Part 16 (1/2)

After reading that, the Detroit mayor tilted back in his chair and had a good laugh.

Then he sent out for the late newspapers and reread the Trapper Lake story. When he finished, he was not laughing. The story had made detailed reference to the crushed condition of the Trapper Lake victims. The mayor called several leading bank presidents and showed them the letter.

”What is the police force for?” asked the bankers.

So the mayor called the police chief, and the chief, in turn, had his men oil their machine guns and break out fresh gas bombs. Radio squad cars were set to prowling roads around the city. Police boats covered the lake front.

In Cleveland, New York, and Chicago, the reaction was about the same, except that in New York City, naval destroyers quietly took up positions around Manhattan Island. They knew Doc Savage's reputation in New York, knew his name had been in the past a.s.sociated with the combating of perils before which police departments were helpless. If Doc Savage was involved in the matter of the giants, the thing was no laughing affair.

Newspapers ate up this newest development. sheets that had red ink ran it in their biggest headlines.

Here was the newspaper story of the year.

Pere Teston was investigated, and the facts unearthed added to the general excitement.

It was found that Pere Teston was a man who had dabbled in chemical experiments since childhood. But he had not made chemistry his profession -- it had been a hobby.

Pere Teston, railroad men who had known him revealed, had for years maintained that it was possible to develop compounds to increase the size of living beings. The friends had laughed; they thought this was just another crazy idea.

That day, several of Pere Teston's former acquaintances collected large sums of money for telling theirstory to the newspapermen. Pere Teston, these men declared, had talked much of developing giant cows, who would give great quant.i.ties of milk. He had spoken of huge draft horses, which would be a boon to the farmer.

No one could recall his having spoken of an army of giant men to terrorize the world.

”Probably he thought of that later,” said one man who had known Pere Teston.

”When did he disappear?” asked a reporter.

”A year or two ago, maybe,” was the reply. The truth was that no one seemed to be just Certain when Pere Teston had dropped from sight.

Before nightfall, almost five hundred more planes were enroute for Trapper Lake, bearing correspondents and photographers.

BEFORE NIGHTFALL, too, Doc Savage and his men took off on a prowl of their own. Doc entertained an idea.

”Everything points to these giants having their headquarters somewhere in the lake,” he pointed out.

”Their food supplies, brought in on the Timberland Line, were transferred to barges on the lake.”

”But where can their hangout be?” pondered big-fisted Renny.

”We got a line on their retreat last night,” Doc said. ” The gyro fuel tanks were filled to the slosh-over point with fuel smuggled out of Trapper Lake. They headed out into the lake.

Half an hour's flying put them over an island. It was covered with brush and rock, and certainly harbored no giants. Doc continued onward.

The previous night had been cloudy, extremely dark. This one promised to be gloriously moonlit. They flew high, dropping down when they sighted islands.

An hour pa.s.sed; another. The fuel was holding out well. The gyro, thanks to its hovering ability, enabled them to scrutinize closely such islands as they viewed.

A half dozen specks of rock and soil they sighted without discerning a sign of the giants.

Another and somewhat larger island appeared.

Ham eyed his watch. ”Ten o'clock and all's well,” he stated.

He was wrong. Up from the isle ahead a plane came boring.

When it was still some three hundred yards away, machine-gun muzzles flamed like tiny red eyes from its cowl. Tracer bullets, climbing past Doc's gyro, might have been red sparks.

The attacking s.h.i.+p was a low-wing bus, very fast. ”That's the crate in which Caldwell and his gang hopped from New York.”' Long Tom yelled.

Doc climbed the gyro, jockeying to one side, then the other, avoiding the machine-gun slugs. As the attacking s.h.i.+p slid past, Doc heaved the gyro over on its side and flicked the landing-light switch.

The illumination disclosed a face in the control c.o.c.kpit of the other plane. It was the steel-haired girl -- the ex-lion tamer, Jean Morris.

Chapter 21. THE SWIMMING GIANTS.

LIKE A thing frightened by the glare of the landing lights, the other plane scudded away. It banked and came back. Again the cowl-mounted rapid-firers opened red eyes.

Doc Savage hung the gyro motionless in the night sky and watched the thread of tracer bullets warily, prepared to maneuver the gyro clear if it came too close.

The sight of the steel-haired girl in the other plane had kept Doc from driving bullets into the engine of the enemy s.h.i.+p while the pilot was blinded by the floodlight.

”The hussy,” Monk complained. ”Who'd have thought this of her?”

”You were making calf eyes at her in New York,” Ham snorted.

Monk grinned sheepishly. ”I'd probably do it again, too. She's a looker.”

The tracer bullets drew too near. Doc dropped the gyro straight down. The move was so abrupt that the men grabbed at their chairs.

Tracers ran strings of phosphorus fire through the s.p.a.ce they had vacated.

”What are we gonna do about this?” Monk pondered.

Doc sank the gyro rapidly. The other s.h.i.+p followed them down in a tight spiral. Doc flattened some fifty feet above the lake surface. Advancing the accelerator, he streaked along above the lake.

It looked as if he had generously helped himself to suicide, for the other plane swooped down upon their tail, its two cowl guns lipping flame.

The lake surface was fairly calm, and the small geysers knocked up by the bullets were visible ahead of Doc's windmill. The tracers, as they ricocheted, seemed to be sparks bouncing from the water.

Doc waltzed the gyro right, then left. The other s.h.i.+p, attempting to follow these maneuvers with its sight rings, merely succeeded in firing wide of the target.

Renny used his enormous hands to mop perspiration off his forehead. He knew the danger they were in.

Even Doc's consummate skill could not avoid the pursuing bullets for long.

Abruptly, for no visible reason, the plane behind gave up the attack. It wobbled off to one side, careening in the sky.