Кеннет Робсон - Death in Silver

"A bird named 'Ull' is first lieutenant to this Chief," Monk put in. "This Ull is no dunce himself. He is a scientist from what I overheard. He has invented a lot of things that these Silver Deaths's-Heads use. Their disguises, for instance. And bulletproof vests which are almost as efficient as our own. Too, he mixed up a poison which kills you when you touch it."

Doc's roving gaze eyed a telephone.

"Wait," he directed and went to the instrument. Lifting the receiver, he found it alive. He dialed a number, then heard the ringer operate the distant phone twice before a receiver came up.

"Park Avenue Beautician," said a cultured feminine voice.

"Miss Savage," Doc requested.

A moment later another voice said, "Miss Patricia Savage speaking."

"Is Lorna Zane safe?" Doc asked.

"She is unless she succumbs from some of my beauty treatments," Pat advised. "I told her anything she wanted was free while she was with me. And did she take advantage of it! She started with my 'Special Egyptian Clay Pack Facial' and is going right down the list. Doc, do you know what I think?"

"Better put a guard over her," Doc suggested.

"Sure," Pat agreed. "Doc, I think she is setting her cap for you! She keeps wanting to know about you."

Doc said dryly "Try to discourage her" and hung up.

Patricia Savage smiled as she hung up because she knew that Doc was as "woman-proof" as any man could be. Feminine attention only embarrassed Doc. And Pat — woman-like — enjoyed kidding him. More the pity, too, because there was no doubt but that Lorna Zane was actually entranced by the bronze giant . And Lorna was not only a beauty but also had good sense and ability as well. No one without ability could run a shipyard.

"Poor Lorna," sighed Pat aloud. "She's bumping her head against a stone wall."

"And you, sister," said a cold voice, "are going to bump into some lead if you don't behave!"

Pat started violently and whirled. The windows of her private office were adorned with drapes which hung to the floor. From behind one of these, a man had stepped. At least, Pat decided be was a man since the voice was too coarse to come from a feminine source. The fellow was garbed in one of the weird silver regalias!

"What," Pat demanded, "does this mean!"

"Never mind that," growled the silver man. "Call that Zane dame in here."

The speaker moved his right hand, silver-gloved, to emphasize the presence of the pistol which he held.

Pat studied the gun. She was outwardly calm and looked very chic in an evening gown from one of the city's finest designers.

"Get a jump on!" advised the silver man.

"All right," Pat said and picked up an interoffice telephone.

Leaping swiftly, the silver man wrenched the instrument from Pat's fingers and clapped it back on the hook.

"What-in-blazes are you tryin' to pull?" he grated.

"That phone connects to the operator who is now dressing Miss Zane's hair," Pat explained. "I was going to call her. If you don't believe me, call her yourself."

The other hesitated, thinking the matter over.

"You got some men working in this joint, ain't you?" he grunted.

"Of course," said Pat. "Very handsome men, too. The older society matrons like that."

"Yeah?" the silver man leered. "Well, I'll take a chance on 'em thinking it's one of your men callin'."

He picked up the instrument — which was one of the cradle type receiver&mouthpiece on one arm — and began: "I want to talk to the operator dressing Miss Zane's hair … "

That was as far as he got because a popping noise interrupted him.He dropped the instrument and staggered back, gasping and blinking. He seemed to forget that he held a gun and pawed at the eyeholes in his mask.

Pat lunged, seized his gun with both hands, wrenched, and got it! She sprang back triumphantly. Because she helped Doc Savage occasionally, she was sometimes in danger and she had taken precautions. This trick telephone was one of them.

It was not connected to anything. But the mouthpiece — when spoken into — ejected a tiny spray of tear gas. She had borrowed the device from Doc Savage who had fashioned countless such trick contrivances.

"When you get around to it," Pat advised, "you can put up your hands."

The silver man snarled incoherently and kept on pawing at his masked features. The noises he made in his agony and rage were bubbling and baby-like. They were loud enough to cover the sound — if any — as a second silver man appeared in the open door behind Pat and advanced swiftly, lifting a gun club-fashion!

The gun bludgeoned down heavily. Pat moaned and collapsed to her knees.

"A wise dame," said the newcomer. "But not wise enough."

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

While still stunned, Pat was jerked up and slammed into a chair. The same gun which had clubbed her was shoved into her face.

"Don't think I'm finicky about usin' it on a dame, neither!" the man advised her. "We got too much at stake to take chances on the works bein' gummed!"

Pat sat very still and said thickly, "The last thing I would think of doing is gumming anybody's works."

"You take a lot of killin', don't you!" the other jeered, half-admiringly. Then he snapped at his companion: "Get over in the corner to that water-cooler and wash your eyes!"

The blinded man stumbled to the water-cooler. He spilled water down the front of his clothing but finally managed to bathe his eyes. By that time, the effects of the tear gas had started subsiding and he was soon able to use his orbs. With gusto, he took over the task of guarding Pat.

"Pull a funny one on me, will you!" he gritted at the young woman. "I oughta hand you yours right here!"

"Nix," said the other. "This hank-of-hair goes with us. The Big Shot's orders."

"You mean," Pat demanded, "that I am going to be 'honored' with your companionship?"

"You get the idea."

"Why?" Pat wanted to know.

The silver man squinted at her through the eyeholes in his mask. "This guy Doc Savage thinks a lot of you, don't he?"

"I suspect," said Pat, "that Doc sometimes wishes I had never been born. You would be surprised how much time he has to spend rescuing me from trouble."

The silver man laughed harshly. "Okay. Now he's gonna have another chance!"

Pat snapped, "I fail to follow you."

"Live bait, sister," the other sneered. "Get it? We use you to pull the bronze guy into a trap!"

"Is that why you kept Monk and Ham alive?" Pat asked.

Teeth made a gritting noise behind the silver mask. "So you know that Savage got 'em away from us, eh?"

Pat had not known this. Doc — with a reticence characteristic of himself — had neglected to tell her over the telephone. Pat smiled cheerfully into the gun muzzle.

"My feminine intuition or something tells me you fellows will be better off if you drop everything and hunt a nice hide-out in, let us say, Timbuktu ," she advised.

"Your intuition had better show you when it's wise to pipe down!" the other grated and shoved his gun closer to her face.

"Can the chatter," said the second silver man, who was carefully examining the telephones on Pat's desk. He picked up one, held it gingerly, got the operator, and seemed satisfied there was no trick.