Doc Savage - The Man Who Shook The Earth Part 10

"Idiot!" said the friend. "Do not bother that man. He is a bad one to molest."

"Who is he?" asked the newsboy.

"Don't you know? That is General John Acre, head of the government secret police."

The pair stared after John Acre until he was lost in the darkness.

The hawk-nosed man walked rapidly, as if he had urgent business. He kept wary eyes on each dark alleythat he pa.s.sed, however. His manner was that of a man who had many enemies.

Such pedestrians as were encountered stepped hastily aside after one glance at that grim, beaked countenance.

In New York, it was winter. Here, in Chile, it was summer. The night was quite hot. Almost every one abroad at this late hour wore white garments.

John Acre, however, wore only dull black. His hat was black, also. He was clad thus in order to offer as inconspicuous a target as possible in the night.

Men who would cheerfully have killed John Acre were legion. The head of the government police had sent many plotters to prison. He was the terror of radicals and political schemers.

Half a dozen times, John Acre twisted and turned in his progress. He glanced back often, making certain no one was following him.

He turned at last into a narrow street which was as black as the interior of a mine. Entirely by the sense of touch, he found a low door. He stepped through.

Once inside, John Acre demonstrated that he was in familiar surroundings. He did not strike a light.

Instead, he felt his way through intense blackness.

He found a row of nails driven in the wall. On each nail hung a bundle of cloth. John Acre lifted off the handiest of these.

South American Indians and cowboys have a garment which they call a poncho. It resembles a blanket, with a hole in the middle for the head. The object which John Acre lifted off the nail was a poncho, but it also had an additional hood of cloth sewn in the middle. This was perforated with eye holes.

John Acre donned the garment. It concealed him from head to foot. Then he entered an adjacent room, struck a match, and applied it to a native candle made of llama tallow.

The room in which he stood was rather large. John Acre was not tall, but his head almost touched the ceiling. Walls were windowless. There was only the one door, and it was heavy.

A bench of rough boards ran entirely around the room. John Acre sat down on the bench and waited. He was a grotesque figure in his hooded poncho.

Two men came in. They both looked at John Acre's swathed figure and smiled derisively.

"Regular Hallowe'en stuff," chuckled one.

The speaker was an ordinary-looking fellow, being of average size, with a plain but not unpleasant face.

One thing about his attire made him stand out, however. This was the profusion in which yellow gold appeared upon his person.

Each b.u.t.ton on his suit was gold-at least gold-colored. His watch chain, rings and stickpin were gold.

He seemed to have a mania for the metal.

The second man was short and fat. He had a face which resembled that of a rabbit, minus the long ears.

He was whistling softly as they entered the room. The whistling appeared to be an unconscious habit.

He whistled almost continuously, except when talking or eating. His tunes were always pitched so low as to be inaudible at a distance of more than a few feet.Both men were Americans. Neither wore a mask.

"What is this Hallowe'en?" asked John Acre.

"An old American custom," smiled the man who liked gold.

John Acre shrugged. "This is no joking matter. You two men reported that you narrowly escaped a landslide caused by a strange earthquake. That was six weeks ago."

"Sure-and it d.a.m.ned near finished Missus Galligan's boy, Dido," said the man who affected gold ornamentation.

"You and Whistler Wheeler saw two men flee the vicinity of the weird quake-two men named Velvet and Biff? That right?"

"Whistler" Wheeler nodded, still whistling.

John Acre eyed the two men. He knew them very well. He supposed they knew his ident.i.ty also, although they had not called his name. They should have recognized his voice.

"Dido" Galligan and Whistler Wheeler were two American engineers in charge of one of the greatest nitrate plants in South America.

"How are things going at your workings?" John Acre asked them. "Anything suspicious?"

"Nothing to report," said Dido Galligan, polishing one of his gold b.u.t.tons. "I been keeping a close lookout for them two birds, Velvet and Biff. No sign of 'em."

John Acre considered this in silence.

"Velvet and Biff are the only men we have spotted as belonging to the Little White Brother's organization," he said. "Now they have vanished. You men had better put on the poncho masks. The others will soon be coming."

"T' h.e.l.l with the masks!" snorted Dido Galligan. "We don't care who knows we're attending this meeting."

John Acre nodded slowly as if in approval. "You are brave men. I wish I could make the same statement about the others to come."

"They are scared of the Little White Brother?" questioned Dido Galligan.

"Very scared," John Acre agreed. "They are even afraid to let it be known that they oppose his sinister power."

WITHIN the course of the next half hour, something over a dozen men entered the room. Each fellow wore one of the poncho masks. They kept apart from each other. None spoke to his neighbor.

The manner of each man showed that he feared his fellows.

John Acre had been keeping a count. His att.i.tude as he stood up indicated that the expected number was now present. He spoke in excellent Spanish, his choice of words showing that he was a man of no little education.

