Doc Savage - The Man Who Shook The Earth Part 2

The love of excitement and adventure, together with an unbounded admiration for Doc Savage, and the pleasure they got out of a.s.sociating with him, held Doc's live aids in a group.

Monk, just before he reached the skysc.r.a.per, stepped aside to avoid a newsboy. The lad was howling: "Earthquake! Read about the earthquake in South America!"

Monk was not at all interested in earthquakes.

Monk entered the skysc.r.a.per lobby. He walked past the phalanx of elevators. Of each operator, he asked a question."Have you brought down a guy from eighty-six within the last few minutes-a bird in evening clothes, who walked like he thought a lot of himself?"

"That gentleman just left," reported the third attendant.

Monk made a clicking sound of regret with his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

"Here comes Doc Savage!" an elevator operator said dramatically.

THE exclamation was a bit breathless, and filled with awe. It was as if the operator were seeing a famous personage for the first time. Yet it was certain that this attendant saw Doc Savage many times daily.

Monk turned. He understood how they felt. He had himself been closely a.s.sociated with Doc Savage for years, yet he still got something of a wallop each time he saw the metallic giant that was Doc.

Doc Savage, crossing the cavernous lobby, did not look the giant that he was. Tendons and vast muscles bundled his body like cables, yet they were developed in such universal fashion that they blended in a strikingly symmetrical whole.

It was only when Doc came close to other men that his huge size became apparent.

Bronze was the color motif on Doc Savage's skin. Due to the corded hardness of his muscles, he resembled a statue of the metal. His eyes were weird-flaky golden pools which seemed always astir, always alive.

Doc lifted a hand in a gesture of greeting to Monk. The hand was muscled until it looked as if it had been wrapped with steel wire, then painted with bronze. However, the fingers were long, regardless of their obviously incredible strength.

"Let's go up," Doc said. His voice was as remarkable as it had been when Monk heard it over the phone. Not loud, it nevertheless carried to the recesses of the lobby.

An express elevator, its progress a hiss of speed, rushed them to the eighty-sixth floor.

"The guy is gone," Monk explained. "I got that from an elevator operator."

Saying nothing, Doc approached the office door. An uncanny thing happened-the door opened at his approach.

There was no living thing near it.

MONK hastily peered into the office. He was completely at a loss to understand the business of the door opening. The room beyond was as he had left it. Apparently, nothing was disturbed.

Monk squinted at the outer door, seeking to figure out what made it swing ajar when Doc had approached it.

He shook his head. Then he walked around the office, trying the safe door, the locker, and the doors into the inner rooms. All were locked.

"It don't look like the guy bothered anything," he said in his small voice. "That's funny. Why should he pay me five hundred dollars, just to get into the office?"

Doc walked toward the door into the inner chambers.

Monk's hair threatened to stand on end at what happened. The solidly locked door-Monk was mortally certain it was locked-quickly opened itself as Doc came near. After the bronze man had pa.s.sed through, the door closed.

Rushing over, Monk grasped the k.n.o.b. He exerted all his strength. Monk could take a horseshoe in his big hairy hands and bend it into the shape of a pretzel. This door, however, resisted him.With a sheepish grin on his homely face, Monk absently fitted the end of his little finger into the hole in his earlobe. Monk was highly intelligent in spite of his apish look. He was trying to figure out what made the doors open when Doc came near them. Doc had perfected many remarkable devices, but this was a new one. For all of Monk's canniness, he was stumped.

The door opened in the same magic fashion as before, and Doc Savage reappeared. He carried a black composition tube which resembled a cylindrical phonograph record.

Monk grinned. He knew what the record was. It was part of a device which was hooked to the telephone and recorded all conversations. This apparatus monitored Doc's phone wire continuously. When one record became filled, another one shifted automatically into place.

"Nothing but the telephone seems to have been touched," Doc said.

Monk peered at the telephone. He considered himself a detective of fair ability. He was certain the instrument was placed exactly as it had always been. He did not doubt that it had been used, though. Doc rarely made a mistake.

Going to the telephone, Monk peered at it from several angles. He sniffed. Then he got it. There was a faint tang of smoker's breath about the mouthpiece. Neither Doc nor any of his five men smoked; and no one else used this instrument.

Monk had missed the smoke scent on his first round of the room. Doc, however, had caught it. Doc's nostrils had been trained to an animal sensitivity in smell perception.

Doc switched on the mechanism which played back the record. The pick-up was amplified and reproduced through a loud-speaker. It was like listening to a bit of drama from a radio.

"h.e.l.lo," said a voice from the loudspeaker. "Doc Savage speaking."

"Huh!" Monk gulped. "Why, the liar! That's the guy who told me his name was Velvet!"

Doc Savage requested silence with a lifted hand.

"This is John Acre," said a slow, wheezing voice from the reproducing instrument. "I sent you several radiograms from the boat. I wonder if you have received any of them."

"Yes," said Velvet. "They referred to various mysterious earthquakes."

"Good!" exclaimed John Acre. "Then you know how important it is that I see you. I just landed from the steamer Junio ."

"You wish to see me at once?" asked Velvet.

"Immediately, Mr. Savage. May I come to your office?"

"Not to my office," said Velvet. "Come to the Midas Club, on Park Avenue."

"Very well, Mr. Savage," agreed John Acre.

A sharp click ended the conversation. The recording had stopped automatically as soon as the receivers were hung up.

"For the love of mud!" Monk e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Did you hear that, Doc-the Midas Club! That's Ham's hang-out."

THERE was a good reason for Monk's surprise. The Midas Club was the residence of one member of Doc's group of five remarkable aids. The man who lived there was Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks. He was the law expert of Doc's squad.

