Doc Savage - The Man Who Shook The Earth Part 8

"Are Velvet and Biff holding the girl, Tip Galligan?" Doc questioned.

"Yes," John Acre conveyed.

"Do you know where they are holding her?"

"Yes," again.

"Will you guide us there?"

One blink.

"Is the hide-out north of here?" Doc asked.

The staring eyes remained fixed, conveying a negative.

"Is it south?"

John Acre's lids did not move.

"Is it west?"

"Yes," transmitted the inert one.Doc Savage addressed his men. "All right, brothers, away we go!"

WHILE the others carried John Acre to the high-speed elevator, Doc got a medical case from his great laboratory. As near as he could tell, John Acre seemed to be getting no worse. Whatever affliction the man had, it was unlike anything Doc had ever experienced in other patients.

In the bas.e.m.e.nt garage, all but Doc loaded into the large sedan. With Monk at the wheel, the big machine moaned out into the street. It hurled westward through deserted streets where snow scurried along like scooped sugar.

Doc rode outside on the running board-this, despite the bitter cold. His mighty bronze body seemed unaffected by the needling chill. No severity of weather was great enough to keep him from riding outside, as he always did when danger threatened.

The sedan neared the water-front section.

Inside the car, questions having to do with their route, were being shot at John Acre in rapid succession. By blinking "yes" or "no" to queries as to whether they should turn at a certain corner, he was guiding them.

Renny thrust his puritanical face from a window.

"The place we're headed for seems to be a warehouse, Doc," he explained. "It's not many blocks from where we keep our planes."

"Have you placed the location accurately enough so that you can find it without John Acre's help?" Doc asked.

"I believe so," Renny replied.

"Then we'll drop him at the airplane hangars," Doc decided. "We'll leave Monk and Ham there to guard him."

Monk and Ham emitted a concerted squawk at this. They did not like the idea of being left out of prospective action, and they said so.

Doc pretended he didn't hear their complaints, because of the rush of the blizzard outside the sedan. Their objections did not mean mutiny. They would follow his smallest wish.

The structure which housed Doc's airplanes was almost as remarkable in its way as the bronze man's skysc.r.a.per headquarters. Outwardly, the building seemed only a warehouse. A sign on the front said: HIDALGO TRADING COMPANY.

Had any one investigated, they would have found the Hidalgo Trading Co. was one man-Doc Savage.

As the sedan approached the front of the warehouse, Monk, inside the machine, had an expectant expression on his homely face. Would this door open mysteriously as Doc drew near, as the others had?

It did. Noiselessly, in mystifying fashion, the big panel slid ajar. The entrance was large enough to permit the sedan to roll inside.

With a good deal of speed, John Acre's limp form was unloaded. Monk and Ham, grumbling, their usual quarrel forgotten in their mutual chagrin at missing out on a fight, were left behind.

Renny had the wheel now. Something like four minutes later, he swerved the sedan in noiselessly to the curb.

"The joint is over a block," he said.

DOC SAVAGE opened the dash compartment in the sedan. From this he took two weapons whichresembled overgrown automatics. Circular magazines were prominent on them.

These were machine guns which Doc had himself perfected. They fired at terrific speed.

These superfiring little machine, guns discharged what big-game hunters call mercy bullets. The slugs were of a type that did not penetrate deeply, and which bore a chemical which produced sudden unconsciousness.

Doc handed the weapons to Renny and Long Tom. The bronze man himself never carried a gun. He had other fighting methods which exceeded in effectiveness any firearm.

They advanced through the whooping storm. The wind flapped trouser cuffs against their legs. It blew open their pockets, and snow poured in.

Renny shivered, kneaded his big fists together, and mumbled: "A nice tropical country would sure look good to me!"

"How about South America?" Doc asked him. "It's summer down there now, you know."

Long Tom, squinting through the blizzard, said: "I think it's this shabby dump right ahead."

The warehouse was big. It looked as if it had been greased thoroughly, then exposed to a cloud of soot. The result was a coat of unwholesome grime. Bars over the windows were half an inch thick and two inches wide.

"Kind of makes you think of a jail," Renny declared.

"You fellows better wait here a minute," Doc suggested.

A phantom of bronze, Doc whisked away in the storm.

Renny and Long Tom waited impatiently. They knew Doc had gone ahead to reconnoiter.

"He always goes ahead like that," Long Tom grumbled.

"Yeah, and lucky for us that he does," Renny replied. "I can think of several times when he's saved us from death traps by doing just that."

"Sure," Long Tom agreed wryly. "But it causes us to miss out on a lot of stuff."

Doc Savage, far ahead, had stopped against the wall of the warehouse. His keen eyes probed; his sensitive ears absorbed the minutest sounds. He heard nothing, saw nothing. There were no lighted windows.

Doc studied the door. It could be covered from two windows-an excellent lurking place for possible enemies inside the warehouse. Bars over the windows prevented entrance by that route-at least an entrance without noise.

What happened next would have astounded an onlooker. Doc seemed to permit the terrific wind to flatten him against the brick wall. Then he glided upward on the sheer face of the wall.

