Читать книгу Mystery under the Sea: A Doc Savage Adventure - Lester Bernard Dent - Страница 9

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It was before one of the shipyards that the car finally pulled up. The driver switched off the lights. He left the engine running.

To a wharf at the bottom of the shipyard was tied a small rusty-looking steamer, a craft with a length of less than two hundred feet. She needed painting. Naked, blazing electric light bulbs dangled over her rails at intervals of not more than a score of feet, lighting every inch of the water and the wharf about her. Not a soul was visible on or around the craft.

Monk and Ham were forced into a small shed, foul-smelling of ship stores. They were questioned, after their ankles and wrists were bound. It seemed Flamingo wanted information of “Diamond Eve” and “Seaworthy.”

They stepped outside the shed for a private conversation. As they did so, a huge shadow glided into the shed. Monk felt fingers wrenching at his bonds, felt the ropes snap, and recognized the one person whose strength could accomplish the feat so easily.

“Doc!” he gulped.

“Quiet,” the bronze man breathed.

“How did you find us?” Monk whispered.

“By trailing the car which brought you,” the bronze man explained. He then released Ham, also.

Doc glided out the door of the shed, to attempt capture of Flamingo and his two men. But they suspicioned something and hastened for a pile of timbers. Doc threw a piece of wood at the gloom behind the timbers and it drew a shot that thumped into the side of the steamer.

Excitement in quantities now broke out aboard the trampish-looking steamer. Men with rifles appeared on her decks.

From where they lay, Doc and his men could make out the name of the boat:

TROPIC SEAS

The armed men from the ship ran down the gangplank and began an advance. Some of them carried hand searchlights.

Doc pressed into the hands of Monk and Ham the oversize machine pistols of Doc’s invention, shooting mercy bullets which did not kill but only produced unconsciousness.

“Watch the gate,” Doc Savage directed. “Keep Captain Flamingo and the other two from retreating in that direction. Their only chance will be to swim for it.”

Monk and Ham eased in the direction of the gate.

After they had departed, there was no stirring in the shadow to indicate Doc Savage had also moved. But he had changed position; doing so with the almost uncanny stealth of which he was capable. He was, in fact, now not more than a score of feet from Captain Flamingo and his two comrades. He could hear the trio quarreling.

“Bringin’ them two guys here to question ’em was a dam-fool, reckless stunt!” snarled one of the men.

“Belay that!” growled Captain Flamingo. “Sure, it was a risk. But I was tryin’ to get Doc Savage onto that Tropic Seas gang.”

At that moment, a loud and very astounded exclamation came from the direction of the gate. It was Monk. Plainly, he had just received a profound surprise.

Doc Savage made a cautious survey to ascertain what had so moved Monk. He saw almost at once.

The girl of the diamonds! She had come off the ship, Tropic Seas, and was directing the sailors, urging them to charge. With her was the man whom she had designated as Seaworthy, during her visit to Doc Savage’s office.

Captain Flamingo’s voice snarled, “Here’s where I teach Miss Diamond Eve Post a lesson!”

With all the speed of which his trained muscles were capable, Doc Savage got a small flashlight out of his clothing. He thumbed it, planting a beam squarely upon Captain Flamingo. The latter had a revolver leveled in the direction of the girl. The unexpected flashlight flare surprised him out of shooting at the young woman. Instead, he whirled and fired at Doc. But, by that time, Doc had doused the light, was down. Captain Flamingo’s lead hit the timber behind which Doc lay. It jarred the timber slightly.

Rifles crashed. Bullets stormed overhead. The Tropic Seas crowd had opened fire.

Captain Flamingo began to swear in a shrill, almost insanely mad voice. He could not remain where he was. The Tropic Seas attackers were spreading out, would soon have him flanked.

“We’ll hit the drink!” Captain Flamingo rapped.

He leaped up, ran toward the water. The other two trod his heels. The darkness aided them. They reached the water.

Surprisingly enough, they did not dive in immediately. Instead, they flung themselves down behind a painters’ float which had been hauled out, and did something. Just what they did, Doc Savage could not discern. The bronze man was at that moment engaged in getting himself into the background.

