Part 7 (1/2)
”Sure. Right beside me.”
The men named were the other three members of Doc's group. The bronze man issued rapid orders to the men.
”I want to locate a large van-bodied truck,” he said. ”It's painted red.”
”There's only about a thousand red vans in New York,” said the lion-voiced ”Renny.”
”Use the planes,” Doc directed. ”Fly over Hill Road, and over the Hudson Turnpike. Look for red vans, large ones. When you find them, size them up with ultra-violet light and fluoroscopic spectacles.”
”I get you,” said Renny.
Doc switched off the apparatus and returned to the spot where he had left Monk and Ham.
Great clouds of smoke were climbing above the high concrete wall. Doc found the pleasantly ugly chemist and the sword-cane-carrying lawyer eying plump Griswold Rock.
The fat man was holding his head. From time to time, his fingers explored in his hair.
”Has he talked?” Doc asked, indicating Griswold Rock.
Ham shook his head.
”They made me drink something,” Griswold Rock muttered. ”That was right after they saw you fellows on the wall. I no more than drank the stuff, then I pa.s.sed out.”
”Where were you when that happened?”
”Upstairs.”
Monk nodded, as if a point had been clarified. ”They carried you down to the bas.e.m.e.nt, and Habeas Corpus followed. That explains how Habeas got locked up with you.” ”I don't remember what happened,” Griswold Rock mumbled.
Monk waved a hand at the concrete-walled enclosure, from which smoke poured as from a t.i.tanic chimney.
”Is that your place?” he asked.
The fat man nodded gloomily. ”Yep. But it isn't like it used to be. They made me build the wall.”
”Made you?” Ham asked.
”Exactly,” said Griswold Rock. ”I've been held a prisoner for almost a year. To preserve my life, I had to do what I was told.”
”Who were your captors?”
”Pere Teston was the head of the gang.”
”Pere Teston?”
”He's a former employee of my railroad,” explained the fat man. ”He worked in a Michigan division point.
He was discharged because he failed to show much interest in his work.”
GRISWOLD ROCK poked a soft arm angrily at concrete wall and the gate of metal bars.
”They made me transact all my business by letter or telegraph, and sometimes by telephone. One of stood at my side with a gun,” he grated.
”You don't know the purpose of the wall and the electrified net of copper cables?” Doc asked.
”No. They made me buy motor-generators to electrify the net. I don't know why.”
”Ever see any kind of a monster around?”
”Monster!” muttered Griswold Rock. He shuddered. ”Maybe that explains the sounds I occasionally heard.”
”What sort of noises?”
”It's hard to describe them. Pere Teston kept me in a windowless room in the bas.e.m.e.nt, but sometimes I could hear things walking about. Huge things!”
”Ever hear anything about advertis.e.m.e.nts in newspapers?”
Griswold Rock nodded vehemently. ”Yes -- I did. They were inserting ads in every paper in the country.
I don't know what kind -- or why.”
”Was Pere Teston a slender man with freckles and a mustache?” Doc asked.
The plump railroad magnate shook his head violently.
”No. Pere Teston is a shriveled runt. The skin on his face is white, dead-looking. Once you see him, you'll never forget his skin”'
The fire had progressed rapidly. A house wall collapsed, slapping a great cloud of sparks above the concrete enclosure. In the distance a fire engine moaned. Some one had evidently telephoned an alarm tothe nearest suburban station.
Doc Savage went to the gate. From the recesses of his clothing came an unbreakable tube. The powder this contained, he sprinkled upon the gate bars. Finger prints became visible.
Doc Savage made no effort to photograph them. He merely studied them, fixing the whorls indelibly in his mind. Months could elapse before the bronze man glimpsed like prints, yet he would still recall their configuration, to such retentiveness had he attuned his memory.
Upon one particular set of prints, Doc bestowed a great deal of attention. Then he joined the others.
Griswold Rock was saying, ”I am not a brave man. They kept me terrified.”
”Didn't you make an effort to escape?” Monk queried.
The fat man nodded. ”Oh, yes -- several times. But I do not seem to be very ingenious. My attempts always failed. Only yesterday, I managed to get as far as the gate. I'd have gotten away, too, I believe, but the mechanical fastener defied me. I could not discover how it operated, although I fumbled all over the gate.”
Doc Savage reached out abruptly and grasped Griswold Rock's fat wrist. He turned the hands palm up so as to inspect the finger tips. His experienced eye appraised the whorls and rings.
”You left your finger prints on the gate,” he said dryly.
Griswold Rock raised his eyebrows in surprise.