The bricks had been rather carelessly laid. Here and there one projected a fraction of an inch beyond its neighbors. There was an occasional window ledge. Once there was a step-like procession of ornamental projections. These, scant handholds though they were, explained Doc's seemingly impossible feat of surmounting the wall. To his fabulous strength and agility the wall offered no great problem.

The structure was four stories in height. At several points Doc dug packed snow out of cracks in the brick in order to make certain that prospective handholds were safe.

He finally pulled himself over on the roof.

There was only one roof hatch, and that was locked securely from the under side.

Doc went back to the roof edge, sure-footed, leaning a little against the tearing blizzard. He had hoped to enter the warehouse from the roof-silently. But he could not gain admission without noise.Doc was showing no outward effects of the intense cold, but that was simply because of the wonderful control he had over his muscles. Doc could refrain from shivering fully as easily as another man could keep from smiling.

The bronze man, however, was not inhuman. He was susceptible to the stiffening effects of the cold, especially in his hands. So, before descending, he thrust his hands into his pockets. Each pocket held a small bag. These were filled with a chemical which gave off warmth.

When Doc's hands were pliable again, he descended the sheer wall.

ONCE in the street again, Doc still did not go near the door. Instead, he retreated, heading straight into the teeth of the wind for a number of yards. From one of his pockets he produced an object resembling a metal egg.

Doc flung this into the wind. It landed, bounced, and opened with a percussion which was hardly audible in the gale. It poured out a pall of dark smoke. The wind whipped this toward the warehouse.

The smoke was without odor. Any one inside the warehouse might be led to believe that the night had merely become blacker.

Hidden completely by this artificial murk, Doc raced for the warehouse door. He was on the point of testing to see whether or not the door was locked when his hand seemed to freeze in mid-air.

His next move was executed with blinding speed. He whirled and sped away from the door. Doc was holding his breath. Both hands were kept extended well out to his sides.

Still running at terrific speed, he reached the spot where Long Tom and Renny waited.

"What's wrong, Doc?" Long Tom shouted.

Doc ignored the fragile-looking electrical wizard. He went on. He was still holding his breath, and his hands were still held out from his sides.

Doc reached the sedan. The medical case which he had brought against the possibility of having to treat John Acre was in the machine. Doc dug it out. His hands raced through the a.s.sortment of bottles and powders.

He swallowed three different concoctions. Then he inhaled the fumes of others, and spread stuff thickly upon his hands, his face-upon every exposed inch of his skin.

Long Tom and Renny dashed up. They were puzzled at Doc's actions.

"What happened?" Renny rumbled.

Doc Savage extended his hands. He turned them slowly in order that the two men might inspect them.

"You have seen that stuff work before," he said.

"Holy cowl" Renny thumped. "Did it get into your lungs, Doc?"

"Only the tiniest bit," Doc told him. "I took antidotes and inhaled chemicals to nullify the effects. The actual damage doesn't amount to much. But I never came closer to death."

Long Tom was slower to comprehend what had happened to Doc. He stared at the bronze hands. In two or three spots, villainous little blisters had appeared.

"Gas," said Long Tom understandingly.

"Exactly," Doc told him. "It's a form of vesicant, similar to mustard gas; but the action, instead of being delayed, is instantaneous.""How did they come to get you, Doc?"

"That," Doc said, "stumps me!"

Chapter VII. MURDER TRICK.

DIGGING into a large trunk on the rear of the sedan, Doc extracted a gas mask of a type intended to cope with just such an emergency as the present one. The mask was actually in the nature of a suit. It left no part of the wearer exposed.

Donning the suit, Doc advanced upon the warehouse. He released another of the smoke bombs as he drew near. Covered by its smudge, he strode boldly to the door and gave it a shove. It was unlocked, and swung open.

Doc waited, ears straining through the blizzard. He hoped for some sound from within, but heard nothing. A flashlight came out of a pocket of his gas-proof suit. It raced a beam which was hardly bigger than a pencil, but which looked white enough to scorch.

After he had surveyed the interior, Doc stepped across the threshold. He was gone perhaps three minutes; then he reappeared in front of the structure.

Down the street excited feet were pounding. The storm carried along the sound. Doc picked out the thunderous footfalls of Renny, and Long Tom's light patter. He frowned; he was able to recognize the footsteps of all of his men.

The other two runners approaching were Monk and Ham. They all came out of the night, the wind, and the snow.

"What are you fellows doing here?" Doc demanded.

"John Acre recovered enough to talk some!" Ham barked. "He told us there was a death trap here. He couldn't let us know of it before, since he could only signal yes and no by batting his eyes. We came to warn you!"

"You came near being a little late," Doc advised.

"How'd they set off the trap, Doc?" Renny questioned.

"Come on, and I'll show you," Doc told him. "Monk, you're going to be interested in this."

He led them inside the door. The storm had dispersed the gas which had been released. Doc pointed his hand. Metal gas drums lay on the floor; hoses extended from these to cracks in the walls.

The release valves of the gas containers were connected to a strange-looking contraption.

Stooping, Doc showed Monk how to turn the valves off.

"I'm going out and walk across the street," Doc said. "When I get over there, turn off the valves. Then let me know. I'll walk toward the warehouse. Watch what happens."

This was done.