Doc Savage: Glare of the Gorgon (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 19) (40 page)

Standing between Monk and Ham, who towered over him, Long Tom Roberts was growling under his breath. He sounded rather like a junkyard dog that had spotted a rival canine.

Ham whispered to Monk, “I have never before heard Long Tom make such sounds.”

Monk nodded, saying, “His dander is up.”

“My dander,” growled Long Tom, “is fine and dandy.”

“Then why are your hackles raised?”

Long Tom said nothing; he was studying the man on the stage.

Marvin Lucian Linden now unscrewed the lid of the bottle, whose top was screened with fine mesh wire, permitting the insects to breathe and their buzzing to be heard.

“I am now going to release these bees. Have no fear. They will not enter the crowd. Upon that you have my guarantee as a scientist.”

Now the assembly began to shift and mutter, not quite certain what to expect.

“The reason I use bees instead of insects such as mosquitoes,” explained Linden, “is because bees are large enough so that you may see them with the naked eye.”

The lid came off. Linden set the jar down, and one by one the bees crawled up to the lip, poised briefly, and took wing.

In the bright lights it was possible to see them meander about. One was a plump bumblebee.

“You can see they are healthy. Now I will throw the switch.”

Marvin Lucian Linden reached over and tripped a switch, and the device began humming distinctively.

Almost immediately, the bees began to swing and dive about, as if agitated.

Then one dropped straight down, and made a tiny tick on the wood floor of the auditorium stage. Another dive bombed the table, rebounded off it, and landed near its mate.

There were five bees in all, and every one of them quickly succumbed.

The buzzing was heard no more and the mechanism hum stopped.

“The principle of my Insecto-eradicato is complicated,” said Marvin Lucian Linden, beaming happily. “Ultra-sonic waves are the key. As many of you know, ultra-sonic vibrations are used to sterilize milk by killing harmful microbes. My device is modulated to a frequency that affects insects alone. Only insects are harmed. Humans are not. This device is safe for all households, including those with children and pets.”

Applause erupted here and there, and soon turned into a wave of noisy approval that washed over the audience.

Doc Savage and his men did not participate in that applause. For his part, Long Tom Roberts was red-faced.

“Did he beat you to the punch?” Monk demanded.

“Marvin Lucian Linden beat me to the same knockout punch I got every time I tried to make my invention work on a larger scale,” grated Long Tom. “What he’s got will work in a fair-sized room. That means you’ll need one in every room of the house, if you’re going to keep bugs out. But on the industrial scale, where the idea is to drive injurious pests away from crops, and mosquitoes out of fever swamps, the thing is practically useless.”

Monk grunted, “Well, you warned ’im.”

The audience began asking questions. Marvin Lucian Linden parried them expertly, highlighting the advantages of his invention, but also candidly acknowledging its shortcomings.

“This model is designed to clear an ordinary house of unwanted insects,” he was saying. “Once I develop the industrial version, I predict that the Insecto-eradicato will be remembered as one of the great inventions of the Twentieth Century.”

Came another round of applause, this one verging on the thunderous. Photographers in the audience began taking flashbulb pictures.

Just as the polite thunder of clapping hands died down, Marvin Lucian Linden packed up his device, and brought it off the stage.

A janitor came along and swept up the dead bees into a dustpan.

Linden soon returned to his booth, where he set up his gadget for all attendees to examine up close.

The inventor was immediately surrounded, and it was not possible to get close to him again.

Ham Brooks turned to Long Tom Roberts, asked, “Were you planning to demonstrate your own version at this affair?”

Long Tom shook his head vehemently. “And make a darn fool of myself?”

“What do you mean? Linden appears to have been well received.”

“That’s because he’s promising an improved version. Until he produces one, that’s all it is. A promise. You can’t peddle promises.”

“So what are you showing?”

Long Tom patted his coat, where he kept concealed the oversized magnetic gun.

“This honey here. I perfected it, so there’s no question that it will do what I claim it will.”

To which Monk Mayfair snorted, “I got my own ideas on that score.”

Long Tom tugged at one ear in annoyance and said, “I have a feeling the best man is going to win that bet.”

Monk jerked a thumb toward his barrel chest and said, “In which case, have your money ready. Because I’m takin’ it.”

