Doc Savage - The Monkey Suit Part 9

Savage, instead of making a direct reply, turned to me and said, "Henry, you have been with me continuously. Did I make a telephone call?"

"No," I said. "You received one from Monk Mayfair. That was all."

Farrar was satisfied. His astonishment grew. "Who the h.e.l.l could have phoned Lila, then?"

"Suppose we ask her about the voice," Savage suggested.

Discomfort now added itself to Mr. Farrar's astonishment, and he threw out a hand in a deprecatory gesture, enhancing it with a movement of his shoulders."Lila," he confessed, "isn't here."

"Isn't here."

"Oh, there's no cause for alarm," Farrar advised. "I simply saw that she was frightened, and advised that she go to a hotel for the night. She did so. She is safe at a hotel."

"What hotel?" Savage demanded.

Farrar's chin lifted, firmed. He was the executive type, a man who would take so much, no more.

"I don't believe I shall tell you," he said grimly. "Lila needs a night's rest. I'm not going to have her further upset."

Savage clearly must not have liked this, but he did not press the matter, nor did his bronze features register much expression. Mayfair, however, scowled in the darkest and most suspicious way. Mayfair was a chap who carried his emotions in the open, as brazenly as if he was packing an uncovered barrel of nasty animals.

IT occurred to me at this point, and a bit tardily, that Savage might after all have made a telephone call to Lila Farrar. There was one time when Savage had been out of my sight-when he locked me in his trick car and returned to talk to McGonigle, the proprietor of the costume rental agency. I would not put it beyond Savage to have made the phone call, then deftly trick me into testifying that he had done no such thing. I was beginning, reluctantly, to have a respect for the bronze man's mental agility.

Before I could decide whether to voice my doubts-I hesitated to do so, since to do so might wrongfully indicate that I was something of a fool-Savage got back to the bit of business which supposedly we'd come here to transact.

"Do you," he asked Farrar, "have container-manufacturing plants in small towns?"

"Three," Farrar admitted. "Besides the large one in Jersey City."

"What are their locations?"

"Is that important?"

"It might be."

"You'd better tell me why it is important," Farrar said dryly.

Instead of stating the truth to Mr. Farrar, Savage did a deft bit of walking-on-eggs. He said, "In tracing Dido Alstrong's record, we're wondering if he first worked for you in a branch plant in a small town."

Farrar considered this. "Yes, Alstrong did. I don't see how it could have any bearing on this. But he worked in the Mound City, New York, plant."

"Has he visited the other plants?"

"I imagine so."

"We'd like the times and places of his first visit."Farrar said wearily, "He went to the Cottage Hill plant in January of this year, and the Mason City plant in March, I think. But I can't see what bearing that has."

"Maybe it has none," Savage replied.

Which was probably the truth-he had simply maneuvered until he had the location of the Farrar Products Company branch plants.

Savage continued, "Do you know a man named Hugo Davis?"

Farrar gave this serious thought. "I don't believe I do."

"You've met him."

"I think not," Farrar replied sharply.

"He was," said Savage, "the lug who tried to kill Henry. The one Henry referred to as polite-boy."

"Oh!"

"He's dead," Savage added. "Murder. Throat cut. He was, it's safe to surmise, a hireling of Dido Alstrong's. Because Alstrong had been footing his bills."

"Good G.o.d!" gasped Farrar. "Murder! This is terrible!"

Savage b.u.t.toned his coat preparatory to leaving.

"I wouldn't be surprised," he said, "if it got worse."

WE went down to the street. It suddenly thundered, and there was a low bank of clouds in the west across which lightning crawled in angry crooked red rods. . . . My thoughts were too disturbed for the weather to make an impression, though. It seemed to me that odd doings were afoot, yet my mind refused to grasp their meaning; in fact I was almost sure Savage was perpetrating something, but I could not see what.

"You hardly told Mr. Farrar anything at all," I said accusingly.

"Why disturb him?" Savage replied.

"He's a fine man. He should have all the facts."

Mayfair said, "He's sure got a dilly of a daughter, anyway."

"I resent your referring to Miss Farrar as a dilly!" I snapped.

"Unb.u.t.ton your collar, Henry," Mayfair replied. "Let some circulation get to your backbone."

We returned to Doc Savage's headquarters, to the place where he had his remarkable laboratory. The lab still amazed me, but there was this other thought in my mind-the feeling that something was developing, but that it eluded me.

I was irritated. I am a scientist-a.n.a.lysis, the selection of stray facts and the arraying of them into a meaningful whole, is my business. It was distressing not to be able to understand what was going on, when I was right there on the spot, witnessing everything.Annoyed, I seated myself in the reception room, which had comfortable chairs, a large inlaid desk that was probably a museum piece, and an enormous old-fashioned safe that was out of keeping with the rest of the place. It was, however, comfortable. Far more comfortable than my thoughts were.

