Dent Lester - Trouble On Parade

He drew the window shade. He quietly placed a chair on its side in the middle of the room. The walls were papered and he found that he was able to loosen a quantity of paper with his pocketknife. This he crammed under the chair, then piled on both pillow cases and towels from the bathroom, 2 sheets, and distributed the feathers from the pillows over the pile.

Applying a match, he found the result was a merry blaze . The framework of the chair furnished space for a draft until the fire got going. Doc Savage stood back and was pleased with the quantity of smoke.

Before long, he had to lie flat on the floor by the door to breathe at all without discomfort.

He flung open the door, permitting the smoke to roll into the corridor. For perhaps half — a-minute, there was no sound.

Then the man polishing woodwork exclaimed, “What the hell!”

“Help!” Doc yelled feebly. “Help! Help!”

The lookout's feet appeared a few inches from Doc's face. The rest of the man's body was embedded in the rolling smokecloud.

“What's going on here?” the man demanded excitedly.

Then he entered the room. “Where are you?”

Doc arose silently, tiptoed outside, and ascended the stairway to the 3 rdfloor. The hallway was exactly like the one below — rich and pleasantly decorated. Doc ran down it … found '303' … and went on past it and past other doors.

“Fire!” the man downstairs was bellowing.

Doc reached the far end of the corridor, flattened himself against a door (he had hoped to find one open in this hall also, but there was no such luck), and waited. Down the corridor a short distance, a door flew open. It wasn't '303'.

A man came out and rushed for the stairs. Just as he was passing '303', that door flew open and 2 men came out with one demanding, “What's going on?”

“Fire downstairs,” said the runner.

The two from '303' promptly yanked the door shut, locked it, and followed the other man downstairs.

Doc went to '303' … eyed the closed transom … then put his mouth close to the door, cupped his hands around it and called, “Keeler! Sam Keeler!”

“What is it?” Keeler's frightened voice inquired.

“Open the transom. Quick!”

The transom flopped open. Doc grasped the shelf at the bottom of the transom, chinned himself, and hung there.

“Talk fast, Keeler,” he ordered. “We've only got a few seconds. Give me the highlights of the story.”

“Who is this?” Keeler demanded.

“Doc Savage. Are you alone in there now?”

“I'm alone.”

“Talk fast, man! Your story. Let's have it!”

“I was on a small steamer that hit a wartime mine near here 2 weeks ago. A boatload of us passengers got to this island. They won't let us leave. My friends have been disappearing one at a time. This is a terrible place!”

“Never mind the kind of a place it is,” Doc said urgently. “Why won't they let you leave?”

“It's a hideout for crooks. This fellow Foreman makes a business of hiding crooks from the Law. He charges plenty but guarantees results. He posts a bond of 50,000 dollars which he guarantees to pay any crook who is caught while under his protection.”

“How did you find that out?”

“I've been eavesdropping,” Keeler said.

“You say some other people who came in the boat with you have disappeared?”

“Most of them have.”

“What happened to them?”

“They got wise to what was going on here …”

“I didn't ask 'why'! I asked what?”

“I think they're prisoners somewhere. Maybe some have been murdered.”

“Prisoners where?”

“I don't know. But somewhere on the island. I don't. …”

“All right, this is all the time we have to talk,” Doc interrupted. “Don't tell anyone that I talked to you. Keep your mouth shut, understand?”

“For God's sake, do something to break this up!” Keeler gasped. “I'll keep my mouth shut.”

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

Doc Savage dropped back to the floor and ran lightly to the stairway going down where he encountered smoke.

There was confusion in the 2 ndfloor hallway. Men were running around, shouting, and fire extinguishers hissing. Doc descended the stairs … inhaled some of the smoke … began coughing copiously and worked his way down the hallway.

He grabbed the first man he encountered and demanded, “Where's Foreman? I demand to see Foreman!”

“Who the …”

The man recognized Doc and finished, “I'll be damned!”

“Where's Foreman? I demand to see …”

“Keep your shirt on, brother,” the man said. “He's anxious to see you, too.”

The man produced a revolverwhich he brandished threateningly.

“You come with me,” he ordered.

Stanley K. Foreman was standing at the foot of the steps which led to the lobby, coughing and wiping his eyes. He stared in astonishment at Doc Savage. Then rage jumped over his features.

“I demand,” Doc Savage yelled, getting the first word in, “to know why someone set fire to my room!”

“You what?” Foreman growled.

He was suddenly unsure of himself, thrown off balance by Doc's question and the belligerent manner of its delivery.

Doc began poking Foreman on the chest with a hard bronze forefinger.

He shouted, “I demand protection! For almost 24 hours, nothing but unpleasant things have been happening to me. And I'm tired of it! This is your hotel and your island. So I demand protection!”

Foreman looked ugly and undecided. He didn't say anything.

“And another thing!” Doc added angrily. “I've got some friends in New York. I want to call them and tell them they won't need to come hunting for me.”

He paused for that to sink in … then added, “Provided that you think you can give me some security around here.”

Doc waited, scowling at Foreman. He thought he was putting on a rather neat act and hoped he'd given Foreman a good mouthful of confusion to gnaw on. The hinge on which the whole thing swung was the hope which Foreman — by his actions — had shown he held: that Doc Savage would go away without finding out anything or doing anything.

“Who do you want this protection from?” Foreman asked dubiously.

“Listen, brother! That dopey-looking secretary of yours telephoned me a pack of lies about boats for sale,” Doc said angrily. “After that, nothing that happened to me makes sense. Maybe your secretary tried to swindle me and got cold feet. Maybe his friends are trying to scare me off before I do something about it!”

“You mean Si Hedges?”

“That's exactly who I mean,” said Doc grimly.

He mentally crossed his fingers for he believed that Foreman was nibbling at the bait suspiciously, intending to give it a yank and see whether there was a hook in it. If there was a hook, Foreman probably considered himself too big a fish to be boated.

“What,” asked Foreman, “do you expect me to do?”

“I want you to pick out a good tough man who has a gun. And have him go around with me and protect me.”

Doc pointed at the thug that he had accosted in the hall and who was standing by — mouth open — still holding his gun.

“This fellow would be fine,” Doc added.

Foreman swallowed his astonishment. But not easily.

“Sure, I guess I can do that,” he said. “You want him to stay right with you?”

“Every minute!”

“You can be damned sure he'll do exactly that,” Foreman said grimly.