Doc Savage: Glare of the Gorgon (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 19) (29 page)

Long Tom then launched into a succinct recitation of his first encounter with Janet Falcon, which involved her attempting to shoot him with his magnetic gun, and Long Tom having to fire back in self-defense.

Eyes going wide, Monk blurted, “You shot a woman down?”

“It was either her or me,” Long Tom retorted. “Now listen, while I was trying to figure things out, this creepy gink calling himself Malcolm McLean showed up. Said he was a chemist. I had to let him in because he was going to call the cops on me. And after I did, he brained me with a lamp.”

Doc Savage imparted, “We encountered McLean later. He appears to have stolen Myer Sim’s secret invention that was set to be unveiled at the scientific exposition.”

Long Tom looked interested. “What was it?”

Doc elaborated, “A submersible automobile that the thief drove into Lake Michigan, and later abandoned. It was equipped with a retractable snorkel, permitting it to navigate in shallow water. Evidently, the tires were not equal to the muddy lake bottom and the machine became stuck. The driver escaped, abandoning the vehicle.”

Ham asked, “Do you suppose Myer Sim was killed over that machine?”

“Very little is clear at this juncture,” admitted Doc. “But we have our work cut out for us. For another individual fell victim to the strange petrifying power at the scientific exposition. It was Malcolm McLean.”

Long Tom whistled. “So whatever it was striking men down is traveling around.”

“Exactly,” said Doc. “And it remains up to us to discover the motives behind this unusual phenomenon.”

Long Tom ducked into the bedroom and began to search for fresh clothes, emerging moments later with nothing but a sheepish expression.

“I just realized this isn’t my hotel room. My duds are downstairs. Who wants to be a pal and go fetch me a fresh suit of clothes?”

Neither Monk nor Ham looked eager to come to the electrical expert’s rescue, so Doc Savage suggested, “Why don’t you both go?”

Before either man could exit the hotel room, the telephone commenced jangling and Doc swept up the receiver.

He was not on the line for very long, listening more than speaking. But his questions were distinct.

“When did this happen? Did anyone see the kidnap car?”

After he was done, Doc Savage hung up. Everyone looked at him expectantly. The big bronze man did not disappoint.

“Janet Falcon has been kidnapped from her apartment,” he related.

“Again!” exploded Long Tom.

“That woman is the most kidnapped frail in all of Chicago.” muttered Monk.

“We had best get going,” said Doc urgently.

All four men left immediately, stopping only on a lower floor so that Long Tom Roberts could collect fresh clothes.

“I guess we ain’t gonna get any shuteye tonight,” said Monk, who did not appear displeased at the prospect. The simian chemist would rather fight than sleep most any day.

Chapter XXVIII

VANISHED VICTIM

ON THE RIDE over to Janet Falcon’s apartment in the suburbs, Doc Savage and his men fell to checking their weapons. These were spare supermachine pistols stored in their hotel suite.

Long Tom had brought along the strange magnetic gun which Doc Savage had collected on his first visit to the Janet Falcon apartment.

“This might come in handy,” he was saying. “It’s completely silent in operation, and fires hollow slugs tipped with hypodermic needles. They work faster than our mercy slugs, even though they carry the same anesthetic inside.”

“Rather like the hypodermic thimbles Doc sometimes wears on his fingertips to catch foes by surprise,” mused Ham.

Long Tom nodded eagerly. “That’s what gave me the idea when I started tinkering with one of those captured magnetic guns.”

Beside him, Monk Mayfair was swapping out drums on his superfirer. “I brought along a bunch of the new bullets I’ve been fiddlin’ with. I already got some good use out of the Charlie horse bullets. Now I’m itchin’ to try some of the others.”

Ham Brooks patted the padded underarm holster beneath his elegant frock coat, remarking, “I will stick with mercy bullets, if you don’t mind. They have never failed us.”

“We gotta keep up with the times,” grunted Monk.

“Exactly,” agreed Long Tom. “And the magnetic gun will soon supplant the ordinary firearm. That is my prediction.”

As he returned his strange weapon to his lap—it was a trifle too large for a common holster—the pallid electrical wizard showed an oversized watch on one skinny wrist.

“My word!” remarked Ham. “That is the largest wristwatch I have ever seen a man wear.”

