Doc Savage - Devils Of The Deep Part 5

DOC SAVAGE'S bronzed features were stern. He had seen death often. He never had become accustomed to it.

And he had known Vineland. The small man with the black goatee had achieved an enviable reputation in the research world. On several occasions he had asked Doc's aid.

The bronze man inspected the body swiftly. It seemed impossible that anyone could have lived more than a few seconds, wounded so.Vineland apparently had been hit by an explosive bullet. It had torn a huge wound in his side.

"Just like the one that killed Gadberry!" Ham said.

Monk's breath came out in a long sigh. "Then this isn't a new case. It's just some more of the same one,"

he said.

Doc nodded. "I am afraid so."

In silence they did what had to be done. The police were notified. The body was removed. None of them mentioned to the police that Vineland had spoken before he died. Nor did they tell of their suspicions.

But there no longer was any doubt that they faced a tough problem.

A sea-serpent yarn in New Orleans, even a murder there, could be connected with a submarine attack off the Florida coast without meaning the criminals they opposed had a wide organization.

But when murder occurred at their door, when it was apparent the killers wanted to keep Doc Savage out of the case, they knew their job would not be easy. Experience had proved that.

Identifying the Stevens mentioned by Vineland was not difficult. Stevens was director of the research bureau for which Vineland had worked.

"Must be Roland Stevens," Long Tom said shortly. "He knows something about electricity, too."

Long Tom's companions forgave him his pardonable pride in his own ability, but Monk did point out that Stevens knew something about chemistry, physics and a few other subjects as well as electricity.

Locating Stevens proved somewhat more difficult. It was the following day before they learned he was at a private laboratory in New Jersey.

By then the terror had struck twice more.

THE newspapers hardly had s.p.a.ce on their front pages for anything but headlines.

For one of the latest two ships to be sunk had been German. The other had been British.

The German ship, from all accounts, had been first. It had darted from a Florida port in an effort to elude the British blockade and get home with a valuable cargo of machinery.

When the German "SSSS" hit the air-the signal adopted by all belligerents to replace the old SOS in indicating a submarine attack-American destroyers had rushed to the location given by the ship.

They had arrived just in time to see the ship vanish in a gigantic explosion. There was no sign of a submarine.

For quite a while the destroyers had thought there were no survivors. Then two sailors were found clinging to wreckage. Both were in critical shape, could hardly give a coherent account of what had happened.

But they confirmed the story of Juan Lucke of the Bellina. The mystery submarine had locked the crew below decks before setting off the explosives.

The survival of even two men could only be cla.s.sed as a miracle.And these two men swore the crew of the submarine spoke only English.

An English submarine might have been blamed, if a British freighter hadn't been sunk only a few hours later.

The British ship didn't get a chance to send out a distress call. It was figured out later the submarine must have fired at least one shot into her, disabling the radio equipment, before even ordering her to halt.

And it was only from wreckage that the tragedy was learned. The American destroyers were on their way back to their home ports when they encountered it.

There were no survivors from the freighter, although several bodies were recovered and wreckage revealed the ship's ident.i.ty.

If the press had screamed before, now it went wild. It was apparent, the consensus said, that none of the belligerent nations could be responsible.

A minority, however, was not so sure. The terror was striking inside the American neutrality zone. Some thought it might be a Red plot to involve the United States. Still others blamed one or the other of the warring nations, declaring the guilty side was ready to sacrifice lives of its own countrymen in an attempt to win support of the world's most powerful neutral.

The President ordered part of the Pacific fleet to reinforce the neutrality patrol on the Atlantic.

One newspaper recalled the panic that had spread along the Atlantic seaboard when submarines raided shipping almost at the entrance of New York Harbor.

New York City, it was pointed out, had experienced its first "blackout" in those days. Other cities along the coast had taken similar precautions.

The present situation, it was declared, was even more perilous. Now, no one knew whom to blame. No one knew where the terror would strike next.

The wave of fear swept inland swiftly.

ROLAND STEVENS apparently had been caught in that wave.

The scientist's hands were shaking, his eyes appeared panic-stricken, when a secretary telephoned that Clark Savage, Jr., and two of his aids, Andrew Blodgett Mayfair and Theodore Brooks wished to see him.

Roland Stevens was a big man. He must have weighed at least three hundred pounds. Rolls of fat hung under his chin. Usually those triple chins bounced jovially. He seemed that type of man.

That is, as a rule. He certainly wasn't now. He had to swallow hard several times before he could tell the secretary it was all right to admit Doc Savage.

His agitation increased when he saw the bronze man's gold-flecked eyes. Stevens felt as if those eyes were looking right through him.

"I'm afraid," he apologized as his guests took seats.

Monk looked at the big man with frank disgust. The hairy chemist didn't think much of those who showed fear when Doc was around to protect them. He wished Long Tom could have been with them to see his fellow expert. But Long Tom had been left at the office.Ham, more dapper than usual, swinging the latest in canes, also had difficulty in hiding his feelings.

Only Doc showed no emotion. "You know about Vineland?" he asked quietly.

Roland Stevens gulped. His triple chins quivered even more violently than before.

"T-that's it," he managed at last. "Once we were three. Then Gadberry was killed. Now Vineland. I am the only one left."

Doc Savage said nothing. He sat quietly, his peculiarly colored eyes steady on the shaking ma.s.s before him. Gold flakes were revolving in those eyes.

Roland Stevens straightened slowly. He seemed to draw courage from the man before him. Other men had experienced that same sensation in the past.