Clearly, Savage was putting something over on me. This was a galling thought. The man, whom I had considered a four-flusher, had me guessing, and the feeling of inferiority this gave me was not pleasant. It did not help to face the fact that Henry A. E. Jones had not made a too impressive showing so far. My ego writhed, and I longed to a.s.sert myself, take a prominent part, accomplish a deed.

Just then, the telephone rang and, in an a.s.sertive mood, I seized the instrument and said, "Yes?"

"h.e.l.lo, Henry. Is Mr. Savage there?"

My heart turned over a couple of times. It was Lila Farrar, and she sounded distraught.

"Is there something I can do, Lila?" I asked.

"Please, Henry, is Mr. Savage there? I want to tell him something."

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid not," I said. This was at least a technical truth-Savage was not there in the room.

He and Mayfair were in the lab. "But I'll gladly help you, Lila."

She hesitated over this.

Then she said desperately, "Listen, Henry, I've got something awfully important to tell."

"Go right ahead."

"No. I-I'd better say this personally."

My mind worked swiftly. "Well, Lila, suppose you come to my laboratory. You know where it is. I'll meet you there."

"But I'd rather come to Savage's place."

"That's impossible, I'm sorry. . . . My lab, Lila. I'll be there."

"Well-" Again, and reluctantly, she hesitated. "All right. Twenty minutes, or half an hour."

"Good!" I exclaimed. "I'll be there."

I had spoken in a low voice, and I replaced the phone on its cradle with care. The thing now was to get out of here. I took a moment to control my elation, then moved to the library door, then into the laboratory, and I told Savage, "I'm sleepy. Is there any reason why I can't go home?"

"Why, none at all," Savage said.

The Mayfair fellow looked at me queerly, though, and I was alarmed.

Savage added, "However-wait a moment in the reception room, will you, Henry. Just a few seconds."

I kept the worry off my face, and said, "Of course."

The wait was not long. Four or five minutes. Then Savage came in.

He had Dido Alstrong's monkey-suit in the box."Henry, you're the one who is supposed to have this, so you'd better take it," he said.

This didn't appeal to me much. That monkey suit had been a magnet that had attracted no little danger during the day. But I was full of a man-who-is-doing-a-deed feeling, and this overpowered what was probably my better judgment.

"Very well, I shall take it with me," I said.

"Good night," Savage said.

"Good night," I replied.

"Henry, you're a colorful character," Mayfair said.

"Well-thank you," I replied dubiously.

"Like a chameleon," he added.

Chapter X.

THE thunder whacked and gobbled in the west as I entered the building which contained my lab. Violent, like a noisy gathering of giants, the storm sounds none the less lacked the hot intensity they would probably attain before it began to rain. It was surely going to storm. And the cacaphony in the sky fitted my own mood and expectations. A thunderstorm is always a great show, and I too was going to make a show.

There was no trouble about entering my lab at this later hour. I do this habitually, not only because I work late, but because I live there. I had fitted up a small sleeping room and kitchenette for quarters-and not, as I had overheard someone intimate, because I am as tight with money as the skin on an apple. It was more convenient. Of course it was economical also.

Miss Farrar did not appear at once. There was time for me to ponder the Mayfair fellow's remark about chameleons. He had said I was colorful, which might be a compliment-from anyone but Mayfair. A chameleon is a small lizard to which is attributed a facility for changing is coloration, incidentally, and thus was the nubbin at which most of my thoughts nibbled. The remark had its confusing aspects.

Fingertips, like bird-feet racing, sounded on the door. It was Lila Farrar.

"Henry!" she cried. "Oh, Henry, can't you get hold of Doc Savage somehow?"

Her obvious state of mind was both surprising and distressing. She was upset. Extremely. I longed to comfort her in a closer manner than with words, but didn't quite dare.

"What has happened?" I asked anxiously.

"Can't you get Savage?"

"I'm afraid not. What has occurred?"

She dropped in a chair. She was near tears. "Father and I had an awful row," she blurted.

"Really?" I said. "Your father-you quarreled with him? I'm-er-a little surprised at that."

Lila was opening her purse with trembling fingers. She took out a handkerchief. She looked over thehandkerchief at me, and said, hesitantly, "You're-surprised?"

"Well, yes."

"Why?"

"Your father," I said, "is obviously a man of many strong points. You're very lucky to have such a fine father."

While this was my conviction, it was also said out of a desire to build myself up by speaking well of her parent. Flattery of one's family, I hold, is next to flattery of oneself.

She reacted rather oddly, though.

"Little do you know!" she said.