Dent Lester - Trouble On Parade

The AP bureau correspondent — rather excited — said, “I was right about that red-whiskered swimmer turning out to be a hot story. You know what he did? Refused again to be rescued. The two seaplanes landed near him on the sea but couldn't persuade him to come aboard. Then the cabin cruiser I mentioned got there. They tried to reason with the guy, but he wouldn't be rescued. They tried to catch him but couldn't. The guy swims like a seal. You know what he told them? He said he was on his way to Bermuda. Swimming! He said further that after he did some sightseeing in Bermuda, he was going to swim back to New York and have a look at the night life.”

“Disappointed Smith seems to be quite a kidder,” Doc said.

“He's crazy as a 40-cent cuckoo clock!”

“What else has happened?”

“The newsreel plane from Boston got there, circled around and took some pictures, then landed and took some more. Red-whiskers put on quite a show for them, but gave them hell because they only had a camera and no sound-recording apparatus. He insisted he wanted to make a speech about evolution, about how man was a fish in the beginning, and how he has reverted to ancestral type. The newsreel man thought it was good stuff. And he's gone tearing back to Boston to get a sound recorder put on the plane so whiskers can make his speech.”

“They haven't rescued him, then?”

“No. He took 2 shots at the cabin cruiser and they're leaving him alone.”

“How did you get all this news?”

“By radio,” the AP man said. “Both planes and the cabin cruiser have two-way radios.”

“I thank you very much for your information,” Doc said. “I had hoped they would bring Disappointed Smith to Yarmouth. I'm rather interested in meeting him.”

“He's sure an unusual goof, all right!”

“Also,” Doc added, “I wonder if you could tell me where I can charter a seaplane to take me out to meet the fellow.”

“By gosh! Are you that interested?”

“Yes.”

The news-service man pondered for a while … then explained regretfully, “I don't think there's a seaplane available here in Yarmouth now because those other two went on to the Maine coast.”

“What about the chances of hiring a fast boat?”

“You might do that. In fact, I know a party who has an express cruiser that's sea-going.”

“Good. What is the name?”

“It's a woman. She just called up here and asked if we wanted to charter her boat to take newspapermen out to the swimmer. But my boss said the AP wouldn't cough up money for expenses, so I had to turn her down. She said that if I heard of anybody who wanted to rent a boat, to tell them about her. Name's Miss Jane. Boat is the Zipper. Laying at the Royal East dock. You know where that is?”

“I know where it is,” Doc said. “And thanks.”

“You wouldn't want to do a signed story about this for us?”

“Newspaper writing isn't my line. Sorry.”

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

The Royal East dock — maintained as part of the service of one of the finest hotels in Nova Scotia — was not far distant. And Doc walked, presently passing through an impressive gateway and along lovely promenades of flowers beyond which he had glimpses of the hotel itself. Shortly he came to the dock.

For some reason or other, docks are usually shabby rattle-trap affairs. But this one was sturdy and neat. 4 boats were lying alongside the dock. One was a small Marconi-rigged racing sloop; another a schooner of the Chesapeake Bay bugeye type; the third a rather impressive houseboat; and the fourth a long, snaky express cruiser carrying more brasswork than an admiral. This last was the Zipper .

The resplendance of the boat was a surprise. The hooker was unquestionably about 35,000 dollars worth of lovingly cared-for teak, mahogany, chrome, super-charged engines, and Moroccan leather. It was the kind of a boat the capitalists used to be accused of riding around in. It was — Doc Savage reflected — not the kind of a boat one would expect to find being offered "for rent".

His next thought was that he probably couldn't afford to rent it himself — particularly since it appeared that some strange things were happening to his boat deal.

He went aboard.

There was no one in sight. But presently he heard sounds of movement below deck and he called down a gleaming companionway, “Ahoy, Miss Jane!”

Flying back at him came a quarrelsome: “This is a private boat in case you didn't know it! What do you want, stupid?”

Doc started! He felt his mouth was probably hanging open enough to catch flies. That voice was remarkably familiar as was the quarrelsome manner.

“Miss Walden?” he inquired.

“Of course, dummy!” the quarrelsome female voice said. “If you're scuffing up that deck with your shoes, you're going to wish you hadn't. What do you want? … Can't you answer a question?”

“You get around, don't you?” Doc asked.

This caused a silence below … then the peevish voice said , “What kind of talk is that? What are you? A nut?”

“I believe you referred to me as a 'doormat',” Doc said.

“What are you talking about?” the quarrelsome female demanded.

She thrust her head out of the companionway.

“Oh!” said Doc Savage in astonishment.

This wasn't the quarrelsome girl he had met at the hotel.

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

The young woman was long and well-curved. And in many places better curved than the other one had been. But whereas the other quarrelsome girl had been a gun-barrel brunette, this one was a wheat-field blonde. A very ripe and attractive wheat field, too.

She rested her elbows on the companion railing … contemplated Doc Savage much as if he were a stray tomcat … and finally suggested, “Push your eyes back in your head and say something, Handsome. Or better still, go away. I'm busy.”

“I wonder,” said Doc Savage, “if you're also not going to like me?”

She frowned.

“Eh? Come again.”

“I am,” Doc explained, “Clark Savage.”

She looked him up-and-down …

… then astonished him greatly by saying, “So you took the bait.”

“I what?”

“Grabbed the bait. Also the hook, line, and sinker,” she said.

“Did I?”

“Sucker!”

He found himself getting confused.

“I don't believe I'm following this conversation,” he said uncertainly. “If I had consumed any bait, I was unaware of it.”

“You're pretty dumb,” she said unkindly. “Didn't you call Petey Jones — the Associated Press man? And didn't he let you know this boat was for rent?”

“That,” Doc admitted, “is what happened.”

“Okay. So you took the bait. When you heard a fast boat was for rent, I knew you'd be dumb enough to rush right down here to rent it. And here you are. Which proves I was right. That was the bait, and you swallowed it. Is that clear enough? Or would you like it in pictures?”

“Are you,” Doc inquired, “also an artist?”

“In my way. You'd be surprised what an artist I am,” she said.

“And what way would that be?”

“Favors.”

“Eh?”

“I do people favors. And usually get small thanks for my trouble.”

“Am I to take it,” Doc asked curiously, “that you wish to do me a favor?”

She nodded. “That's right. But I can see right now that you won't have the gumption to appreciate it.”

“On the contrary, I've been told that I'm quite an appreciative person,” Doc assured her.