Кеннет Робсон - Death in Silver

The beggar moved slowly, cranking his organ, carefully feeling his way along the sidewalk. He stopped frequently to let the organ wail and to clink some pennies in a tin cup.

Eventually he reached the house into which Ull and his silver men had gone. A few feet beyond it, he stopped, put his organ down, drew from his ragged clothing a paper-wrapped sandwich, and began to eat.

The slowness with which he ate indicated he would be some time at his dining. But it was not long before things began to happen.

A door opened.

"Get t'hell outa here, bum!" grated a harsh voice.

The beggar seized his organ and began to play his loudest. The street resounded with the discordant notes.

The man in the door cursed. Then he ran down the steps, across the walk, and gave the beggar a resounding kick in the side.

"Beat it, I told yer!" he snarled.

But the results were not as expected. The mendicant gave a convulsive jerk and fell over. He lay motionless, apparently in a dead faint.

The man who had done the kicking swore fiercely and seemed baffled as to what do. He could not let the beggar lie. That would draw attention. He picked the fellow up and hauled him inside.

After he had the limp beggar through the door, the man dropped him, went back, and scrutinized the street. The miserable avenue was deserted.

"Whew!" sighed the man. "I couldn't leave that bum layin' around for Doc Savage to see. It might make the big bronze guy suspicious."

He picked up a silver garment which had been behind the door and drew it on. Then he turned, intending to inspect the senseless beggar.

He got barely half around. His eyes flew wide, his jaw fell. For the erstwhile beggar had undergone a complete metamorphosis!

The mendicant had turned into a giant of a figure— legs uncoiling from their grotesque positions, back straightening, head lifting!

The silver man lashed out frantically with a fist. His knuckles skidded on purplish make-up and the theatrical grease — rubbed aside — disclosed bronze skin beneath.

"Doc Sav … " The silver man did not get past the first syllable. A metallic fist under his jaw closed his mouth clickingly and he slumped, knocked out.

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Doc Savage let the fellow sag to the floor, breaking the fall enough to eliminate undue noise. He had not struck hard. The victim would be out only a few minutes. This was so that the man could be questioned if necessary.

Doc listened. Then he whipped for the nearest shadows. The scuffle had been heard. The clatter of approaching footsteps told him that.

A door down the hallway came open with a smash! Silver figures appeared. They held flashlights which sprayed blinding luminance. The lights picked up Doc's form.

The bronze giant was a startling figure in the beggar make-up. The coat he wore (it went with one of several disguises which he carried in the delivery truck) was padded to feign deformities. And these padded portions protruded strangely, now that he was erect.

Curiosity gripped the silver men and held them long enough for Doc to move. He already had the implement he intended to use, had it in one hand. He lobbed it at the floor in front of the nearest silver man.

There was a roar! The floor splintered! The silver man was knocked backwards, went end-over-end, then managed to gain his feet.

The other silver men backed away wildly, forgetting their guns in their haste. Then as Doc lifted his arm with another explosive grenade, they pitched for the nearest door … got through … and hurled their weight against the panel in an endeavor to close it.

Doc tried to prevent the door from closing. The silver men strained and pushed, squeezing profanity through clenched teeth.

Except the floor — which was inadequate — there was no grip for Doc's feet. He was forced back. The door closed and the lock .

An instant later, machine-gun slugs began clouting splinter-edged holes in the panel.

Doc retreated, swabbing some of the make-up off his face with a sleeve. The stuff might get in his eyes in a hand-to-hand fight. He brought out a tiny, high-explosive grenade and lobbed it at the door.

Lightning seemed to strike inside the grimy building! Plaster fell off the walls and floorboards jumped up with a screeching of pulled nails. The door turned into a cloud of fragments!

The machine-gun was silenced by the exploding grenade. After debris had ceased to fall, men began cursing. Then they ran away. From the dragging sounds, it seemed they were hauling one of their number who was injured.

Doc Savage did not advance in pursuit. He held respect for these foes. They were cunning. Just how cunning was evident when there came a second terrific concussionwhich caused the old building to rock, sent window glass sheeting out, and loosened more plaster!

They had left one of their own grenades behind with the time fuse set for a long interval. Had Doc followed them, he might very well have been killed.

From the entrance to the building came noise of a movement. That would be the silver man who had so unwisely kicked the pseudo beggar.

The reviving fellow floundered about a bit, then he ran outside. His feet made a rapid patter which receded down the street.

Doc Savage did not attempt to follow him.

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The bronze man waited. It must have been full 2 minutes later when he heard several shots which came from the direction the fleeing silver man had taken.

Doc did not try to ascertain what had happened.

The bronze man used a second high-explosive grenade to open a hole in the hallway wall, then whipped through the aperture while debris was still falling. He was now in a bare, litter-strewn room. Plaster dust seethed in choking clouds.

Doc produced a cup-like contrivance which fitted over his nostrils. A rubber tube ran from this to a compact arrangement of metal flasks. It was a gas mask and also a protection against smoke and dust. There were airtight goggles for his eyes .

The silver men were working toward the rear. Doc could hear their profanity . Then he saw distinct traces of a cloud other than plaster dust and knew his foes had turned loose some type of gas.

Hoping they would think the gas had overcome him, Doc did not use more grenades. He worked toward the rear. Near the center of the building, he encountered a room which had windows opening on a ventilating shaft. Through these, light came.

On the floor, a large rat groveled, its antics madly agonized. As the bronze man observed, the rodent became still. The gas was poison!

Glass had been shattered out of the ventilating shaft windows. Looking out of one of these, Doc saw a fire-escape ladder leading upward. He swung out. But before he mounted, he pulled another of the explosive grenades from a pocket.

This grenade — like all of its kind — was fitted with a time fuse. But this differed from the conventional type in that its explosion was capable of being delayed — by the turning of a tiny knob — so as to withhold detonation for as long as several seconds. Doc adjusted the turning knob and left it on the floor.