Кеннет Робсон - Death in Silver

"Just what does that mean?" Doc interposed.

"I give corporations and business concerns financial advice," explained McCoy. "Sometimes, I take charge of disputes between companies, serving as intermediary to get things settled amicably. For instance, take the currently discussed merger between Gardner's shipping company and the steamship concern and shipyard owned by Paine L. Winthrop. Gardner called me in as consultant. I looked over the situation and advised the merger. Winthrop, however, opposed it. I was at Gardner's house tonight discussing the matter."

"Did you," Doc queried, "know that Paine L. Winthrop was murdered late this afternoon?"

"Hell, no!" Hugh McCoy said feelingly. "Who killed him?"

"The Silver Death's-Heads , undoubtedly," Doc answered.

Mccoy shook his head slowly. "How was it done?"

"With a shell from a 3-inch cannon," Doc replied.

"Listen!" McCoy exploded. "Are you serious?"

"Do you," Doc asked, "know anything about this mystery?"

"Not a thing!" McCoy said vehemently.

Doc Savage seemed on the point of putting another question. But instead, he applied the brakes, bringing the roadster to a sharp stop. They were approaching one of the bridges which led over the Harlem River into Manhattan.

A squad of policemen with riot guns and tear-gas bombs was barring their way.

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A burly Sergeant advanced, recognized Doc Savage, stepped back hastily, and motioned the car on. But Doc tarried to ask questions. He wanted to know what happened.

"Why the blockading party at the bridge, officer?" he queried.

"It's them blasted Silver Death's-Heads !" said the cop. "We have all the bridges an' ferries an' the subways blocked. We'll get 'em!"

"Have the silver men done anything since the murder of Paine L. Winthrop?" Doc questioned.

"Done anything?" the policeman exploded. "They've been running wild! They robbed a string of movie theaters, blew open a bank vault, and looted 3 jewelry stores. They worked like an army. They've got gas masks inside them silver hoods they wear. And they also got bulletproof vests, machine-guns, and gas grenades. They're the worst thing this town has ever seen!"

"Any trace of where they go to?" Doc asked.

"No. Nor where they come from, either," groaned the officer. "Except maybe it must be somewhere in the East River waterfront district. After their jobs, they seem to flee in that direction."

Doc Savage drove on. Signs that the law enforcement agencies of the city were on edge was evident at point after point. Instead of one traffic cop on duty at a corner, there were 2 or even 3. And an unusual number of radio cars were prowling.

"But we have been chasing the silver men all evening!" Rapid Pace remarked. "It does not seem possible that they could have committed the robberies the policeman told about. No, sir!"

"The organization must be large," Doc told him. "We have been following only a small portion of the gang."

"Where are we going?" Hugh McCoy asked abruptly.

Instead of replying, Doc Savage swung the roadster up before an all-night drug store which displayed a telephone sign, entered, and thumbed through the directories.

Following him in, Pace and McCoy were interested observers.

In the directory, Doc found numerous concerns which used the name "Indian Head". He moved a metallic finger down the list. "We will try this one," he said and stopped his finger at:

Indian Head Club

Pace squinted, then asked, "But why this particular one?"

"Notice the address," Doc suggested. "It is in the Brooklyn waterfront district, across from the Manhattan side of the East River where the crooks have been disappearing. On Wallow Street, to be exact. After their crimes, they ferried in some manner across to the Brooklyn shore."

"Have you," Hugh McCoy asked abruptly, "any objection to my doing my bit to aid you? I have a personal interest in this matter."

Doc's flake-gold eyes were inscrutable. "Personal interest?" he queried.

"I am on Gardner's payroll," McCoy elaborated. "I do not like to have anything put over on me. Gardner has been acting uneasily of late, which leads me to think something is queer. If anything is wrong, I would be involved. In the minds of the public, at least. If I have been working for a crook, I want to be known as one of those who helped put him behind bars."

"You think Gardner is a crook?" Doc asked sharply.

"Gardner might be the leader of the Silver Death's-Heads !" McCoy reminded.

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Wallow Street was a narrow, teeming alley full of odors and gloom. The thoroughfare was less than half-a-dozen blocks long with the first 2 blocks — the two up on the hill — lined with tenements of the lowest type. The other 4 blocks housed sail lofts, warerooms, and shops dealing in ship supplies.

Wallow Street ended at the waterfront where piers bulked gloomily and the polluted water of the East River sloshed and eddied. At this hour, the section down by the water was deserted while farther up in the tenement stretch, wretched inhabitants draped themselves on fire escapes and rooftops to escape the fog-soaked warmth.

Rapid Pace and Hugh McCoy were silent as Doc guided the roadster into Wallow Street. They were still showing a coldness toward each other, neither having addressed a word to the other since entering the city.

Doc pulled into a side-street, stopped the roadster, and motioned McCoy and Pace back when they moved to get out.

"You two stay here," he directed.

Then the smelly darkness seemed to absorb the bronze giant . There was no sound to indicate which way he had gone. Pace and McCoy watched the corners where streetlights were brilliant, expecting to see the bronze man. But to their amazement, he did not appear.

They should have watched the roof line along the street. They might have seen Doc Savage poise for an instant against the fog-gorged sky after he had climbed a heavy metal drainpipe.

There was no sign of life on the rooftops. But Doc went forward as warily as if he were stalking an abnormally alert sentinel. The roofs were level except for one stretch a floor lower than the rest — an obstacle which Doc bridged by use of his grapple and silk line.

Advancing to the forward edge of the roof, he employed a thin periscope device to scrutinize the street. This apparatus functioned remarkably well in the darkness.

INDIAN HEAD CLUB

The sign was almost below, the letters arrayed around a gaudy likeness of a redskin brave's head. The building was as devoid of lights as the black, somber warehouses on either side.

Doc retreated. Buildings such as this usually had roof hatches. Doc searched, found one, and pressed an ear to it. He listened for a long time but heard nothing from within.

Doc did not enter the hatch but moved to the rear of the building; slid down his grapple cord with the hook affixed behind a chimney; and reached a window.

The glass pane in this was large. Doc's flashlight came out and protruded a beam little thicker than a lead pencil. He examined the edge of the glass where it was puttied in. He dug very carefully with his penknife.

What he eventually found was so well-concealed that it almost evaded his intent scrutiny. Affixed in the putty was a hair-fine wire of copper. Had he carelessly tried to remove the putty, the wire would have been broken, setting off an alarm somewhere!