Part 2 (1/2)

The love of excitement and adventure, together with an unbounded admiration for Doc Savage, and the pleasure they got out of a.s.sociating with him, held Doc's live aids in a group.

Monk, just before he reached the skysc.r.a.per, stepped aside to avoid a newsboy. The lad was howling: ”Earthquake! Read about the earthquake in South America!”

Monk was not at all interested in earthquakes.

Monk entered the skysc.r.a.per lobby. He walked past the phalanx of elevators. Of each operator, he asked a question.”Have you brought down a guy from eighty-six within the last few minutes-a bird in evening clothes, who walked like he thought a lot of himself?”

”That gentleman just left,” reported the third attendant.

Monk made a clicking sound of regret with his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

”Here comes Doc Savage!” an elevator operator said dramatically.

THE exclamation was a bit breathless, and filled with awe. It was as if the operator were seeing a famous personage for the first time. Yet it was certain that this attendant saw Doc Savage many times daily.

Monk turned. He understood how they felt. He had himself been closely a.s.sociated with Doc Savage for years, yet he still got something of a wallop each time he saw the metallic giant that was Doc.

Doc Savage, crossing the cavernous lobby, did not look the giant that he was. Tendons and vast muscles bundled his body like cables, yet they were developed in such universal fas.h.i.+on that they blended in a strikingly symmetrical whole.

It was only when Doc came close to other men that his huge size became apparent.

Bronze was the color motif on Doc Savage's skin. Due to the corded hardness of his muscles, he resembled a statue of the metal. His eyes were weird-flaky golden pools which seemed always astir, always alive.

Doc lifted a hand in a gesture of greeting to Monk. The hand was muscled until it looked as if it had been wrapped with steel wire, then painted with bronze. However, the fingers were long, regardless of their obviously incredible strength.

”Let's go up,” Doc said. His voice was as remarkable as it had been when Monk heard it over the phone. Not loud, it nevertheless carried to the recesses of the lobby.

An express elevator, its progress a hiss of speed, rushed them to the eighty-sixth floor.

”The guy is gone,” Monk explained. ”I got that from an elevator operator.”

Saying nothing, Doc approached the office door. An uncanny thing happened-the door opened at his approach.

There was no living thing near it.

MONK hastily peered into the office. He was completely at a loss to understand the business of the door opening. The room beyond was as he had left it. Apparently, nothing was disturbed.

Monk squinted at the outer door, seeking to figure out what made it swing ajar when Doc had approached it.

He shook his head. Then he walked around the office, trying the safe door, the locker, and the doors into the inner rooms. All were locked.

”It don't look like the guy bothered anything,” he said in his small voice. ”That's funny. Why should he pay me five hundred dollars, just to get into the office?”

Doc walked toward the door into the inner chambers.

Monk's hair threatened to stand on end at what happened. The solidly locked door-Monk was mortally certain it was locked-quickly opened itself as Doc came near. After the bronze man had pa.s.sed through, the door closed.

Rus.h.i.+ng over, Monk grasped the k.n.o.b. He exerted all his strength. Monk could take a horseshoe in his big hairy hands and bend it into the shape of a pretzel. This door, however, resisted him.With a sheepish grin on his homely face, Monk absently fitted the end of his little finger into the hole in his earlobe. Monk was highly intelligent in spite of his apish look. He was trying to figure out what made the doors open when Doc came near them. Doc had perfected many remarkable devices, but this was a new one. For all of Monk's canniness, he was stumped.

The door opened in the same magic fas.h.i.+on as before, and Doc Savage reappeared. He carried a black composition tube which resembled a cylindrical phonograph record.

Monk grinned. He knew what the record was. It was part of a device which was hooked to the telephone and recorded all conversations. This apparatus monitored Doc's phone wire continuously. When one record became filled, another one s.h.i.+fted automatically into place.

”Nothing but the telephone seems to have been touched,” Doc said.

Monk peered at the telephone. He considered himself a detective of fair ability. He was certain the instrument was placed exactly as it had always been. He did not doubt that it had been used, though. Doc rarely made a mistake.

Going to the telephone, Monk peered at it from several angles. He sniffed. Then he got it. There was a faint tang of smoker's breath about the mouthpiece. Neither Doc nor any of his five men smoked; and no one else used this instrument.

Monk had missed the smoke scent on his first round of the room. Doc, however, had caught it. Doc's nostrils had been trained to an animal sensitivity in smell perception.

Doc switched on the mechanism which played back the record. The pick-up was amplified and reproduced through a loud-speaker. It was like listening to a bit of drama from a radio.

”h.e.l.lo,” said a voice from the loudspeaker. ”Doc Savage speaking.”

”Huh!” Monk gulped. ”Why, the liar! That's the guy who told me his name was Velvet!”

Doc Savage requested silence with a lifted hand.

”This is John Acre,” said a slow, wheezing voice from the reproducing instrument. ”I sent you several radiograms from the boat. I wonder if you have received any of them.”

”Yes,” said Velvet. ”They referred to various mysterious earthquakes.”

”Good!” exclaimed John Acre. ”Then you know how important it is that I see you. I just landed from the steamer Junio .”

”You wish to see me at once?” asked Velvet.

”Immediately, Mr. Savage. May I come to your office?”

”Not to my office,” said Velvet. ”Come to the Midas Club, on Park Avenue.”

”Very well, Mr. Savage,” agreed John Acre.

A sharp click ended the conversation. The recording had stopped automatically as soon as the receivers were hung up.

”For the love of mud!” Monk e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. ”Did you hear that, Doc-the Midas Club! That's Ham's hang-out.”

THERE was a good reason for Monk's surprise. The Midas Club was the residence of one member of Doc's group of five remarkable aids. The man who lived there was Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks. He was the law expert of Doc's squad.

”Why should Velvet decoy this John Acre to Ham's place?” Monk pondered.Doc made no reply. His bronze features showed no excitement. That did not mean he was unconcerned. For years, Doc had schooled himself in self-control. Now, it was only on the rarest of occasions that he showed any emotion.

”John Acre said he had sent you some messages,” Monk continued, eyeing Doc. ”Did you get any?”

”No,” Doc said. ”And I have never heard of John Acre, either.”