"I am afraid," he said, and this time his voice was quiet and controlled, "that I am really responsible for all that has happened."

Monk and Ham sat forward swiftly. Monk's big fists clenched. He seemed on hair trigger, ready to leap into action.

Doc gestured slightly. Monk relaxed.

"Go on," the bronze man prompted.

Roland Stevens drew a deep breath. His shoulders straightened, his layers of fat steadied.

"I, Mr. Savage, devised the horrible instrument that brought all this about. With the aid of Gadberry and Vineland, I perfected that instrument, made it the most fearsome underwater device ever known."

MONK stirred uneasily. He didn't quite understand the complete change that had come over the fat man. From an object of terror, Stevens' last statement had contained more than a little pride-and bragging.

Ham swung his cane casually. The dapper lawyer wondered that if just this once Doc wouldn't approve if he used the sword inside that cane to see just how far it would penetrate an overweight body.

Doc's words punctured that thought. "I gather, however, that you had no idea what was to happen as a result," the bronze man said.

Roland Stevens nodded swiftly.

"Tell us," Doc commanded.

Stevens' air of pride left him. He deflated like a punctured bladder. When he spoke his voice was dead, monotonous.

"This device of mine was to end the submarine menace for all time for whatever nation owned it. It is the most efficient antisubmarine device ever known.

"I will not go into detail now, except to say any submarine coming within yards of it is caught, is held helpless beneath the surface until all life inside is dead.

"We took this device-the so-called sea serpent of the newspapers-off the Louisiana coast for testing. We intended, Mr. Savage, to ask either your co-operation with your submarine, or the aid of the navy in thattask."

Doc nodded, but did not speak.

"But we were careless," Stevens went on. A note of hysteria came into his voice. "We did not expect any submarines to wander in that area. We did not move as rapidly as possible. And then came the story of the sea serpent."

Stevens paused, swallowed hard, then continued: "Vineland and myself knew nothing of it until Gadberry called. He was in New Orleans. Vineland and I rushed there as swiftly as possible.

"And then we became afraid. We knew the device would not release its prey until sufficient time had pa.s.sed for those trapped to die. We were fearful we could not point out the exact location swiftly enough if we called on the navy for aid."

A swift look pa.s.sed between Monk and Ham. Part of this was sounding fishy.

"But when the time came, we went to the scene. We were hoping for the best. We used another device we had contrived and found the trapped submarine. We released it. Air in its tanks brought it to the surface."

Stevens stopped. Cold beads of perspiration stood out on the fat layers of his face. His voice dropped to little more than a whisper.

"When we entered the submarine, our worst fears were realized. It was a coffin of dead. Of one hundred dead!"

Chapter VIII. A TRAP FOR DOC.

THE phone rang sharply, breaking the spell created by Stevens' words.

The fat man started violently. Color flowed back into his heavy features. He reached for the receiver.

Doc turned slightly, as if to address Ham. Instead, the bronze man's fingers worked with lightning speed.

Doc Savage had long worn an equipment vest beneath his clothing. The contents of that vest varied from time to time, but he always carried articles he believed might become useful in whatever case he was involved.

His fingers sped to this vest now. Even Ham, seated directly at his right, could hardly see what happened.

The object the bronze man palmed was small. It consisted mostly of fine, almost invisible wire. At the other end was a small plug, slightly larger where it connected with the wire.

One of Doc's hands brushed against his smooth hair. The plug went into his ear. The fine wire streaked across the floor, covered the insulated cables leading to Stevens' phone.

It was in place when Stevens answered the call.

Long Tom could have explained the plug and the wire. He had helped work on it. It was a simplified arrangement to listen in on a telephone call while in the same room with one of those talking.

The small plug consisted not only of a tiny receiver, but also of a midget battery strong enough to set upan inductive current in the almost invisible wire.

Stevens' end of the conversation was definitely unenlightening. He identified himself. That was about all.

After that, he confined himself to affirmative grunts. His heavy brow became even more wrinkled. He offered no explanation when he hung up.

Doc Savage made no comment on the call, either. The plug and fine wire vanished. The bronze man acted as though there had been no interruption.

"And after the submarine came to the surface?" he prompted.

Stevens' breathing became more strained. "We knew we had to get rid of it," he said simply.

"Could you not simply have re-sunk it?" the bronze man asked.

Stevens shook his head slowly. "We had thought of that. We were afraid that sometime someone might really investigate that sea-serpent story. So we had arranged something else."

"And that?"

"We had a crew with us, a small crew, but of men who knew submarines and who we thought could be trusted to keep their mouths shut. They were instructed to take the submarine to the Florida Everglades and hide it there."

The bronze man nodded. If he knew that Stevens was omitting part of the story-that of the shots when this crew had boarded the submarine and of the surface battle that had followed-he gave no indication.

"And so you believe-"

"I believe these men saw a chance to become pirates. To prey on the shipping of every nation. They have a submarine and they have something even more valuable."

Stevens paused impressively. "They took with them the device that trapped that submarine-the sea serpent. And in their hands, used in a way that never was intended, it becomes a weapon that will make it virtually impossible ever to capture them."

MONK snorted openly. The hairy chemist had become more and more skeptical as Stevens talked.

Maybe there was something to the yarn. But he didn't believe all of it. Particularly, he didn't believe the last statement.

Ham adopted his best witness-baiting manner. "You are prepared to prove to us, of course," he said insultingly, "that there really is such a 'sea-serpent' device as you claim? One that you invented?"