Кеннет Робсон - Death in Silver

The thug howled! His gun — knocked from his band — skittered toward Rapid Pace.

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The man on the floor peered abruptly at his hands. It was as if he were surprised by something he had discovered on the somewhat grimy paws. Then he began to scream . His voice held terror.

Pace reached for the gun which had been tossed to the thug.

"Don't!" Doc rapped … and Pace jerked his hand back, stared stupidly at Doc, then at the thug on the floor. And his eyes flew wide with horror!

The thug was becoming mottled of face. He made gagging sounds. A hideous foam came to his lips, and he twisted with a convulsive violence.

"That gun … stuff off corpse … on handle!" he choked.

Doc took a chance, leaped, and broke the one electric light bulb with a snap of his hand. Darkness descended. There was no shooting from the window. The person outside evidently departed.

Doc wheeled back and seized the stricken man, then moved him to the shelter of the pillar.

"Your chance to get back at them," Doc said rapidly. "The grip of the gun that was tossed to you was smeared with some of the poison you were putting on the body. It was a trick to kill you — to shut you up — just on the chance that you would fail to get me."

"Damn … damn Ull!" the groveling man choked. "What you … want know?"

"Where are my assistants Monk and Ham?" Doc rapped.

"Indian's Head," mumbled the man.

"Where?" Doc asked.

The stricken one was having difficulty with his words. The strange poison seemed to work with uncanny speed.

"The Indian's Head … both there," he labored.

"What is this Indian's Head?" Doc demanded.

But the man seemed not to hear.

"UlI … not brains … back of Silver Death's-Heads ," he said. The words seemed to come from a bag which had leaked almost empty.

"Who is the Chief?" Doc snapped.

There was no answer.

The bronze man made a brief examination. He was careful not to touch the hands with which the other had gripped the gun tossed to him from the window.

"Dead," Doc said.

Heavy silence hung in the gloomy basement. Outside, there was no sound hut the faint shuffle of night breeze in the shrubbery. In the distance, a dog moon-bayed mournfully. Then far up the Hudson, a boat whistle blew a deep note.

Doc Savage glided to the window, careful not to disturb the broken glass on the floor inside. He heard nothing. A quick glance showed him no one.

The bronze man did not go outside through the window for that would be inviting a shot. Instead, he ascended stairs, worked through hallways, and let himself out through a rear door. He began a search.

He found no one. The gunman who had fired through the window had disappeared. Not a difficult task since there had been time for him to flee.

Back in the house, Doc addressed Rapid Pace. "Do you want to stay here and watch things until the police arrive?"

Rapid Pace shuddered so violently that he almost fell down. "Stay with these 2 dead men?" he gulped. "Not me! No sir!"

Doc, however, had decided the efficiency expert was a liability.

"There will probably be much more violence before I find my 2 men," he pointed out.

Pace groaned, "I shall take my chances with you. Yes, with you! You seemed to bear a charmed life. Just being around you braces my — "

"Sh-h-h," admonished Doc. "Listen!"

The breeze made leaves flutter outside the basement window; the dog was still baying the Moon in the far distance. Chunk! The sound was dull as if soft dough had been dropped on a board. Chunk! It came again.

"The Silver Death's-Heads haven't g-gone!" Pace stuttered.

"Come!" Doc rapped and swung up the stairs that led to the second floor.

They heard the sound again — more of a hollow thumping this time. It came from the front, from a bedroom. Doc swung into the chamber, across it, and opened a closet door.

A man fell out. He was bound-and-gagged and had been making the noises by thumping the door with his head. Doc untied him and extracted the gag.

The man was a powerful, handsome fellow in his early 30s. His hair was dark and thick, a bit shiny with a pleasantly aromatic oil. And the sideburns in front of his ears were cut — not squarely across, but slanting. His complexion was as perfect as a woman's. His eyelashes were long. But his strapping physique kept him from seeming unnaturally pretty.

Rapid Pace took one look at the stranger and groaned, "Hugh McCoy, of all people!"

"You have seen him before?" Doc demanded.

"I have seen entirely too much of him!" Pace said gloomily. "He has been hanging around the shipyard a lot lately. Er … Lorna Zane was the attraction. Yes, she was the attraction."

Hugh McCoy managed to get up on his feet although his muscles apparently were cramped. He rubbed and kneaded himself briskly. It became apparent that his suit was of most expensive tailoring.

"What happened to you?" Doc asked him.

McCoy studied the bronze man briefly, then said, "Someone leaped onto me from behind and overpowered me."

"Who was it?" Doc asked.

"It must have been Bedford Burgess Gardner," McCoy snapped.

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Doc indicated the door. "We will talk while moving. Two of my men have been seized by Silver Death's-Heads and everything but their rescue is secondary."

"But you haven't got a clue to where your 2 men may be," Rapid Pace protested. "That man in the basement did gasp something about an Indian's head. But I do not see how that is going to help you."

Doc ignored that, said "Hurry!" , and they clattered down the stairs and out into the night, swung boldly across the lawn, and reached Doc's roadster without anything happening.

The machine chased the white funnels of its own headlights through the night like a quiet black ghost hurtling after some lustrous siren.

"You saw Gardner attack you?" Doc queried of Hugh McCoy.

McCoy shook his head. "It was dark. I saw no one. But it must have been Gardner because there was no one else in the house. The black-whiskered old devil!"

"Any idea why you were attacked?"

"To get me out of the way," McCoy said, and shrugged. "I know of no other reason."

"I wonder …," Pace put in.

McCoy stared coldly at the efficiency expert. Pace returned the frosty look with interest. It was apparent that no love existed between these two.

"Just what are you driving at?" McCoy asked harshly.

Rapid Pace snapped, "Your story sounds fishy to me. Yes, fishy!"

McCoy's features darkened in the back glow of the car headlights. He made one hand into a hard square fist and drew it back wrathfully.

"I'll cave your face in!" Then he lowered the fist. "No, I won't either. You're just a sorehead. Peeved because Miss Zane has gone out with me a few times, aren't you?"

"Let's not bring Miss Zane into it," Pace suggested stiffly.

Doc nursed the roadster over a bridge where their speed caused the machine to travel a score of feet with all wheels off the ground.

"Drop the personalities," he suggested. "McCoy, what were you doing at Gardner's house tonight?"

"I am a financial relations counsel, by profession," McCoy began. "I … "

"A general four-flusher would be more like it," Rapid Pace sneered.

"Shut up or I'll crown you!" McCoy snapped. "Mr. Savage, I am a financial relations counsel."