It was reasonable to expect that Captain Flamingo and the others had removed part of their clothing, to make swimming easier. But when they got to their feet, it proved they had done nothing of the sort. Fully dressed, they plunged into the bay. They disappeared and did not come up immediately, which was to be expected, since there was every chance that they would be shot the instant they broke the surface again.

What happened next was surprising, a bit unbelievable. Also, it was something that later offered a grim significance of entirely surprising nature. It was a thing that, in a sense, forecast the amazing, fantastic events that were to occur before the whole incredible adventure came to an end.

The men who had leaped into the water did not come up at all!

That they did not come up, was absolutely certain. The men from the Tropic Seas aligned along the shore had turned on their hand searchlights. Others lowered two motor tenders over the sides of the rusty old tramp, and cruised about. The tenders were equipped with surprisingly powerful searchlights.

The young woman who displayed the diamonds was in charge of the whole thing. And she handled it efficiently. The man called Seaworthy seemed to be second in charge.

Fully half an hour had passed before Doc Savage joined Monk and Ham near the gate. They were alone here and could converse.

“Captain Flamingo and the other two must have had portable diving apparatus,” Monk muttered.

“No,” Doc told him. “Their figures showed distinctly just before they entered the water, and they certainly had no diving equipment.”

“Then they drowned,” Ham said, dryly.

“It is strange,” Doc Savage said. And his words were slow. “They entered the water confidently, as if they knew what they were doing.”

Monk snorted. “This is a screwy business, and we still haven’t the slightest idea of what it’s all about.”

“We have two angles to work on,” Doc Savage told him.

“What do you mean?” Monk queried.

“This affair right here is one,” Doc replied. “The other is the writing the dying man did on our office rug.”

“What was the writing?” Monk demanded. “It didn’t look like anything to me but some funny marks.”

“There was not time to make sure about it,” Doc Savage told him.

The bronze man now withdrew from his clothing a rolled photographic print.

“This is the enlargement of the marks,” he said. “Keep it, and both of you stay undercover.”

“What’re you gonna do?” Monk asked.

He failed to get an answer, which did not completely surprise him. Doc Savage had a small habit, most aggravating at times, of completely neglecting to explain what he intended to do next. Now, was one of those occasions. He moved away soundlessly and was lost in the darkness.

Monk and Ham looked at each other, shrugged, crept out of the shipyard through the gate without being observed, and concealed themselves among discarded automobiles which littered a junk yard across the street.

Doc Savage had something very definite in mind, it was evident from his movements. The trampish-looking Tropic Seas was almost deserted, all hands being engaged still in the futile search for the three men who had simply vanished under the water. The lights would have revealed Doc Savage, had he attempted to walk down the wharf. So, near the shore, he swung over the edge and, hanging by his hands, swung along the stringers until he was close to the rust-scabbed hull.

Such portholes as were open were not large enough to admit him. He reached the gangplank, made sure no one was near, whipped onto the dock and got aboard the boat.

Shortly afterward, he heard the crew returning. He took pains to conceal himself where he could listen without being seen.

The voice of the man called Seaworthy was first to become distinguishable.

“Blast Cap’n Flamingo!” Seaworthy complained. “Him and the two with him got clean away.”

That statement was startling, to say the least—in view of the apparently obvious fact that the three men must have drowned.

“We are in a jam,” said the girl who wore the diamonds. “What was Captain Flamingo doing here? What caused him to fire the shot which attracted our attention?”

This indicated that they had no inkling of the presence of Doc Savage and his two aids.

There was the noise of fingers snapping loudly. Evidently, this was Seaworthy.

“You know what?” Seaworthy barked. “I’ll bet Cap’n Flamingo came here deliberately and started that shooting. He knew it would draw a police investigation.”

The girl emitted a mannish whistle of surprise.

“A police search of the ship would sink our whole plan,” she said, grimly.

“Listen,” Seaworthy suggested. Somewhere in the distance, a police siren was making a faint caterwauling noise.

“Police!” the girl gasped. “Some one telephoned them! Probably some neighbor! What are we going to do?”

“We’ll set sail!” Seaworthy yelled.

He began to bawl orders.

