Dent Lester - Trouble On Parade

“Hedges, you mean?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He is about as talkative as a fence post.”

“First time I ever heard of him being that way,” Disappointed Smith said thoughtfully. “Did you search him?”

“No. I saw you going over him for a gun.”

“I didn't rifle his pockets,” Smith said. “I think I'll do that. Here, steer this hooker a while.”

Doc took the wheel and Smith went below.

Presently there was a commotion in the cabin. A short one. When Smith came on deck, he was sucking his wrist.

“Little pipsqueak bit me!” he complained.

Smith tossed an ox-choking roll of greenbackson the cockpit seat.

“They bribed him,” he added.

Doc looked at the money without comment.

“It's got to be a bribe,” Smith said. “The potlicker wouldn't have that much honest money. There's 5,000 in that roll if there's a dime. It's 'shut-your-mouth' money, that's what it is!”

“Why do you think they bought his silence?”

“He called you up here, didn't he?”

“Yes. With a story about boats for sale. I had an appointment to meet him at the Central House hotel.”

Smith scratched in his whiskers thoughtfully as if putting '2' and '2' together.

“Probably Hedges telephoned from the hotel. If he did, they'd know about it pronto. The hotel manager — that Flinch — is their puppy-dog.”

“I rather distrusted Flinch myself,” Doc admitted.

“As soon as Flinch told them about the telephone call to you,” said Smith, “they would bust their buttons getting hold of Hedges to shut him up.”

“There were,” Doc said, “signs of violence in the room.”

“The angel must have put up a fight. I didn't think he had it in him.”

“Then what happened?” Doc asked.

“Oh, they took him to that house and got to him with dough. Bought him. Paid him not to tell you what he was going to tell you in the first place.”

“Which was?” Doc inquired.

Disappointed Smith shook his head. “I've guessed,” he said, “as far as I'm going to guess.”

Doc examined him suspiciously.

“For 'guessing', you sounded rather positive.”

“That's my style of guessing,” said Smith.

Then he peered at Doc Savage and added, “I could be wrong on a point — or-two, though. Let's see if I can check my prognostications.”

He thrust his head down the cabin companion and addressed Mix Walden, asking, “Mix, you heard what I was just saying?”

“I heard you, you big ape!” Mix said, sounding quarrelsome in a friendly way.

“I get it right?” demanded the bearded young giant.

“You didn't miss far.”

Smith turned to Doc.

“You see!” he said.

He was pleased with himself. He tossed off a quotation.

“ Life often seems like a long shipwreck, of which the débris are friendship, glory and love. The shores of existence are strewn with them."

“The word 'disappointment',” Doc remarked, “isn't in that one.”

“I know. But I rather fancy it anyway,” said Disappointed Smith, grinning.

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

The heat that had characterized the day had carried over into the night, kissing the nocturn with a balmy pleasantness that was as nice as a tropical night in the Bahamas.

They were now far enough from the harbor that the motor wouldn't be heard. So they started it going, and their speed was noticeably increased. They now traveled at about the same speed as a fast-walking ox. The motor seemed to fire about every 4 threvolution, occasionally pausing entirely as though to get its breath.

“This little voyage is going to take some time. Probably most of the night,” said Disappointed Smith. “If you need sleep, now is the time to get it.”

“We can stand watches so you can get some sleep yourself,” Doc suggested.

“I'm too mad to sleep,” Smith said.

“I'm rather nettled myself,” Doc stated.

Actually he was dubious about what might happen to him if he went to sleep since he did not see any reason to trust either Smith, Si Hedges, or Mix.

“They,” Doc added, “is an indefinite word.”

“Eh?”

“You speak of the enemy as 'they'. Let's be more specific. Just who is the enemy by name, occupation, and residence?”

“Mrs. Smith,” said Smith, “gave birth to a zany boy. But not one foolish to call pots black unless he can prove it. They put you in jail for slander. Slander is what you can't prove. Therefore, I am silent.”

Doc did not press the point since he felt certain that Smith wasn't going to name the culprits. Possibly because doing so would tar Smith himself with guilt. Smith wasn't a fellow who would be afraid of a little slander.

“Miss Jane Walden,” Doc remarked, “contrived to meet me through a ruse. And she delivered a warning for me to go back where I came from before things got unpleasant.”

Disappointed Smith grunted, apparently startled by the information.

“Wait a minute! That doesn't sound like Jane! Jane is a straight kid. She wouldn't have a part in this!”

“Jane,” Doc said, “was worried about Mix getting in trouble, it later developed.”

Smith's sigh was explosive with relief.

“Oh! That's more like Jane! She was trying to get you to go away before you caught the crooks, fearing Mix would be in the net when you hauled it in.”

“I drugged her and put her in the hotel to keep her on ice for later questioning,” Doc explained. “But the miscreants you refer to as 'they' spirited her away by force.”

“It was your fault they did that,” Smith declared grimly. “They didn't want you questioning her.”

He sounded alarmed and angry with Doc.

Doc made a discovery. He put it in words.

He said, “You aren't worried about yourself or about Mix. It's Jane's safety which has you upset.”

“Nah,” said Smith uncomfortably. “I ain't a lad to get upset about any babe.”

Mix Walden thrust her head out of the cabin.

“You big liar!” she exclaimed, addressing Smith. “You've been in love with Jane for a year. And you know it!”

Disappointed Smith maintained a dignified silence. Doc suspected he was blushing the color of a fire engine. It was hard to tell in the moonlight about the blush.

“You big bum, why don't you tell Jane you love her?” Mix demanded. “Instead of going around showing off with foolishness like a rooster robin in the springtime?”

Doc could see Smith's blushnow. An automobile could almost have used it for a tail light!

The island — while not large — was tall. It somewhat resembled the work of one of those Arctic birds which make their nests out of stones. Except this was on a larger scale. The rocky speck was about a half-mile long and not quite as wide, apparently.

Disappointed Smith shut off the engine 2 miles at sea with the result that they felt rather lonely without its suspense-causing whang-huff-huff-huff-huff-whang of a sound.

“Sneak up on the South end,” Smith said in a low voice. “That's the ticket. There's a cove there about big enough to hold this boat. It's tough to get into. And anybody but me would be afraid to try it.”

Doc Savage had been consulting a chart.

“The name of this place,” he said, “is ParadeIsland. Is that right?”

“Right,” Smith agreed.

“It's our destination?”

“Right again. Possibly our 'Waterloo', too.”

Doc glanced at Smith sharply, unpleasantly struck by the quantity of alarm that was getting into Smith's voice in spite of a teeth-gritting effort to suppress the emotion. Disappointed Smith had been anxious to reach the island. But now that he was here, he seemed to be experiencing the symptoms of a young man about to kiss a strange girl for the first time. H had approached the thing with enthusiasm. But the future developments had him worried.