"You gentlemen know why we are here," he declared.One of the cowled a.s.semblage stood erect.

"I have been away to Europe on a business trip," he explained. "I am somewhat out of touch with the situation. In fact, I do not know the exact purpose of this meeting."

"You are present to hear my report on certain secret investigations," John Acre said. "As you all know, in recent weeks there has been an epidemic of earthquakes in Chile. These quakes all have one very strange thing in common. Each has resulted in the death of a wealthy owner of nitrate property.

"It is this which I have been investigating. Now, here is my report."

He paused dramatically. The silence in the room was that of something about to explode. Through it, Whistler Wheeler's low whistling was audible.

"I am convinced some hideous power is behind these quakes," said John Acre.

A stir swept the room. Whistler Wheeler's tune came to an abrupt end.

"But no man can cause earthquakes," some one objected.

"I didn't say the Little White Brother was a man," John Acre answered.

"Then what is the devil?"

John Acre shrugged. His arms made a bewildered gesture under the all-enveloping poncho.

"I have been unable to learn," he declared. "The fiendish thing is only a rumor, but it is too wide-flung a rumor not to have a grain of truth. They say that the Little White Brother is behind the quakes."

Again a buzz of surprise swept the gathering.

"You need not act so astonished," John Acre said shortly. "You have heard of this Little White Brother-be it man or some other incredible thing. You have heard that the quakes are killing men at the Little White Brother's behest.

"Some of you own nitrate plants-it is only such men who are dying in the quakes. Others are government officials. You have asked me to investigate the mystery."

The head of the secret police paused, then continued: "I actually know only two men connected with the quake mystery-a pair named Velvet and Biff. Velvet is slender, handsome in an evil way. Biff is big, with a scarred and ugly face."

Again, John Acre paused. "I can find neither man. They have disappeared. I wish to report that I am stumped on this case. I give up."

One of the men on the bench sprang erect, yelling: "We told you to send for the famous Yankee trouble-buster! Did you?"

John Acre scowled. "Sit down! I am handling this!"

"You are getting nowhere with it!" shouted the heckler. "We want Doc Savage down here! If you won't send for him, we will!"

During the ten seconds which followed the query, some half a dozen shrouded heads nodded a.s.sent.

"I have sent for him!" John Acre snapped. "I have been in touch with him for days."

Whistler Wheeler stopped whistling. Dido Galligan leaned forward, that he might hear better. Both men, it was plain, were now intensely interested.

"I am in communication with this Yankee trouble-smasher by radio," John Acre announced. "Only tonight, I received a message from him. He is now on his way to Chile."

THAT is excellent!" some one declared.

"I am highly pleased myself," John Acre replied. "My own attempts to investigate the Little White Brother have been pitifully futile. I cannot even secure the faintest hint as to what the monster is trying to do. The earthquakes and the deaths they have caused might possibly be coincidences, but I do not think so."

He paused to shake his fist dramatically. "It will take some one of Doc Savage's ability to find out what is behind this."

This seemed to conclude the general business of the meeting. The men filed outside. They departed one at a time, each giving the one ahead of him an interval in which to remove the poncho hood and get out of sight.

Eventually, only John Acre, Dido Galligan, and Whistler Wheeler remained.

Dido Galligan stared levelly at John Acre. He growled: "Unmask!"

John Acre hesitated. It seemed, for a moment, that he was not going to comply. Then he snapped, "Very well," and s.n.a.t.c.hed off his poncho.

"O.K.," said Dido Galligan. "I was pretty sure from your voice that it was you, but I wanted to be positive."

"You have something of a personal nature to discuss?" queried hook-nosed John Acre.

"Yes," said Dido Galligan. "I have been taking measures of my own to combat this mysterious Little White Brother."

"What kind of measures, may I ask?"

"I have a sister in New York," Dido Galligan explained. "She is a remarkable girl. She has made espionage her career."

"You mean she's a professional spy?" John Acre asked.

"Correct," Dido Galligan agreed. "She is one of the best in the game. For months she has been working in a certain foreign country. Recently she completed that job. I have asked her to go to work on this Little White Brother thing, and she has agreed."

"I do not approve of this," John Acre said shortly.

Dido Galligan bristled. "Why not?"

"It is no work for a woman."

"She is going to work upon it anyway," Dido Galligan said stubbornly. "I have already given her all the details.

Today she radioed me that she plans to sail for Chile on the next steamer."

"How have you been communicating with her?" John Acre asked curiously.

"By radio."

"I have no power to forbid your sister coming here," John Acre said resignedly. "But I do not approve of it."

Whistler changed the subject.

"I wonder what devilish power is actually causing those earthquakes."

John Acre shook his head. "That I cannot tell. There is only one clew."

"What's that?""In each case, a few moments before the quake starts, electric lights all over the affected district go dim,"

said John Acre.

"That's strange," muttered Whistler Wheeler.