Лестер Дент - Death in Silver

"Yes?" the other queried. "But how is this going to help?"

"According to the newspapers, the men in silver robbed another armored truck earlier in the day and took a quarter-of-a-million dollars in cash," Doc pointed out.

"Of course."

"Police followed them," Doc reminded.

"Yes. And lost them … " The officer did not finish but swore and his fingers violently!

"Exactly," Doc said. "The police lost trace of them around the waterfront of the East River. In the same vicinity in which this armored truck was found, to be exact."

The Lieutenant shouted, "I'll have every square inch of that area combed!"

"Do it unobtrusively," Doc requested.

"Of course," the officer agreed. "We will use plainclothes officers and put a flock of 'stool pigeons' to work. We've got a swell lot of 'stool pigeons'. They're in nearly every crook hangout in the city. You'd be surprised what they can turn up."

"Do you wager?" Doc asked.

"Bet? Sure … on sure things."

"Want to bet me that your 'stool pigeons' won't turn up a thing?" the bronze man asked.

"What makes you think they won't?" the cop demanded

"These are not ordinary crooks," Doc told him. "And I doubt very much if robberies — such as the armored truck holdup this afternoon — are the real motive behind the organization of men who use the silver disguises."

The police Lieutenant considered … then said, "I'll bet you $50 that the 'stool pigeons' turn up something."

"The winner to contribute the $50 to the Police Death Benefit Fund?" Doc said.

"Sure."

A police messenger ran into the room. He was animated, breathless.

"Gugillello Bellondi was just murdered by a guy in silver!" he yelled.

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

Doc Savage demanded, "Who is Gugillello Bellondi?"

"A fisherman who was in a boat in the river at the time of the explosion," said the police Lieutenant. "We thought he might have seen the plane flying overhead drop a bomb. We sent a man over to talk to him."

"And our man found him dead," said the messenger. "A woman saw a fellow in a silver suit run out of Guglilello Bellondi's room just before the cop got there."

"The killer got away?" the Lieutenant wailed.

"So far, he has," the messenger admitted ruefully.

Doc Savage put in, "Any line on the plane?"

"Yes. I forgot to tell you." The Lieutenant pulled out his notebook. "The flier was Gilbert Stiles, who lives on 85 thStreet in Jackson Heights."

"What house number?" Doc asked.

The policeman furnished that information, started to ask a question … but did not. Doc Savage was already whipping for the door.

The bronze man reached his roadster. Once again, traffic police opened a lane. The trip North to Queensboro Bridge and thence along Northern Boulevard to Jackson Heights was made in astounding time.

Jackson Heights was an apartment residential suburb near the north shore of Long Island, not far out. There were grass plots around some of the apartments and a few trees in the parkways down the center of a street-or-two.

Doc did not stop directly in front of Gilbert Stiles's home but parked in an adjacent side-street under the lazy droop of a weeping willow. He swung along the sidewalk, reached the corner, and made a move at turning. But instead of doing so, he continued on with long steps and stopped when he was sheltered behind a parked car.

Doc's move was urged by discovery of a man standing beside a shiny blue sedan down the street near where Gilbert Stiles lived. The man was scrawny with traces of grease stain on his bands and face. His face was a sickly gray hue, resembling a white ball which had been mauled in unclean hands.

During the past, Doc Savage had visited Monk's skyscraper chemical laboratory frequently and in doing so had occasionally seen members of the janitorial force. The bronze man never forgot a face. The man down the street was one of the janitors of Monk's skyscraper.

Doc bad no way of knowing the individual was 'Bugs' — the murderer of Clarence Sparks.

After watching Bugs for a moment unobserved, Doc concluded something was not resting easily on the fellow's mind.

Bugs squirmed. He smoked innumerable cigarettes. He walked about and glanced frequently at a tall brick apartment building before which the blue sedan stood. He even got into the sedan, but remained only a moment and climbed out again.

Bugs stood scowling at the apartment house. Then his pasty face took on an expression of resolve, and he went inside.

Doc Savage whipped back to his roadster. The rumble seat jumped open at his touch upon a button. He dipped in a hand and withdrew a small box to which stout spring clamps were secured. Then he ran to the blue car.

Employing the spring clamps on the box, Doc clipped the container to the chassis of the car in a spot where it was not likely to be noticed. Then be followed Bugs into the apartment house.

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

There was a Spanish-type lobby with ornate columns, fake iron balconies, and a rather threadbare carpet. Bugs was nowhere in sight. Nor was there a directory of the tenants to be seen.

The elevator was automatic. One got in and pushed a button marked with the floor to which you wished to be lifted. Doc listened. The lift was running.

These apartment buildings were all similar in construction. Doc leaped around a comer, found stairs which ran to the basement, descended them, and located the master electric fuse board. He could still hear the low whine of the elevator. The sound stopped.

Doc took out the fuse in the power circuit. The cage would remain where it was now. The bronze man ran up flight-after-flight of stairs.

The elevator car was on the 6 thfloor which happened to be the top story. A long hallway was lined with numbered doors. Doc stood perfectly still, listening.

The bronze man possessed remarkable hearing. He used a special scientific device — giving forth sound waves above-and-below the usual audible ranges — to develop his aural organs.

This was a part of a daily 2-hour routine of intensive exercise which be had not neglected since childhood. The exercises were responsible for his physical development, for there reposed in his great bronze frame a strengththat to many seemed incredible!

Down the corridor, a doorknob rattled. Doc whipped back. A niche — it probably housed an incinerator door — offered concealment. He pressed into that.

He heard the door open. Feet scuffed. Doc counted at least 6 persons, all men. The clicking of women's high-heels are distinctive. And there were none of those. One man walked far in the lead of the others. An instant later, the fellow appeared.

It was Bugs. He saw Doc Savage. He could not very well help it. His eyes flew wide and stark horror contorted his face.

"Savage!" he bawled. "Watch out!"

Then Bugs clawed at his clothing for a gun.

Doc moved with dazzling suddenness! Flashing out of the niche, he drove a fist. So that there would be no lasting damage, he struck lightly. But the blow slammed Bugs back against the wall, knocking him instantly unconscious. The gun which he had tried to get into action skidded over the floor tiling.

Doc now faced down the corridor-faced weird, inhuman figures — forms garbed in grotesque silver garments. The footstep count had been good. There were 5 of them.

Bugs's yell had warned them. Three had drawn guns. The weapons gushed flame and raised ear-splitting thunder in the corridor!