"Why should Velvet decoy this John Acre to Ham's place?" Monk pondered.Doc made no reply. His bronze features showed no excitement. That did not mean he was unconcerned. For years, Doc had schooled himself in self-control. Now, it was only on the rarest of occasions that he showed any emotion.

"John Acre said he had sent you some messages," Monk continued, eyeing Doc. "Did you get any?"

"No," Doc said. "And I have never heard of John Acre, either."

"The meeting being arranged at Ham's apartment is the strangest part of the whole thing," Monk grumbled.

"Do you reckon that shyster lawyer is mixed up in something that he ain't letting us in on?"

When Monk mentioned "Ham," he used the same tone he would have used to speak of a horned devil. It gave the idea that Monk would cheerfully have cut Ham's throat. Monk and Ham's a.s.sociation was one long quarrel. Rarely did an hour pa.s.s but that one offered a biting remark to the other. They seemed continually on the point of slaughtering one another.

But this was only good-natured horseplay. If necessary, one would cheerfully give his life for the other.

"We'll go up to Ham's place and look into this strange meeting," Doc decided.

They walked toward the door-and again Monk's little eyes threatened to shoot out of their pits of gristle.

Doc had made no gesture. He had not touched his clothing. The door, however, had jumped wide open as they drew near.

"How do you do that, Doc?" Monk demanded.

"It's trained," Doc said.

Monk snorted. He looked back as they went down the corridor. The door closed itself when they were a few feet distant. Monk snorted again. The thing had him baffled.

Doc Savage went to the last panel in the long row of elevator doors. To Monk's bafflement, this door also opened at Doc's approach. They stepped into a cage. The door closed. The floor seemed to drop from under their feet.

The mechanism of this particular elevator had been designed by Doc himself. It operated at a speed far too uncomfortable for ordinary pa.s.senger traffic. For almost sixty stories, Monk and Doc barely had their feet on the floor. Then the cage slowed so abruptly that Monk was forced to all fours. Doc, thanks to tremendous leg muscles, kept his feet.

Monk grinned widely. He always got a kick out of riding this super-speed lift.

They did not step out into the lobby of the skysc.r.a.per, but into a narrow, concrete-walled tunnel. They strode down this. It admitted them to Doc Savage's garage in the skysc.r.a.per bas.e.m.e.nt.

Half a dozen cars were housed there. These ranged from a thin, underslung speedster, to a great limousine.

All the cars had one point in common-none were painted with flashy colors.

Doc selected a roadster. It was a long, somber machine, which would attract no attention out on the street.

Monk happened to know the car could do in the neighborhood of a hundred and fifty miles an hour. The motor was wonderfully silent. Only by the sudden life in ammeter and oil-pressure gauge, could Monk tell that it had started.

The exit doors were at the head of an incline. They opened in an eerie way as Doc drove up to them.

Park Avenue is the sw.a.n.kiest street in the city of New York. The Midas Club was situated on the most fashionable corner of the avenue. It was not a tall building, lifting less than twenty stories; but for its size it had undoubtedly cost more than any other structure in town.

New York City is rumored to have two or three clubs which require that the candidates for membership possess a bank roll of at least a million dollars. The Midas Club had raised the ante. To get on its roster, youhad to have five million. In addition, you must have made the money yourself. If you had inherited the five million, you were out of luck.

Ham was reported to have the most sumptuous and luxurious suite in the Midas Club.

"Gosh!" Monk e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Look!"

At least a dozen policemen were dashing about outside of the clubhouse.

There was a great crowd milling around. Every one seemed excited.

"What has happened?" Doc asked a policeman.

"A man who said his name was John Acre tried to get into the club," the officer explained. "While he was doing that, and shouting his name, several other men came up with guns. They grabbed him and carried him off."

A newsboy ran up to the roadster.

"Buy a paper, fellers!" he cried. "Read about the earthquake in South America!"

"Scat!" said the cop. "You got a nerve, tryin' to peddle your earthquakes right here where there's just been a s.n.a.t.c.hin'!"

Chapter III. THE GIRL AFRAID OF EARTHQUAKES.

MONK looked at Doc, then at the policeman. Speaking rapidly, Monk described Velvet. He could not have given a better word picture of Velvet had he been looking at the fellow's photograph as he spoke.

"Was that guy with the gang that grabbed John Acre?" he finished.

"Yep," said the cop. "That guy was bossing the s.n.a.t.c.h."

"The man seized was named John Acre?" Doc questioned.

"That's right," replied the policeman. "He got mad when they wouldn't let him in the club to see somebody.

He started yelling his name, claiming he had an appointment."

"Which way did they go?" Doc asked.

The bluecoat waved a vague arm. "Down one of these streets. I ain't sure which one. They fired some shots, and everybody seems to have ducked."

Doc thanked the officer, then rolled the roadster to the Midas Club. He parked directly in front of the door. A large sign said the s.p.a.ce along the curb was reserved. That meant it was intended exclusively for use of the gentlemen who had five million dollars in the bank.

A doorman came out, scowling blackly. His expression intimated that he intended to rout Doc in very brusque fashion. However, when he got a look at the bronze man and the roadster, he underwent a striking change.

His scowl altered to the politest of smiles. He bowed so low that his gaudy uniform cap fell off. He caught it and flushed in embarra.s.sment.

Instead of ordering Doc away, he almost broke a leg in his haste to open the roadster door and usher the two men from the car.

Doc and Monk entered the Midas Club.

Monk noted that the door of the club did not open at Doc's approach.

"There's one you haven't got trained," he grinned.