would look——” He leaned over and whispered words in the gaudily clad man’s ear.

Monk and Ham did not catch it.

“Sure, sure,” said Captain Flamingo, delightedly.

Monk demanded, “What’s the idea here?”

Captain Flamingo glared at him.

“I lost a ship of mine tonight, matey,” he growled, unpleasantly. “A swab poured acid in the bilge and it ate the plates out of her. I ain’t in a helluva good humor. You better do what you’re told to do. Get under way.”

Monk, Ham were loaded into the machine and it rolled downtown.

The bulletproof vests were stripped off Monk and Ham and Captain Flamingo spent his time examining them curiously. The car joined traffic and rumbled over one of the bridges spanning the East River into Brooklyn. It turned right and followed the water front.

Pier sheds along the river were large at first, but diminished in size and grew, for the most part, more ramshackle. They came to a section devoted to small shipyards.

Suddenly, for no reason that could be seen, Captain Flamingo’s companion began to laugh. He laughed long and heartily and finally wound up by stuffing his own fist into his mouth.

“Batten your hatch,” Captain Flamingo warned him.

Monk squirmed and demanded, “What do you fellows want with us?”

“I’ll tell you,” said Captain Flamingo, suddenly. “We want you to tell us just how much Doc Savage knows about this business.”