Лестер Дент - The Fantastic Island

The Count pointed a tapering finger at her. Even in the tenseness of the moment, Doc noted that the emeraldwas missing from the man's hand.

"We have the girl," the Count rasped. "And we have you. And your other friends are trapped on the plateau."

Doc looked at the Count and spoke in a composed voice. "No lava flow will flood the plateau of the honeycomb pits."

The Count's eyes glittered .

"One thing you have not taken into consideration is that brother Boris and I have long been prepared for this eventuality."

He pointed with spasmodic eagerness.

"Do you see that volcano crater?"

Doc said nothing. No one could have seen the crater through the smoke.

"It is mined with nitro charges," the Count growled. "That is why brother Boris and I have climbed this slope — to explode those charges. With a new vent blown out for the lava, the plain of the pits will be covered with molten lava."

Doc shook his head. "You would not blow those charges."

"And why not?" the Count asked.

"It is dangerous business tampering with the normal flow of volcanic lava," the bronze man reminded.

"If it were not for the fact that brother Boris is going to pull the trigger on the revolver which he is holding against your neck, you would see us dare it," the Count said, ominously.

Ignoring the threat, Doc said: "There is still another reason why you would not flood the plain. That Devil's Honeycomb for which you have so long looked digging your pits — you would hardly care to have it buried under a hundred feet of lava."

"So!" the Count purred, dangerously. "You have deduced where the Devil's Honeycomb lies."

"Since the bronze man knows so much," Boris sneered, "why not tell him the rest of it, brother? Perhaps — in the world to which my trigger finger will send him — he will meet the real Count Ramadanoff, whose interest in this bit of unrecorded History will be vast."

"Agreed, brother Boris," the madman answered.

He fixed his gaze upon Doc. "Know then that I am not the real Count Ramadanoff! The real Count Ramadanoff came to this island to escape the horrors of the Russian revolution. His vessel was that tramp steamer which you, my dear Savage, so kindly located for us today.

"Escaping the revolutionists, the original Count brought with him to this island a hundred people — artisans and noblemen. Of that hundred people, brother Boris and myself alone remain alive today."

- — — — — — — — — — — — —

"The thumb-hole death doubtless accounted for the others," Doc remarked.

"Some of them died by the thumb-hole death ," the madman admitted readily. "Others went by the way of the pits. But you interrupt my story. Among the articles which the Count brought with him was … well, the Devil's Honeycomb among other things. This he cunningly hid."

"Brother Boris and I bungled badly when we killed the original Count Ramadanoff. He died before we had wrested from him the secret of his hiding place. Some things we knew, however. We knew that the Devil's Honeycomb is concealed on that plateau now encircled by red, running rock. So brother Boris and I caused ships to wreck. And in that way we procured men to dig for us. The pits were dug to a system. It was our intention to honeycomb — the "honeycomb" part is humor, eh? — the whole plateau, if it was necessary … "

Doc Savage put in, "The tramp steamer? How did it happen that you failed to know its location?"

"It was wrecked in a tidal wave when the volcano erupted and covered with volcanic ash," replied the other. "Neither Boris nor myself knew its location."

"But you knew about the compass— that it was the key to the whereabouts of the Devil's Honeycomb ," Doc said.

Boris Ramadanoff started violently and peered at his brother. "You found the key!"

"No," the brother lied, quite calmly. "This man Savage is prevaricating, trying to turn your hand against me for his own gain."

"He knew the nature of the key," Boris snarled. "How did he know it was a compass if he did not see it when you found it?"

"I tell you it's all a lie, brother!" barked the other, somewhat desperately. "Pull the trigger that will send a bullet crashing through his brain. We will end this now!"

Boris scowled. "I would hear more about this compass key."

"Fool!" the bogus Count hissed.

Promptly following the hateful exclamation in the smoky haze, there was a sound which might have been made by fingers snapping very hard. Boris slumped ominously to the ground, scarletcommencing to ooze through a depressed fracture in his temple. The thumb-hole death had struck again.

As a safety-first move, Doc Savage went into action. All during the bogus Count's revelations, Doc had been surreptitiously working his knees and hips against the volcanic slag which had avalanched down and half-submerged him, holding him to a degree. He had succeeded in loosening appreciably the hold of the stuff.

Now he lunged forward. Clinkers washed in a wave as his body heaved free.

He felt something close to his temple. The exact nature of it was hard to define. It must have shaved him very close for his temple seemed to burn. It must have been the thumb-hole death .

The Count suddenly lost his nerve. He lunged backward, spun around, and started running.

Doc Savage shouted at Pat in the Mayantongue. She twisted and lunged frantically. Only her wrists were bound. So stunned were her captors at what had just occurred that she managed to get free. Lunging, Doc Savage reached her side. Together they went over the edge of one of the smoke-ringed clinker pits. They ran furiously! Doc helped Pat.

Up to the right somewhere hidden by the smoke, Doc Savage could hear the Count scrambling through the metallic clinkers. Judging from the strenuous sound, the fellow's main thought was to get away from the vicinity — immediately! His nerve had finally cracked.

Pat demanded grimly, "Shall we follow the Count?"

"We will," Doc Savage agreed. "Do not get too close to him. But make sure that he hears us."

This combination of suggested action seemed to puzzle Pat. To remain behind the Count and follow him furtively, she could have understood. But to follow him at a distance and still let the man know they were doing so — that bewildered her!

"What's the idea?" she demanded.

Instead of answering her, Doc Savage paused and dislodged a heavy rock, letting it roll down a declivity. The man ahead had been traveling fast. But now he cursed. His speed became that of a madman. He knew they were behind him.

The Earth had cracked in spots, probably under the force of expanding gases. They passed a stream of lava which had been diverted somewhere above and was already beginning to solidify in irregular waves. Some of these were head-high. In other spots, rivulets of the superheated stone twisted sinuously along.

They came to a region where imprisoned gases had long ago hollowed out the volcanic structure to form fantastic underground pits. It was as if monsters had dug dens in the sloping side of the cone. They waded through ground glass-like clinkers in which they sank to the knees.

"It cuts like razor blades," Pat groaned. "My boots won't stand much more of this."

Unexpectedly, they came out on a level area beyond which there was a sharp slope down to a cove. The wind was in their faces and it swept the dust back to the other side of the island. Accordingly, they could see a little better. Doc's flake-gold eyes scrutinized the terrain intently.