Кеннет Робсон - Death in Silver

The discovery was proof that his caution was not wasted. The roof hatch, of course, would be fitted with another alarm.

With a penknife Doc went to work, carefully uncovering the fine wire and locating its terminals. He twisted them together, forming a short-circuit that would keep the alarm system electromagnets energized. Without this short-circuiting, he would not have been able to remove the glass without actuating the ingenious device.

He now removed the glass.

Before entering, Doc clambered back up the roof. He ran boldly to the hatch … gave it a wrench … and it came open.

Doc whipped back to his grapple cord, slid down to the window he bad operated upon, freed the grapple with a jerk, and rolled it up and pocketed it as he eased into the Indian Head Club.

He advanced silently, eased through a door … and found proof that his precautions were wise.

4 grim figures in silver crouched at the end of the hallway, scarcely discernible in the vague light which came down through the open hatch. Doc took a chance on the floor squeaking and crept a bit closer.

"Be sure the silencers are on your guns," said a coarse whisper.

"Why don't the guy who opened that hatch come on down?" grated another.

Perhaps a minute of grim waiting ticked by.

"Two of you go back and watch Savage's 2 buddies," breathed the coarser whisper.

2 silver men detached from the group and eased along the hallway and down a flight of stairs. They did not see Doc Savage for the bronze man was moving ahead of them.

Doc was doing a strange thing as he glided along. In one of his hands was a small can with a perforated top, not unlike the containers in which talcum powder is often sold. From time-to-time, he sprinkled some of the contents on the floor behind him. The powder was dark and did not show up in the darkness.

The two silver men reached a door, shoved it open, and thumbed on flashlights. A glance within seemed to satisfy them.

"They'll never get away," said one. "Come on. Let's take a look at the back door. I don't like that business of the roof hatch opening. Somebody might've done that to cover up while they got inside some other way."

"Nobody could get in without setting off an alarm," the other snorted skeptically.

"We'll take a look, anyhow."

The 2 men retreated.

They were hardly around a corner when Doc appeared at the door, got it open, and passed through. His flashlight traced its white thread.

Big apish Monk and slender dapper Ham were handcuffed, wrist and ankle. In addition, wrist shackles were linked to ankle manacles. Both their lips and eyes were taped. The strips almost concealed their features.

The manacle locks were simple. They surrendered quickly to Doc's metal probe. He got the gags off with quick jerks — the least painful method.

Making a snarling sound, Monk reached up and uncovered his eyes. But he saw Doc … gulped … and dropped the fist with which he was preparing to drive a blow.

"Glory be!" he grinned. "I knew it was only a question of time until you got here!"

The door snapped open. A silver -hooded head thrust in, attracted no doubt by the noise Monk had made. The observer let out an ear-splitting yell!

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

Doc scooped up a heavy handcuff and snapped it at the door. The head jerked back. The manacles struck the wood so hard that splinters were torn off! With a slam, the door was yanked shut.

From the hallway came a sound reminiscent of buckshot being poured on a taut bed sheet — a silenced machine-gun! Its clamor was not as loud as the uproar made by the slugs tearing through the door.

Monk was on his feet. Shoving, Doc propelled him to a corner. Ham was jerking at the tape over his eyes. Doc pitched him bodily after Monk, clear of the leaden storm.

In the hallway, there was shouting and the pound of racing feet. The silver men were gathering to the attack.

The room which held Doc and his men were fitted with easy chairs, tables, and smoking stands. Doc heaved a chair at a window. It went through with a great jangling of glass.

3 silenced rapid-firers were stuttering in the hall. But the weapons — firing cartridges of pistol caliber — could not penetrate the walls. The door, however — mangled by metal — toppled off its hinges.

A silver -gloved hand thrust a machine-gun inside. Monk threw a smoking stand. It hit the hand. Its owner screamed , and his gun skittered across the floor.

Monk started for the weapon, willing to chance being shot in order to get it.

"Wait!" Doc rapped.

The bronze man stripped off the light alloy metal mail which he wore to protect his torso from bullets. He spread this over a cheap, overstuffed chair, making a mobile shield. Using this, Monk scuttled across the floor.

The mail jumped and whipped under the impact of lead. Flattened bullets fell from it to the floor. But Monk got the rapid-firer. He loosened a brief burst of fire. Outside, a man squawked in agony.

"They're wearing bulletproof vests," Monk said grimly. "You've got to shoot at their legs or their heads. I got that one in the legs!"

Monk's single burst had a remarkable effect for the shooting outside suddenly ceased. Footsteps pounded, grew fainter. Monk promptly charged outside, holding Doc's bulletproof garment in front of his chest.

"Sounds like they're heading for the back!" he roared.

Doc and Ham followed. They could hear the running feet … until silence fell unexpectedly.

On the floor was a spattering of crimsonwhich had come from the leg of the man Monk had shot. Doc followed the trail but not for far. It ended, indicating the injured one had stemmed the scarlet flow, perhaps with a handkerchief.

"It's a cinch they didn't leave the place," Monk rumbled. "We'll find 'em!"

"Watch the doors." Doc directed.

Monk raced to the front entrance and almost at once there was a violent scuffle. It subsided quickly.

"Doc, I've got one!" Monk called. "Caught him just inside!"

Running to the spot, Doc Savage found the homely chemist holding a very frightened young man speared on the muzzle of his gun.

The frightened individual was Rapid Pace.

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

"We h-heard f-fighting," Rapid Pace stuttered. "We decided to h-have a look."

"Where is McCoy?" Doc demanded.

"He took the back way," said Pace. "Y-yes, the back way."

"Did you see any one running from the club?"

"No," said Pace. "No, sir!"

Doc studied Rapid Pace for a moment. It had taken quite a degree of nerve to enter the Indian Head Club as Pace had done. The efficiency expert was a puzzle. At time,s he exhibited plenty of nerve. And other times, he had none at all.

Appearing from the rear door, Hugh McCoy put a halt to Doc's character appraisal. No one — asserted McCoy emphatically! — had fled down the alley which ran past the back door.

"But they went somewhere!" said Monk.

Monk had returned to his habitual tiny-voiced manner of speaking in marked contrast to his gusty roaring when he was in action. Monk liked plenty of noise with his fights.

"We will," Doc stated, "pull this place apart if necessary to find where those 4 silver men went. Monk, Ham — did you overhear anything to indicate who is behind this affair?"

"There is a mastermind," Ham offered crisply. "He is a fellow who remains in the background. He does not even mingle with his gang. Some of the gang do not even know him by sight. We did not get his name or overhear anything to indicate his identity."