Long Tom yanked back his sleeve to further display the timepiece. It was a monster.

“This is what I call my shock watch,” he said. “I was wearing it when Duke Grogan’s boys grabbed me. They worked me over good, but I wouldn’t say a thing. So they tossed me into the coal bin while they figured out what to do.”

“How did you get loose?” Doc asked.

Long Tom said, “With this. Grogan and his boys took off somewhere, leaving one guard behind. I convinced the bird that the watch was worth a pile of dough and if he let me go, he could keep it. He fell for the ruse, right enough.”

Long Tom cracked a thin grin. “What he didn’t know was that the watch was hooked up to a dry cell battery in my pocket, and all I had to do was set it a certain way and it gave off an electric shock. When the guard reached his hand out for it, I tossed it. The dope received a jolt about equal to grabbing hold of an electric eel. That knocked him out long enough for me to crawl out of the basement window.”

“Clever,” said Ham. “Why didn’t they find the battery when they searched you?”

“They did, but they didn’t think anything of it. It was hooked up with an insulated wire as thin as a hair that ran down my shirt sleeve. They weren’t the brightest bunch of crooks I ever ran up against.”

Soon, Doc Savage piloted the rental sedan into the correct neighborhood, and after they turned the final corner, they were surprised to see an official police limousine among the radio cars.

The Superintendent of Police of Chicago was among those gathered. That indicated something serious had happened.

Exiting their machine, they drew close, and discovered sprawled on the sidewalk a police officer in blue, his brass buttons shining, the rest of him in a sickening pool of blood.

Seeing Doc Savage, the Superintendent turned and said, “It was the Grogan gang. This officer told us that much before life fled his body.”

The police official was holding his hat in his hands, as did the other officers, who stood bare-headed and downcast. It was clear they were awaiting a hearse, not an ambulance.

“Were any of the abductors recognized?” asked Doc.

“One bad apple. Patches Cordovan was fingered by my officer. He’s Grogan’s right arm.”

“What else did this man tell?” pressed Doc.

“Only that there were three of them, and they dragged the poor woman into a touring car and took off like the very devil was snapping at their heels. I have the entire city looking for that machine,” the Superintendent added. “What can you add to our knowledge of the situation?”

Doc told him, “Miss Falcon and my associate, Long Tom Roberts, were lately prisoners of Duke Grogan and his men. Long Tom got away from their hideout in Cicero, but had to go back when he realized Miss Falcon had been abducted. There ensued a fight, during which Janet Falcon just managed to escape. Evidently, she returned to her apartment, thinking it was safe to do so.”

“Where is this hideout?”

Long Tom provided the address, adding, “When you bust in, you may find Duke Grogan. He’ll be plenty dead. I think that Falcon dame shot him. I didn’t see who fired the gun, only where the bullets landed. They landed pretty hard on Grogan.”

The Superintendent of Chicago Police whistled low and slow. His eyes gleamed. “So Duke Grogan got himself croaked!”

Doc said, “It may be that Grogan’s gang is seeking revenge on Miss Falcon. Her life is in immediate danger.”

“If I know Grogan’s lads, by now they’re doing their dirty work. But I’ll send a car over to that address just the same. In fact, I’ll send a squad of men.”

“It is unlikely that the Grogan gang returned to that house,” advised Doc. “But no possibility should be overlooked.”

The Superintendent went to his limousine, and the driver handed out a radio microphone. The police official spoke forcefully, words coming out of his mouth like bullets.

“I want that house turned upside down! Send the riot squad. And put out a dragnet for anyone known to associate with Duke Grogan.”

Returning the microphone, the Superintendent rejoined Doc Savage saying, “That means the way is clear for Joe Shine and his mob. No doubt they’ll be looking to take over Grogan’s old territory.”

Doc Savage said nothing. It was not his way to turn over criminals to local authorities. The bronze man did not believe in prisons, incarceration, and especially capital punishment. Disposal of Joe Shine and his men would forever remain a secret, so long as Doc Savage had any say in it. The bronze man was devoted to rehabilitation, not punishment.

A hearse pulled up, and the unpleasant task of loading the draped corpse in blue onto a stretcher and bundling him in the back was conducted in respectful silence.

Every officer held his uniform cap before his heart and bowed his head as this solemn duty was concluded.

