Dent Lester - Trouble On Parade

Hedges sounded sincere. So here Doc was.

Nothing mysterious about his coming to Yarmouth.

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The airline must have thought the story of the red-whiskered swimmer — Disappointed Smith — would make favorable publicity because newspaper reporters were on hand when the plane reached Yarmouth. The pilot was photographed, the bullet hole in his cap was photographed (he had recovered the cap), and the photographers expressed disappointment because the stewardess hadn't been more actively involved. Then they photographed her anyway.

Pleased at not being the focus of publicity, Doc Savage let himself be filmed and answered the reporters' questions. It really was something unusual for him to do so. He was in a mellow mood since he did not feel himself concerned.

No, he wouldn't say definitely that the swimmer was crazy. Yes, the fellow was really a muscular giant. Yes, the man had been carrying his lunch. Indeed it had been a unique experience. Yes, indeed.

It was a fine sunlit afternoon. The reporters were intelligent and polite. And Doc was able to excuse himself after he had answered their routine questions — including the statement that he was in Yarmouth to buy boats.

Engaging a taxi, Doc Savage had himself driven to the Central House Hotel. Si Hedges — the man who had the boats to sell — had made a 5:00 appointment for a meeting at the hostelry.

“Clark Savage to see Mr. Si Hedges,” Doc told the desk clerk.

The hotel desk clerk was a slender young man with pomaded hair, a weak chin, and nervous blue eyes. He jumped visibly! The jump was followed by confusion and nervousness, and the young man busied himself lighting a cigarette. Doc Savage — observing these symptoms of uneasiness — was puzzled.

“I beg your pardon,” Doc said. “Did you hear my question?”

“Yes, Sir,” the weak-looking young man said and hurriedly struck a match, applying the flame to his cigarette. His hand trembled.

Looking at the slicked and pomaded fellow without much liking, Doc Savage reflected that the young man's weak looks might mean nothing. Doc in his time had met some very tough lads who looked like "zoot-suiters".

“If you'll excuse me, I'll call Mr. Flinch — the manager,” said the clerk nervously.

The hotel manager Mr. Flinch was quite a contrast. He was a man made of jaw and shoulders. And his small dark eyes were as immovable as if cast of glass.

“Mr. Flinch, this gentleman is asking about Si Hedges,” the clerk said.

Mr. Flinch's jaw moved forward formidably giving him an angry look. And he spoke in a voice which sounded as if there was gravel in his throat.

“We don't like people giving phony names around our hotel,” he said. “There's a law against it. And we don't like it anyway.”

“It isn't a very reputable practice,” Doc Savage agreed, recalling a number of times when he himself had used a phony name.

“He'd 'av got away with it, too,” continued Mr. Flinch. “But it just happened that I knew the bloater's right name. And his right name wasn't 'Si Hedges'.”

Doc Savage frowned thoughtfully, then explained, “I came to Yarmouth with the expectation of purchasing a quantity of boats from a man who identified himself by telephone as 'Si Hedges', whom I had not previously met. Naturally I would not want to be victimized in a business deal. So I would appreciate any information you can give me.”

“I don't know anything about your business,” said Mr. Flinch.

“Naturally not. But I am sure I can depend on your frank opinion.”

Doc's private feeling was that one might do well not to put too much trust in anything Mr. Flinch said. Mr. Flinch impressed him as a sawed-off shark.

“I just know this 'Si Hedges' didn't give his real name when he registered here,” Mr. Flinch said.

“What,” inquired Doc Savage, “was his real name?”

“Disappointed Smith,” said Mr. Flinch emphatically.

For a time, Doc Savage rested on his heels where he had been jolted by surprise. His thinking machinery — because of the shock — failed him for a few moments.

Recovering his speech, he said, “That is quite interesting.”

“Fishy is the way it looked to me,” said Mr. Flinch, scowling. “We run a straight hotel here. No crooks and no rough stuff. And no phony names. Particularly from a character like this Disappointed Smith.”

Doc Savage wondered if the Disappointed Smith who had tried to pretend to be Si Hedges was the same individual who was doing the trans-ocean swimming.

“What,” Doc inquired, “does this Disappointed Smith look like? Will you describe him?”

Mr. Flinch could describe him.

“Take Tarzan of the Apes and hang 2 feet of fire-red whiskerson him. Take an earthquake and put pants on it. Take an encyclopedia and make it talk.”

“All of that?” Doc asked.

“Yes. And then some.”

“He must be interesting.”

“This hotel isn't interested in him,” said Mr. Flinch emphatically.

“Why not?”

“Because we don't want the place torn to pieces a brick at a time!”

“You are speaking figuratively, of course,” Doc suggested. “One man could hardly disintegrate your hotel a brick at a time.”

“I wouldn't take any bets that Disappointed Smith couldn't,” said Mr. Flinch grimly.

“You seem to know this Smith quite well,” Doc said.

Mr. Flinch shuddered.

“I only seen him once before. On Parade Island off the Maine coast. That was about a year ago. It was in a joint. And a fight started and Disappointed Smith whipped 11 men single-handed! Somebody said it was only 8. But I counted them and there were 11.

"That was right after Smith was reported to have captured a German submarine single-handed. And not capturing it to turn it over to the British navy but to steal it for himself. However, the submarine sank because he didn't know how to run the thing. He made it submerge but he couldn't get it to come up again. So he didn't get to steal it after all.”

“Would you call taking a submarine away from the Nazis an act of 'stealing'?” Doc asked thoughtfully.

“That's a technicality. I don't know nothing about technicalities. To me, it was stealing,” said Mr. Flinch.

“I see.”

“When you take something you don't own, it's stealing,” insisted Mr. Flinch stubbornly.

“What else do you know about Smith?”

“That's all. I only seem him that once.”

"And quite an impression he made on you," Doc Savage reflected, concealing a smile. He did not believe a word of the fable he had just heard. But it made interesting listening.

“Did I,” Doc asked, “understand you to say that Disappointed Smith — alias Si Hedges — engaged a room in your hotel?”

“That's right.”

“What room?”

“214.”

“Did he occupy the room?”

“He did until we asked him to leave.”

“He is not in the room now?” Doc asked, reflecting that it would be a miracle indeed if he were.

“No.”

“Is the room occupied by anyone now?”

“It ain't been rented again, no. Disappointed Smith paid a night's rent in advance which we offered to refund. But he was mad and wouldn't take it. So technically he still has the room. We don't want no trouble, so we haven't rented it to anyone else.”

“When,” Doc asked, “did you eject Disappointed Smith from the premises?”

“I wouldn't call it 'eject',” said Mr. Flinch. “We just asked him to leave and considered ourselves damned lucky when he didn't put up an objection. It was about Noon.”