The disreputable ship had looked as if it were driven by steam, but evidently its appearance was deceiving. The power proved to be Diesels, and ones equipped for quick electrical starting, at that. Doc Savage could tell this by their sound as they began revolving.

The hawsers were cast off. Propellers churned in reverse. The ship moved with surprising facility for a hooker of her appearance.

The police arrived in time to do nothing but stand on the end of the dock and shout.

All hands, except those in the engine room, were on deck during the excitement of the departure. Doc Savage made use of the opportunity to examine a portion of the vessel. He learned a surprising fact.

The Tropic Seas had lately been a cargo carrier, but she had been built over for some purpose, the exact nature of which was difficult to determine. Living quarters for a very large force of men had been installed amidships, not in the forecastle as was customary.

Originally, there had been one hatch forward. Now there were three. Cargo booms had been taken off and substantial derrick affairs substituted. It could be seen that the hatches were heavily padlocked.

Doc Savage smothered a hearty desire to learn what was in the hold when the crew began to move about the decks and come below. The Tropic Seas was now well out in the harbor and, judging from the vibration, was heading for the open sea.

All lights were being extinguished. No illumination was needed for navigation. The ample number of lighted channel buoys took care of that. The green and red light points of these buoys were sliding past at a much greater rate than might have been expected. The old Tropic Seas was fast.

Doc Savage worked his way toward the bridge. He managed to attain that goal without being molested, aided no little by the intense darkness. The bridge was glass-enclosed, but windows were of the sliding type and now open. He took shelter in a niche behind the bridge, where he could overhear what was being said.

For a time, there was only the routine conversation having to do with the piloting of the speeding vessel. They had muffled the engine room gongs for the time being. Somewhere aboard, a ship’s clock started striking and a man swore, ran to it, and muted it before it finished.

“The police are sure to radio the coast guard,” the girl said, uneasily.

“It’s not likely they’ll pick us up,” Seaworthy told her. “It’s dark as a cave. And our radio man reported, before we started, that he had tuned in on some ships out off Scotland Light vessel. Fog out there.”

“By morning, we should be so far out they will never find us,” the girl admitted.

Seaworthy laughed.

“The world won’t hear from us again until we spring Taz on them,” he chuckled.

“How long do you think it will take us to reach Taz?” the girl asked.

“Don’t know, Diamond Eve,” Seaworthy said.

“Don’t call me that nickname!” the girl snapped. “The newspapers hung it on me, and I do not care for it.”

Seaworthy clicked off a prompt salute, and said, “Certainly miss.”

The girl strode out on the starboard wing of the bridge and, with binoculars, swept the night. The Tropic Seas was now in the mouth of the harbor, the portion shown on the chart as the Narrows. Brooklyn was a diffused light bank on the left, while Staten Island lights were farther away to the right.

“Not a sign of the coast guard,” the girl said.

“They run without lights, too,” Seaworthy reminded her. “But I think we’ll make it.”

The young woman walked back to the center of the bridge, and questioned, “You are sure we can trust the men we have aboard?”

“Absolutely,” said Seaworthy. “I know every one of them personally. I’ve sailed with them all at one time or another.”

“Spare us another Captain Flamingo experience,” the girl said, grimly.

“Captain Flamingo!” Seaworthy made a growling noise. “We sure dismasted him! That idea of mine of getting acid into the bilge of this boat was swell, huh?”

The girl shuddered, said, “Poor Twenty-Thousand-Leagues Verne.”

“We’ll settle a fortune on his relatives,” Seaworthy said. “We can do a lot of things, after we get to Taz.”

The girl was silent a moment.

“You sure you have all the necessary equipment aboard?” she asked them.

“All we had the money to buy,” Seaworthy told her. “Of course, if we’d had more money, we’d ’a’ got a small submarine and fitted it up with locks by which divers could enter and leave.”

“I’m broke.” The girl’s voice was grim. “I staked everything on this. I even sold my diamonds. These things I’m wearing are glass.”

“They don’t look like glass,” Seaworthy told her.

“Oh, they make good imitations these days,” the girl replied, casually. “And I had to keep myself in character by wearing them.”

She turned and walked off the bridge.

Doc Savage was there in the darkness to meet her. Before she saw him, she was inside the trap which his corded arms made.