Doc Savage - Devils Of The Deep Part 3

At least, the two men intended to jump on him.

Something went wrong. They crashed into the closed door instead.

There was a brief flurry of action. The two attackers were big men. They jolted the floor when they landed. Alarmed cries sounded from down the corridor.

The mild-appearing man turned on the light. The two men on the floor were out cold. One of them was the man who had slipped up from the lobby a few minutes before.

Jack Warren-or Jackson-looked around swiftly. Hahln's rooms showed the effects of thorough searching.

Pictures had been pulled from the walls. Rugs had been torn from the floor. Even the mattress on the bed had been torn out.

Footsteps were racing up the hall outside. The mild-appearing man locked the door from the inside just before heavy fists started to pound on it.

"Open up! This is the house detective!"

Warren-or Jackson-did not seem to hear. He examined the radio Hahln had so carefully wrecked. He examined it closely. Then he went into the bathroom. The wash-basin was discolored.

From some place in his clothing he produced several slips of paper. He moistened these and placed them against the spots in the basin. The paper changed color.

The hammering on the door was increasing. The mild-mannered man went to a window, opened it. He vanished through it just before the house detective broke down the door.A COUPLE of hours later, Doc's aids got another telegraph from the bronze man. It also was from New York. It read: IF EXACT SPOT OF SEA SERPENT BATTLE LOCATED, TAKE UNDERWATER PICTURES.

OF LARGE AREA OF SEA BOTTOM AT THAT POINT.

Monk looked mystified. "Daggonit!" he complained. "Doc ain't going to let us have any vacation at all, if we're not careful."

Ham grinned. "Remember," he reminded. "You're the one who didn't mention a vacation. You mentioned a sea serpent."

Long Tom also was looking puzzled, but for another reason. "Strange Doc didn't call us, if he wanted to give any instructions," he commented.

Monk looked startled. Ham also showed surprise. The dapper lawyer went to a telephone. He asked the telegraph company to find out how the message had been filed.

All looked serious when the answer came. "It was telephoned in," they were informed. "Efforts to reach Mr. Savage for confirmation failed."

"A trap?" Ham queried.

Monk's homely face stretched into a grin. His big fists opened and closed. "Sounds like action, dang it!"

he howled.

Long Tom did the logical thing. He called Doc's office. He used a private number, known only to the bronze man's aids. Doc's voice replied.

"The instructions were legitimate, but use care," came the message.

The three followed orders. They had engaged the boat of Captain Teold. Teold still insisted he knew the exact location of the sea battle.

They found nothing the first day, but they took a great many underwater movies.

They also were sure their actions were un.o.bserved. In that they were wrong. They were watched by a mild-appearing man wearing a blue serge suit and horn-rimmed gla.s.ses.

There was something else they didn't know, also. The mild-appearing man did some diving as well. He did his at night, but, since it was impossible to see far under water without the use of special lights, that didn't make any difference.

The mild-appearing man also took underwater movies. The third day they got another message from Doc. "Return at once," was all it said.

Monk grumbled, but the others knew he really was glad to go. Spending most of their time beneath the sea, they hadn't even got the good tan they had expected.

"I'll show Doc the picture, daggonit," the hairy chemist said as they prepared to leave. "But you guys can back me up that the sea-serpent yarn really was a hoax."

That remark also was overheard by their pilot. The pilot again looked grimy-faced. He no longer resembled the nosy reporter.Their plane was speeding toward New York as terror struck for the first time on the Atlantic coast.

Chapter V. A PIRATE RAID.

THE S. S. Bellina was the victim. The Bellina was a rusty tramp steamer of Argentine registry. It was plodding slowly off the Florida coast when it happened.

The Bellina was out of Boston. It was loaded mostly with food supplies. It was well within the neutrality zone established by Pan-American nations after war started in Europe. It was flying a neutral flag.

The captain wasn't expecting trouble. At least, not serious trouble. The only squalls he saw ahead were those he intended to break himself. One small cabin boy by the name of Juan Lucke was to be the unfortunate recipient.

"Lucke might be hees name, but Lucke won't be his fate," the captain promised grimly and loudly.

The captain was short and stout, with a very short temper as well. Juan Lucke was responsible for the temper.

Juan had signed on after a.s.suring the captain he would be the "most wide-awake boy in all the Americas."

He might be wide-awake in the Americas, the captain once admitted, but he undoubtedly was the most sleepy boy on the seven seas.

At first it had been comparatively easy to find Juan. But as day after day had pa.s.sed, he had become more and more adept at finding out-of-way places for concealment-and sleep.

The captain was swearing furiously when the first mate called him to the bridge. Those of the crew within hearing grinned wisely. The first mate was a kindly man. He was undoubtedly trying to distract the captain's attention from the luckless Juan.

The first mate was not interested in Juan for the moment. He directed the captain's attention excitedly to a point just off starboard. A white streak of foam was approaching the S. S. Bellina from that direction.

"A submarine!" he gasped.

The captain looked, and he forgot all about Juan also. Then he shrugged. "True, but we are neutral," he said scornfully.

As the two watched, the conning tower of the submarine came into view. Men leaped to the deck, rushed to the gun there, swung it toward the Bellina.

The captain looked startled, but still he did not foresee trouble.

