Part 6 (2/2)
They circled the inferno, eyes searching. They discerned several things of interest, the chief item being the amount of broken gla.s.s in and about the wreckage.
Countless test tubes and bottles seemed to have been smashed. Here and there lay pieces of s.h.i.+ny, intricate apparatus, all battered beyond recognition.
”There was a laboratory of some kind here,” Ham hazarded.
Neither man mentioned the main fact that there was no sign of the girl. Nor did they voice a hope both held that the girl had been carried away in the van.
Monk had not put in his appearance. He had been absent since before the blast, when he had started searching for Habeas Corpus.
”We gotta get him out,” Ham wailed.
There was genuine concern in Ham's voice -- a marked change from the sarcasm with which he addressed Monk when they were face to face.
THE TWO men reentered the house. They found, beyond a door which opened off the kitchen, a stairway leading to the cellar region. A loud, thumping noise drew them to the right.
The bas.e.m.e.nt was filled with smoke. The fumes were blinding, irritating to the lungs. Sounds of the fire came to their ears, an increasing roar. Mingling with this was a shrill whine -- an electric generator.
Then they sighted Monk. The ungainly chemist was pitching himself against a door -- a panel which did not bulge in the slightest under his weight.
There was a small, square opening in the door, apparently for ventilation purposes. Through this came the mournful squeal of Habeas Corpus. Too, the generator whine emanated from here.
”I don't seem to be able to do a thing toward bustin' this down,” Monk groaned.
Doc dabbed his flash beam through the hole in the door. Inside, Habeas pranced about. It was a large, bare concrete chamber. It held a huge motor-generator set, obviously employed to charge the overhead net of copper cables with electricity.
Doc gave the head of the flash a twist. This caused the beam to widen, and illuminate the entire room more effectively.
”I'm a son-of-a-gun!” Monk exploded.
A man lay on his back in the middle of the floor, gla.s.sy eyes fixed on the ceiling. He reposed near the big motor-generator.
The man was short, very fat; his fat looked soft. His hands lay on the floor in lumps, like a semi-meltedformation of b.u.t.ter. He was reposing face up, and his jowls hung down in b.u.t.tery bags against his ears.
His business suit, while expensive, was wrinkled. His s.h.i.+rt was soiled. He wore no necktie. The man did not move, or even shut his wide-open eyes.
Doc thrust a hand in the door opening, and explored on the other side. ”It's sheeted with steel,” he explained.
The bronze man now examined the lock. It was of the key type, with the lock mechanism on the other side. Picking it would be slow work.
Two small bottles appeared in Doc's fingers. Using a match stick, he poked a pinch of powder from one of the bottles into the keyhole. He followed this with a bit of compound from the second bottle.
”Back!” he said sharply.
They retreated.
There was a brilliant flash and a whooping roar! Splinters and torn steel geysered from around the door lock. Chemical reaction of the two compounds which Doc had used, had caused the explosion.
Doc shoved the door open. Squealing delightedly, Habeas Corpus bounded for Monk.
The man on the floor was stirring. He groaned; his eyes closed, then opened again. He acted like one who had been asleep, and was awakened by the explosion.
Doc grasped the fat man's arm; it was very soft, as if he had clutched a partially deflated inner tube.
Picking the fat man up bodily, Doc carried him out of the room.
”Better get out of here,” he called over his shoulder. ”That fire is spreading fast.”
Monk scooped up Habeas Corpus, and said, ”I wonder how the pig got in there?”
Without replying, Doc Savage carried the fat man up the stairway and outdoors, Monk and Ham following him.
They ran toward the gate, which still gaped open. With his sword cane, Ham pointed at the net of electrified cables above. Then he indicated the high, forbidding walls.
”If you ask me, this whole place is nothing but a gigantic cage!” he declared.
”What I was thinking, too,” Monk rumbled. ”I wish I could get my hands on this Griswold Rock, who owns the place. I'd find out what it's all about.”
The man Doc was carrying squirmed feebly.
”I am Griswold Rock,” he said.
Chapter 10. THE PRISONER.
THE BRONZE man and his two aids digested this surprising information as they ran through the gate.
Doc lowered the fat man. Then he left the spot, running. He vouchsafed no information as to where he was bound. ”I wonder what Doc's up to now?” Monk muttered. ”He put some special kind of bullets in my gun and shot at the departing truck,” Ham offered. ”I don't know what the idea was. But he may be working on that angle.”
Doc Savage topped the hill, descended into the valley beyond, and reached the roadster. He had run a quarter of a mile at a speed a champion sprinter would have considered remarkable, yet his breathing was hardly hurried.
Built into the roadster was a radiophone transmitter and receiver. Doc switched this on.
”Renny!” he called.
Out of the radio loud-speaker came a roaring voice which might have been owned by a disturbed lion.
”On deck, Doc!”
”Where are you, Renny?”
”In your office. Just drifted in.”
”Long Tom and Johnny there?”
<script>