Лестер Дент - Death in Silver

"What do you mean?"

Doc Savage seemed not to have heard the question, and they soon reached the large room where the safe had been blown open.

"Will you see what is missing?" the bronze man requested and indicated the rifled strong box.

Lorna Zane went through the strewn contents of the safe, picking up packages, dropping them, inspecting letters. The inventory did not take her long.

"Only one thing is missing," she decided.

Doc watched her closely. "What is it?"

"A sealed roll — a blueprint which Paine L. Winthrop gave me nearly 4 months ago to lock in this safe for him," said the attractive young woman.

"Blueprint of what?"

The girl hesitated. "There was something strange about that. I got explicit orders not to look at it. And it was sealed so no snooper could open it without that fact being apparent. I have no idea what it was."

Doc nodded. "The blueprint seems to have a sinister importance."

Lorna Zane bit her lip uncertainly, then said, "There was another strange thing. Last Spring, Mr. Winthrop gave all his regular employees a 5-months' vacation with pay. That was queer because he usually did not give vacations with pay. I came back 4 months ago."

"When you came back, did you notice anything?" Doc asked.

"There had been a great deal of work done in the shipyard," the girl replied. "But when I got back, whatever had been built was gone and no workmen remained."

"Come on," Doc directed. "We'll talk as we ride."

"I wonder if the vacations could have anything to do with this," Rapid Pace mumbled. "You know, I got one, too. Yes, it was swell!"

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They retired to the bronze man's roadster. All three occupied the commodious front seat, and the machine lunged away. The buzzing radio directional device gave them a line on the blue sedan.

Doc drove swiftly — silently for a time — so as to decrease the lead of the sedan. The radio transmitter under the car of the silver men would only carry a few miles.

"Did Winthrop have the combination of the safe which held the mysterious blueprint?" Doc asked.

The girl shook her head. "No."

"Why is that?"

"That is what I was wondering," said Rapid Pace. "Yes, I was wondering."

In the gloom — it was much darker now — the girl's rather inviting lips compressed into an angry line.

"I virtually manage the shipyard," she snapped. "There are many details to which Paine L. Winthrop does not give close attention. The combination of that safe happens to be one of them."

The tires on the roadster were designed with a tread which prevented — as much as possible — the usual wail present at high speed. The engine was still silent although turning at high speed. Sway and pitch of the car, the blur of lighted buildings on their side told of their true momentum.

Doc Savage said suddenly, "Paine L. Winthrop is dead. Did you know that?"

The girl became very quiet in her comer of the seat. She separated her lips as if to speak … seemed to reconsider … and closed them. Slender hands tangled and untangled on her lap.

Rapid Pace started up in the seat at the words, groped for expression, and burst out, "The old boy's heart, eh? His heart. Sure, I knew it would get him sooner-or-later!"

"It was not his heart," Doc corrected. "It was a 3-inch high-explosive shell fired from a spot as yet not definitely determined."

For once, Rapid Pace did not repeat himself. "This is very mystifying," he muttered.

"Do either of you have any idea of what is behind it all?" Doc asked.

"Not I," said Rapid Pace.

"Nor I," murmured the girl.

Doc adjusted the directional apparatus knob. The procession of buzzing was louder. Doc's metallic features showed no trace of concern. But he did not resume the questioning.

He slowed the roadster for the increasing loudness of the signals indicated he was coming up rapidly on the sender. Then he turned sharply to the right, the roadster pitching over ruts, muddy water flying from puddles. He stopped.

They were on a side road. Brush walled them in. The headlights glinted on blue. Doc slackened speed and rolled up windows — especially designed in the doors of the roadster and which were of bulletproof glass. The car body, engine hood, and radiator were all protected by armor plate.

The machine ahead was the blue sedan, empty.

Using a flashlight, Doc located tracks. It seemed that the silver men had gone back along the road afoot. Following the trail closely, Doc progressed to the main thoroughfare and down that — footprints were faint in the fog damp on the pavement — to a drug store before which there was a taxi stand.

As a matter of precaution, the silver men had abandoned their easily recognized sedan.

From the drug store clerk, Doc Savage secured a description of the taxi driver who frequented that stand. The driver was an elderly man, distinctive because of a great drooping white mustache.

The clerk had not seen the men who had taken the taxi although he had heard the hack depart only a few minutes before.

30 minutes later, Doc Savage pulled the roadster to a stop before an elaborately modernistic building on the more elite section of Park Avenue. Instead of one doorman, there were two. And they were caparisoned in uniforms somewhat more distinctive than doormen elsewhere on this, possibly the most expensive street in the World.

"What now?" Lorna Zane asked curiously, eying the imposing structure.

"I am going to leave you here," Doc told her.

Lorna nipped her lower lip with white teeth. "Haven't I anything to say about that?"

"Your life is in danger," Doc told her. "You will be safe here."

"What about me?" Rapid Pace clattered. "Yes, what about me?"

"You stay in the car," Doc directed.

The bronze man escorted Lorna Zane into the building. They received much attention, the doormen collaborating efficiently in ushering them inside. There was a waiting room, a bewildering resplendence of chromium, enamel and colored rugs.

A stately, exquisitely-formed young woman ushered them to comfortable chairs. She was a blonde. A redhead equally as shapely brought them a tray of iced drinks. A young lady with black tresses popped up with the most fashionable magazines.

"Whew!" said Lorna. "What is this, anyway?"

Doc did not answer but watched another young woman who was approaching. The attendants who had waited upon Doc and Lorna were striking. But they were completely overshadowed by the newcomer. This entrancing Venus had bronzehair of a hue remarkably like Doc's.

"Hello, Pat," Doc greeted the bronze-haired beauty. "This is Lorna Zane. Lorna, this is Pat Savage, my cousin."

Pat shook hands with Lorna, then waved an airy hand.

"This is the first time you have been here, Doc," she said. "I want to show you the gymnasium upstairs. It's a knockout! I have over 30 beauty operators at work, all highly skilled. I already have all the fashion leaders on my list, waiting to have their youthful figures restored. How I am going to reduce some of those heavyweights is a mystery to me! But they pay me in advance."

"Busy?" Doc asked.

"Busy?" Pat laughed. "Say, this business of running a combination beauty salon and gymnasium is no joke. You bet I'm busy!"

At this point, a customer departed — a fat man whose countenance was still flushed from a facial and whose sparse hair had undoubtedly been curled.

"Men on my clientele, too," Pat smiled. "But I do not know whether they come to have their looks improved or to flirt with my snappy assistants."