A man in officer's uniform appeared in the conning tower, shouted through a megaphone: "Heave to! Do not attempt to signal with your radio, or we will sink you!"

The captain's squat figure swelled angrily. Then he relaxed. Once more he shrugged.

"Follow instructions," he told the first mate.

He didn't know it, but that was the last order he was ever to give that would be obeyed.

The captain knew little of submarines, but this one appeared unusually large to him. Possibly that wasbecause he was beginning to feel for the first time that there might be danger.

There wasn't much time to think about anything. A boat came up through a hatch on the submarine, was put overside. A dozen men in various types of uniforms, accompanied by the officer who had done the signaling, got into it. All were heavily armed.

The boat pulled up alongside the S. S. Bellina. All but one of its occupants swarmed up the Jacob's ladder that had been thrown overside.

Even as they did so, the big submarine started to pull in closer.

The leader of the boarding party was a tall man with hard features. A vivid scar on the left side of his face gave him a perpetual leering expression.

The Bellina's captain approached apprehensively.

"B-but what is wrong?" he stammered. "My papers are in order. We are neutrals."

The scarred-faced officer glanced at him briefly.

"Take me to your quarters," he snapped. He spoke in English. His voice had the incisive clip of one accustomed to giving orders and to being obeyed.

Others of the boarding party went into action. Apparently they had been instructed in advance as to their duties. They spread out, guns ready, rounding up every member of the crew in sight.

The first mate protested, but a gun in his ribs stopped that. He, along with his men, was forced below decks.

As the Bellina's captain led the way to his tiny cabin, he noticed that the big submarine was now directly alongside. Mooring lines were being tossed to it aft, where it was lined up with the cargo winches.

On the deck of the submarine a big hatch was being raised.

The fat captain's face paled. Some things were becoming clear-too clear. But even yet he had no idea of what was in store for him.

"You would not violate international law, senor? You would not commit an act of piracy?" he said.

The scarred-faced man's sneer broadened. He slapped the other with the palm of his hand, forcing him ahead.

"Let's see your papers, swine!"

With trembling fingers the captain produced the manifest. His tall captor scanned it swiftly, eyes lighting briefly.

"Good! We can use most of this," he rapped.

From somewhere in the bowels of the ship came a man's scream. It was silenced instantly by a shot.

"Madre mia!"

the captain moaned. "Murder and piracy. May your soul rot in h.e.l.l, senor!"

The scarred-faced man laughed. There was no humor in that laugh. The gun in his hand swung slightly."At least you'll be there first, fatty," he said casually. His finger pressed the trigger twice.

A surprised, shocked expression came to the captain's face, like that of a child wrongfully punished.

Thick hands tried to stop the crimson that spurted from the two holes in his belly.

His killer didn't even glance at him as he fell squirming, to die slowly on the cabin floor.

HATCHES already had been raised on the S. S. Bellina when the scarred-faced man returned to the deck. A cargo boom was swinging into place.

A thin-featured thug, almost lost in the uniform he wore, grinned. "We got 'em all locked up down below, Pete. Had to b.u.mp one of them," he reported cheerfully.

The scarred-faced man swore fiercely. "d.a.m.n it, call me Captain or Mr. Mills," he snarled. "I'm going to have discipline, or do some blasting myself."

The other lost his smile. "Y-yes, P- I mean captain," he stuttered.

Pete Mills turned hard eyes on the scene before him. Cargo was being shifted rapidly from the Bellina to the sub.

"Make another search," he ordered curtly. "We want no survivors."

The thin-featured thug scurried away.

Those shifting cargo worked rapidly. Packing case after packing case was lowered into the submarine.

Soon afterward a number of packages were transferred from the submarine to the Bellina. The men handling them treated them carefully. These packages were taken below decks also.

It was about this time that Juan Lucke woke up.

For some time Juan lay quietly, grinning as he stretched lazily. This time he had really put one over on that pig of a captain. It had been well worth the few slaps he might receive.

Then he reached up and pulled the cotton plugs out of his ears. Experience had proved to him that unless he used something of the sort, his stolen sleep might be interrupted by angry bellowings.

A few seconds longer he remained quiet. Then his small body tensed. The ship's engines had stopped, and that was strange.

Strange, also, he decided, was the absence of noise. True, there were a few faint sounds from the deck, but these soon ceased. And if he knew his captain, that fat one would be shouting orders, even if there were no need to shout.

He rolled over on his side. A pair of shoes almost hit him in the face. Cautiously he thrust one hand out, tried to move the shoes.

It was some seconds before he realized the shoes still were on a man's feet. It was some time after that before he realized the man was dead.

Juan became a very small boy then. He tried to scream. He couldn't. When he thought that one over, he came to the conclusion there was no need to scream, anyway. A dead man couldn't hurt him.

He rolled from under the captain's bunk, the one safe sleeping hide-out he had ever found, and lookeddown on the captain's body.

JUAN stood very straight and very still. In the distance, it seemed, he could hear the faint hum of motors.

And now, for the first time, he became aware of a pounding far below decks.

Juan Lucke didn't know what was wrong; he only knew that something very terrible had happened. He raced from the cabin.

The decks were empty. A hundred yards away a dim object moved close to the surface of the sea. For a moment, Juan was tempted to yell for help. Some instinct warned him against that.