After the somber hearse pulled away, the Superintendent instructed the remaining men to fan out and comb the city for the fleeing touring car.

Doc Savage was looking down at the rain-washed street, studying the impressions made by the kidnap car. No one seemed to notice this.

“Good luck with your hunt,” advised Doc. “We will be in touch as developments call for it, Superintendent.”

“Thank you,” shot back the official as the bronze man took his departure.

ONCE they were safely ensconced in their rental sedan, Ham wondered aloud, “Chicago is a large metropolis. Where do we start?”

“We will begin by following the tire tracks of the touring car whose tread I recognized.”

The trail twisted along several streets, seeming to go nowhere in particular. Eventually, it turned up Wabash Avenue, a street which would normally be clogged with streetcars, but the trail soon petered out as a result of the incessant drizzle and the fact that other night-traveling automobiles criss-crossing the dry portions under the Elevated train trestle had erased all sign.

After less than a mile, Doc Savage was forced to admit that the promising trail had been lost.

“This is a fine turn of events,” murmured Ham.

“Yeah, they’re probably dumpin’ Janet Falcon’s body into the Chicago River even as we speak,” said Monk glumly.

“I don’t know,” mused Long Tom slowly. “From what I saw, Janet Falcon can kind of handle herself.”

Ham arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Up against the Grogan gang?”

“She shot Duke in the belly and finished him off with a slug between the eyes. That’s pretty fair shooting. Not to mention cool nerve.”

Silence fell over the rolling sedan after that observation.

Presently, Ham Brooks asked, “I’m still in the dark. Have we made any progress in this investigation so far?”

“None whatsoever,” admitted Doc Savage, with a trace of self-reproach in his tone. His flake-gold orbs held a bleak light. This once, the bronze man felt helpless in the face of the rushing events of the night.

Doc Savage filled Long Tom in, describing the events precipitated by Ned Gamble’s arrival at Doc Savage headquarters, his subsequent demise, and the grisly discovery that his brain had been petrified in some fashion.

“You left out the weird silhouette of Medusa found at several murder scenes,” Ham interjected.

“Medusa!” Long Tom exploded. “You mean the old crone with the head full of snakes?”

“The same dame,” admitted Monk. “It was like she left her awful shadow behind after doin’ her evil deed.”

Long Tom seemed to repress a shudder that was probably not caused by the dampness of the night.

“Medusa,” he murmured reflectively. “She was one of the Gorgons, wasn’t she?”

Ham nodded resolutely. “Yes, there were three Gorgon sisters in the olden days. Medusa is the most famous.” Suddenly, the dapper barrister snapped his fingers and burst out, “Gorgon! That’s terribly close to Grogan, isn’t it?”

That thought sunk in, and everyone in the rolling machine grew momentarily reflective.

“What could that possibly mean?” wondered Ham.

“It is clear,” stated Doc, “that Duke Grogan is connected to the petrified-brain murders—for murders they obviously must be. As for the similarity in names, Gorgon means ‘terrible’ in the Greek language, while Grogan is an Irish name translating to ‘fierce.’ ”

“Kinda close for coincidence,” muttered Monk. “But I still don’t get it. Is Duke Grogan our phantom Medusa?”

“Well, if he is,” suggested Ham, “he has been put out of the petrifying business. And by a woman whose fiancé he murdered. That seems rather fitting to me.”

For once, Monk agreed with the dapper lawyer. “Justice, I call it. Plain and simple justice.”

“If Grogan is truly the Gorgon,” offered Ham, “that means the reign of terror by petrification is drawing to a close.”

“Yeah? And with us havin’ done hardly anything about it!” complained Monk.

“What do you mean, nothing?” said Ham caustically. “We’ve had the daylights scared out of us, and we’ve practically shattered the Chicago underworld. I call that a good night’s work!”

“The night is not yet over,” reminded Doc Savage.

Chapter XXIX

VERMILION TRAIL

RACING AROUND THE streets of Chicago in the pre-dawn hours produced exactly no results whatsoever.

Traffic was sparse, although a few horse-drawn milk wagons were already trudging from door to door. By far, the greatest amount of traffic consisted of the prowling black-and-green Chicago radio cars, which were also intent upon locating the missing Janet Falcon.

Seated beside Doc Savage in the front seat, Monk Mayfair complained, “We’re gettin’ no place fast!”