Dent Lester - Trouble On Parade

Everyone concerned was expressing his feelings as loudly as possible.

Doc Savage — becoming confused — at first thought all the bellowing and splashing meant the spectators were preparing to mob him. Alarmed, he swam feverishly to the Zipper … climbed aboard … and — not overly-supplied with strength at the moment — dragged Disappointed Smith out of the water. Maintaining the spirit of the moment, his foot slipped and he fell back into the sea with Smith. He got Smith aboard on the second attempt, though.

Holding Disappointed Smith upside down, Doc drained most of the surplus water from the man. Then he spread him on the deck and administered artificial respiration in the conventional way. Almost at once, Smith began to breathe and cough. Doc relieved him of the belt from which dangled the waterproof pouches.

Then he gave his attention to the surrounding confusion.

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

The owner of the yawl was promising to pay for the dinghy which he had run down and take the occupants home. Which seemed satisfactory to those concerned. The man who had caught the crab with his oars was back in his small craft with a foolish expression. The newsreel cameraman had prudently fallen the rest of the way through the seaplane wing into the ocean, and was listening to the pilot express himself. The pilot — now at the stage where he found it necessary to pause to think of additional profanity — seemed less enraged. He finally ended by assuring the cameraman that he could swim back to Boston and be damned! Doc Savage doubted that he would carry out the threat and thought the plane was still airworthy.

“This,” Doc Savage remarked, “seems to complete the rescue of Disappointed Smith.”

Smith — staging a remarkably quick recovery — managed to lift his head enough to observe the confusion. He seemed particularly disturbed at discovering the cameraman in the water.

“Did you lose that film you shot of me?” Smith demanded in alarm.

The pilot answered this, explaining, “All he lost was his dignity.”

Doc Savage observed the fire extinguisher which the pilot was holding, whereupon he reached inside the Zipper's cabin and secured a small extinguisher for himself which he waved under Disappointed Smith's nose.

“Would you,” Doc asked, “prefer to be peaceful? Or do you want me to try this on your head for fit?”

Smith sneezed out some water.

He quoted: “Man must be disappointed with the lesser things of life before he can comprehend the full value of the greater."

Doc took this bit from the writings of Bulwer to mean that Smith preferred peace. He glanced over the scene to make doubly certain no one needed help and then started the Zipper's powerful engines.

The express cruiser swung gracefully under the helm and responded to the opened throttles … lifted its shining bow out of the sea … and proceeded to do better than 40 knots with ease. Doc set the course for Yarmouth, reflecting that it would be well after dark before they reached the harbor.

He was aware that Disappointed Smith was studying him in a puzzled fashion. But he did not take the first step into conversation.

“What,” asked Smith suddenly, “did you use for air?”

“The same thing you used,” Doc said.

He neglected to tell Smith about the years of practice that he had done to simulate the remarkable South Seas pearl divers. Nor the isolated meditations under watchful eyes of yoga masters that enhanced this ability.

Smith shook his head doubtfully. “I can dive deeper and stay down longer than any man on Earth. I know what happened now! I had been cutting capers for that newsreel guy and you caught me when I was out-of-breath.” His ego refused to concede defeat.

“The whiskers helped,” Doc said.

Smith frowned, then nodded.

“I never thought of it, but that's right. Like Sampson, my beard was my undoing. When I fight on land, people get tangled in my whiskers and that keeps them close enough for me to swat 'em. But this was different. Underwater, a man can't swat.”

“Sampson had hair not whiskers. Didn't he?” Doc suggested.

“Ummmmm,” Smith said. “Why'd you go to all that trouble to rescue me?”

Doc smiled slightly.

“I am starting a collection of queer people,” he said. “You are Number 2.”

Confused, Smith lapsed into a lengthy silence.

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

The night — a night of crystalline moonlight — enveloped the charging boat. And stars like a myriad of jeweled sparks appeared by magic — seemingly — against the fountain-pen-ink-blue of the sky. Phosphorescence — the weird phenomena usually most often present in tropical seas — was pronounced here tonight. It stretched a straight lance of fire in the water behind them.

“Don't you,” Disappointed Smith asked suddenly, “want to know why I was swimming?”

Doc Savage was leaning back comfortably, keeping the course straight by resting a foot idly on the wheel.

He said, “You were on your way to Bermuda?”

Smith snorted! The snort was an inquiry whether Doc believed that.

“No, I don't believe it,” Doc said.

“Ummmmm,” Smith said.

“You're not crazy, either,” Doc added.

Smith grunted as though he would have preferred to be thought mentally unbalanced. He seemed worried, the concern having grown considerably since Doc's remark about making a collection.

“Do you,” Doc asked abruptly, “know a ship broker named 'Si Hedges'?”

Smith seemed relieved.

“No!” he said instantly.

“Your answer,” said Doc, “indicates you are relieved at the chance to tell a lie.”

“I like to keep in practice,” Smith said uneasily.

“Si Hedges is likely to get you into trouble.”

“That little saint? Pah!”

“Maybe he isn't a saint.”

“Bosh!” said Disappointed Smith. “Si Hedges is so pure that soap won't lather on him.”

“Soap,” Doc suggested, “doesn't lather in hard water either.”

“Si Hedges isn't hard water. He's milk and honey.”

“You might be deceived.”

“I was once,” said Smith. “But it was back in 1934.”

Doc Savage purposefully let a silence fall and watched Disappointed Smith's reaction to the thinking he was doing. The man's red whiskerswere quite expressive. Presently they began to bristle as if their owner was — in examining the thoughts that moved in his mind — finding more cause for alarm.

“What's Si Hedges done to me?” Smith demanded.

“Plenty.”

“For example?”

“He has given you a split personality.”

“What the hell!” exclaimed Disappointed Smith.

“Exactly,” Doc said. “Very distressing. And I imagine that you will find it more embarrassing as time passes.”

“I don't,” said Smith, “get what you're driving at.”

Doc Savage explained fully, saying, “I had a business appointment with Si Hedges to buy boats. And arriving at his hotel, I found evidences of violence in his room. I was assured by a Mr. Flinch — and by a quarrelsome young lady named Mix Walden — that you and Mr. Hedges were one and the same individual. And that you had disarrayed the room as a practical joke. Naturally I became obsessed with curiosity as to whether you and Si Hedges were actually one and the same. You have just straightened me out on the matter.”

“Hell!” shouted Disappointed Smith. “I'm Si Hedges! Sure … I'm Si Hedges!”

“A lie should never be spoken loudly,” Doc suggested.