Кеннет Робсон - Death in Silver

"Want to help me, Pat?" Doc asked.

"Help you?" Pat said cheerfully. "Do I want to fly the Atlantic? Do I want to stand up and get shot at? Do I want to go in for parachute jumping? All of those are safer than helping you!"

"Do you want to help?" Doc repeated.

"Sure," Pat laughed. "Who is trying to kill you now?"

"Miss Lorna Zane, here, is the one in danger this time," Doc explained and briefly outlined what had occurred.

Pat Savage listened with profound interest. Pat liked excitement and had aided Doc on other occasions. She had even tried to join Doc's group of assistants but had been turned down because Doc considered it no life for the so-called 'gentler sex'. She had started this elaborate beauty establishment to keep herself occupied.

Rapid Pace was walking rapidly back-and-forth beside the roadster when Doc joined him down in the street.

"I am puzzled," clipped the high-pressure efficiency expert. "Yes, deeply puzzled. What I want to know is this: How are we going to find those silver devils?"

"Through an order their leader Ull gave," Doc said.

"What was the order?" Pace questioned swiftly.

"Something about going to an individual named 'Gardner'," Doc told him.

"Uh oh!" gulped Pace. "Gardner? Bedford Burgess Gardner, did you say?"

"Who is Bedford Burgess Gardner?" Doc countered.

"Gardner is owner of Transatlantic Lines, the ocean line which was Paine L. Winthrop's chief rival until lately when there has been talk of the 2 companies merging," said Pace, using what for him was an extraordinarily long sentence. "Gardner is … "

"We will go to Gardner's home," Doc said briskly.

"I happen to know where he lives," said Pace. "Yes, I know. He has a lolapaloosa of a place. A lolapaloosa!"

- — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The "'lolapaloosa' was a cluster of white buildings which stood like big dice atop a green hill that shouldered up impressively from the Hudson's tranquil blue ribbon some miles north of New York City.

The mansion itself was palatial, modeled after the lines of Mount Vernon with tall white columns. Nearby were smaller buildings in imitation of old slave huts. The stables were large. And back of them a private race track looped around a private flying field on which stood a hangar, also ingeniously Colonial.

The river edge at the foot of the hill boasted boathouses and a seaplane hangar, also Colonial.

There was no fog this far North — it seemed to be present only along the sea — and the sky was comparatively free of clouds so that moonlight spilled down, giving Doc Savage and Rapid Pace sufficient illumination to look over the ground.

Pace said, "A lolapaloosa! Didn't I tell you? Yes sir, a … "

"Quiet," said Doc, who was getting tired of the efficiency expert's repetitive manner of speaking.

They had left the roadster a short distance from the palatial estate and they were approaching on foot. They were on a driveway which was barked on either side by black, ominous brush.

A small redpoint of light appeared ahead. They used more caution, came close and perceived a taxi. The tail-light illuminated the license — a New Jersey plate.

"Probably the machine the silver men took when they abandoned their sedan in New Jersey," Doc imparted.

Doc rounded the cab, saw it was empty, and they advanced through the shrubbery until they came to a stretch of lawn which was close-cropped and somewhat glassy with dew. Beyond was the house. It was ample, impressive, almost unnaturally white.

"Makes me think of a bone," Pace shivered. "Yes sir, a white bone!"

"What do you know about Bedford Burgess Gardner?" Doc asked.

"A mysterious person," said Pace. "A very mysterious person."

"What do you mean?"

"He rarely gets out," Pace explained. "Off-hand, I cannot recall any one who has seen him. He does not keep offices downtown, and all his business is transacted by telephone. They say he is a strange person who does not like anyone around him. They even say his servants do not live here — that he makes them leave every evening before dark."

"Wealthy?" Doc queried.

"Within the last year, his company has merged with other shipping concerns until he is the most powerful shipping magnate in America unless I am mistaken," said Pace.

"Ever see him?" Doc asked.

"No, sir," said Pace. "Didn't I just tell you that very few people have ever seen the old codger?"

"Old?"

"An old wreck, from what I hear," said Pace. "They say … "

What "they said" never did come out, however. From the white house exploded a shout — hollow because it was inside; guttural with fright!

The cry repeated. A door banged open, spilling white light. It had opened on a small balcony some 15 feet up on the side of the mansion.

A figure reeled through the door. It was a man who made a grotesque form against the glitter from within. His age must have been near 40. And his face — even from that distance — radiated terror! He wore the uniform of a taxi driver.

The man was fleeing, obviously. He endeavored to get over the balcony railing.

Then a gun banged hollowly inside the house. The bullet impact kicked the taxi driver around so that he fell across the balcony rail … teetered a moment … then was carried over by momentum.

There was a concrete sidewalk below and the driver struck that squarely on top of his head which would have killed him had the bullet not done so already.

Doc Savage heard a fluttering sound beside him, looked around, and saw that Rapid Pace seemed to be in the grip of a violent chill. His shaking was oscillating a bough of the bush against which they stood. Suddenly, Pace dived for the nearest cover, disappearing like a frightened rabbit.

Doc ran for the house, angling to the right, keeping low so that he could not be glimpsed by the gunman inside the balcony door. The house seemed to grow in proportions as he came near it. The structure was very large.

A side door which he approached was locked. But Doc's thin metal probe gave him silent, quick admission. The darkness inside swallowed him.

A few feet inside, he turned into a room where the carpet was thick, soft. He caught breathing sounds — uneasy, jerking. After a few seconds, feet shuffled on the carpet.

Doc moved like a wraith. His tendon-wrapped bands lashed out and closed on arms! The struggle was brief. There was a soft thump — evidently of a gun falling. Doc released his captive, leaped back, got the gun, then found a light switch and clicked it 'on'.

He studied the individual who was revealed in the brilliant flood.

It was a man — a weird figure, stooped almost double. The man had a black beard — slightly larger than a Vandyke — which made his lower face a dark bundle of fur. The eyes were squinted to the thinnest of slits. Not even the color of the orbs were distinguishable.

The bent, bearded figure scuttled back, stooped over, almost falling but managed to pick up a heavy cane which leaned against a chair. Then he glared at Doc from his slitted eyes.

Silence persisted for a few seconds. Then the thick beard bobbed as the other nodded.

"Doc Savage," he said in a coarse, quavering voice. "I've seen you somewhere before. Or maybe it was your picture."

Doc ejected cartridges from the gun — it was an automatic. None of the shells had been fired. He threw the cartridges cut of an open window and placed the weapon on a stand near a telephone. Doc never employed a gun although he was a skilled marksman if need arose.