Dent Lester - Trouble On Parade

Doc Savage pondered for a moment, then stated, “The act of securing release on bail requires some time. It occurs to me that you didn't have time for the formalities. Therefore someone must have bailed you out. Who?”

“I wish,” said Smith gloomily, “it'd occur to you to keep your nose out of my business.”

Doc made no response. And for some time they walked rapidly, selecting the darker places. They were not molested. Presently Smith came forth with one of his quotations:

“'I've lately had two spiders

Crawling upon my startled hopes,

Now though thy friendly hand has brush'd 'em from me,

Yet still they crawl offensive to my eyes:

I would have some kind friend to tread upon 'em'.“

Doc Savage glanced sharply at the tall red-whiskered young man in the darkness.

“That,” he said, “sounded like a hint.”

“Could be.”

“Hinting that you would like some help, perhaps?” Doc asked.

Smith grimaced. “The word 'like' doesn't exactly fit the case. Let's put it that I would be very happy if you weren't around. But I've got a hunch I'm going to need some two-fisted help. And you're what I call 'two-fisted help'. I liked the way you handled the situation back there at the house. You were as cool as an icicle.”

Doc was modestly silent. He did not feel any kinship with an icicle. And he suspected that the excitement had kept him from having the normal reactions of fright. So there was a good chance that — presently — when he became calm again, he would exude considerable cold perspiration.

Disappointed Smith stopped suddenly.

“I'm going to take a trip on a boat,” he said. “If you're interested, you can come along.”

“Lead on,” Doc said.

It is a fact — however trivial — that small sailboats which are lived on and loved by their owners partake of their owners' character.

For example, an efficient man's boat becoming efficient looking; a rich man's boat beginning to look like the rich man (e.g., a Rockefeller boat probably wouldn't look like a Morgan boat); and a rousing, rowdyish and eccentric young man's boat taking on the atmosphere of a demented magpie.

Disappointed Smith's boat was the last type. It was a tough and lusty double-ender, built like a percheron, schooner rigged, with a one-lung diesel engine. In a bad sea, it would probably be safer than an ocean liner but as uncomfortable as life with a jumping-bean.

Smith dampened a finger and held it up to test the wind, then remarked, “North-Northast. That won't help us a lot, being no stronger than baby breath.”

He unscrewed the fuel tank cap, stuck his finger in, brought it out dark with fuel oil and then looked around for somewhere to wipe it.

Doc Savage said, “I had better make a little speech before we start.”

“Let's hear it,” Smith said.

“I don't believe that you are leading me off on a wild goose chase. But if it should develop I'm wrong and you are pulling a shenanygin, you and I are going to have some serious trouble.”

“And you do mean 'serious'?” Smith asked dryly.

“Exactly.”

“I'm not,” said Smith, “issuing any guarantees against what the other fellow will do.”

“All you have to guarantee is good faith — your own.”

Smith grinned. “Okay. I guarantee it unconditionally.”

“You might,” Doc suggested, “throw in a little conversation about causes and effects. In other words, the case history of this little mystery we're playing around with.”

“It ain't much of a mystery to me!” Smith said, suddenly sounding angry.

“You know all the facts, then?”

“What I don't know, I can guess at.”

“Then you'd better talk.”

Smith absentmindedly wiped his finger on his trousers leg.

“I don't know about that,” he said. “I don't want to make any statements that'll get me into trouble. I'll have to think it over.”

Doc nodded. He helped Smith get the covers off the sails, shove off, and hoist the jib and mainsail. They ghosted out into the harbor, heading toward the sea.

Smith, Doc reflected, was a changed man. He was no longer the wild zany who had been swimming in the sea, cutting capers for the newsreels, and giving addlepated answers to sensible questions. Something had jolted the dithyramb out of him.

Doc didn't believe to be "fright" the answer. He rather suspected that the change in Disappointed Smith was due to a severe injury to whatever Smith considered his dignity. And to anxiety over someone — possibly Mix Walden or her sister Jane.

Whatever it was, it had quieted Smith down more than a beating would have. And it made him grimly determined.

The course Smith set was South and West, Doc saw.

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

Hearing a noise in the small cabin — where he had placed the unconscious Mix Walden — Doc dropped down the companionway and was met by a sheepish look from Mix.

“Feeling better?” Doc asked.

“I wouldn't say so,” she confessed. “Where are we? I don't hear any bullets whizzing.”

“We're on the bounding deep.”

“At sea!” She looked startled. “This is that red-whiskered grasshopper's boat, isn't it? Is he aboard?”

“Smith,” Doc admitted, “is our pilot.”

Mix registered some relief.

“At least we're in good — albeit cuckoo — hands.”

Doc eyed her hopefully. “Have you got a story to tell? Hopefully a nice detailed one composed of explanations?”

She wasn't going to talk, he could see.

Doc Savage turned to Si Hedges who was occupying the other bunk. He was stretched out on his back with his hands clasped behind his head.

“So you're Hedges,” Doc said.

Hedges said nothing. He had the appearance of a divinity student. Or at least a young and serious high school superintendent. A slender man, his coloring was good — there was snap in his brown eyes, his dark hair looked crisp and groomed, his face was smooth shaven — with the exception of his skin which was rather dry. His clothing was conservative rather than expensive. He was wearing, Doc imagined, about a 32-dollar suit.

“I'm Savage,” Doc explained dryly. “I suppose you know that already.”

Hedges did not reply.

Doc said, “I'm the fellow you said had once done a favor for your brother-in-law Wilbur C. Tidings. And so you wished to repay the favor by letting me in on a bargain purchase of surplus government boats.”

Hedges continued his stillness.

“What I want to know,” Doc added, “is whether Wilbur C. Tidings — who actually is a nice guy — is really your brother-in-law? Or did you merely hear I once did Tidings a favor and twist the fact to your needs?”

Hedges wasn't looking at Doc. Instead, he was examining the cabin carlins above his head.

Doc said, “I imagine there weren't any boats for sale, either.”

Silence.

Turing to Mix, Doc asked, “Is he organically sound?”

“If you mean is he deaf or dumb, he isn't,” Mix responded.

“Are you,” Doc asked, “afraid to stay here in the cabin with him?”

Mix was astonished!

“Me? Afraid of that bootlicker? I've swatted mosquitoes that were better men than he is!”

Turning to go back on deck, Doc reflected that he hadn't yet met anyone with a very high opinion of Si Hedges.

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

Disappointed Smith was squinting at a distant lighthouse. He asked, “Get anything out of the snow-white lamb?”