“The only thing you’re going to take,” rejoined Long Tom sourly, “is a jump into the cold lake of disappointment.”

“Says you?” grunted Monk.

“Says me,” insisted Long Tom.

Ham Brooks suddenly looked around and noticed someone was missing.

“Where did Doc go?” he wondered aloud.

Everyone looked about, but there was no sign of the giant man of metal, although he should have towered over all others in the crowd.

Chapter XXXVIII

VEIL OF HORROR

HAD MONK, HAM and Long Tom been paying attention, they would have been both intrigued and baffled by Doc Savage’s subsequent actions.

The bronze man had been observing the crowd gathering around the booth of Marvin Lucian Linden, and was quietly studying the faces thus arrayed.

One individual attracted the intent regard of Doc’s golden gaze.

This fellow was rather nondescript in overall appearance. He was tall, but walked in a stooped manner. His face was thin and he had a wiry look about him. His clothing did not quite fit him, and had a slightly seedy air to it. He had all the outward appearance of a casual attendee of the exposition of science.

Doc Savage’s eyes scrutinized the man’s face, the dull brown hair and other outstanding aspects of his appearance.

Quietly, Doc Savage detached himself from the group of quarreling aides, and drifted in the direction of Marvin Lucian Linden’s booth. As he moved through the crowd, his intent eyes never left the other man’s form.

Although the bronze man’s absence had not yet been detected by his aides, several passersby attempted to intercept him, seeking autographs.

Doc Savage had always avoided such autograph hounds, and managed to sidestep them while they fumbled for pens and pieces of paper on which they hoped for a personalized inscription.

In short order, Doc Savage was closing in on the nondescript fellow who had attracted his interest.

The man was attempting to catch the attention of Marvin Lucian Linden, who was busy explaining the inner workings of his Insecto-eradicato.

Linden happened to look up, spotted the bronze man approaching. Face brightening, he lifted a welcoming hand.

“Why, it’s Doc Savage!” he exclaimed loudly.

All heads turned, including that of the nondescript man. When the latter’s eyes fell upon the bronze giant, whose head topped all others, they narrowed in the extreme, and he immediately detached himself from the crowd.

Changing direction, Doc Savage fell in behind him. He did not want to make a scene; regrettably, the outcry of Marvin Lucian Linden had unfortunate results.

The name, Doc Savage, shouted over the buzz of the crowd, drew additional autograph seekers. The bronze man was soon surrounded, and the press of human bodies was such that, although he was able to deftly avoid the first few, the gathering throng soon obstructed his path.

“Excuse me,” Doc Savage said in his remarkable voice. “Please let me through.”

Many, of course, respected this polite request. But others did not. Fountain pens and notepads were thrust into his face, and Doc had to push them away, lest he lose sight of the individual who interested him so much.

It was a losing battle for a few minutes; finally, Doc Savage was forced to retreat and work around the group. The eager crowd flowed after him, but with such skill and economy did he move that the bronze man soon enough left them behind.

For his part, the nondescript fellow was making a beeline for an exit, but frequently threw an anxious glance behind him. Every time that he did, his eyes came to rest upon Doc Savage, whose head towered above the sea of moving persons.

This was one of those times when Doc Savage regretted that he had been formed by nature to be such an outstanding specimen of humanity. His metallic color, combined with his great height and physical symmetry, made it impossible for him to blend into any group of ordinary people.

Thus, Doc Savage’s efforts to follow the man unsuspected failed utterly.

Disappearing through the exit door, the man slammed it behind him; at that point Doc Savage broke into a sprint.

It was not practical to make a dash for the exit door in an unbroken manner, but shifting deftly, Doc did his best to weave in and out of the crowd. He finally reached the door, pushed through.

A set of stairs led up to the hotel’s lobby, and Doc mounted them three at a time, and soon found himself in the lobby proper.

His flake-gold eyes swept the room, appraised and discarded numerous faces of hotel guests and casual loungers. It was the closing of an automatic door that drew him toward the elevator shaft.

Reaching the shaft, it proved too late to halt the departing car, whose operator was taking it up. Doc Savage watched as the indicator arrow climbed. It did not stop until it reached the sixth floor, whereupon the bronze man pressed the button that would recall the cage.

When the cage arrived, the door failed to open. Doc pressed the button, but received no response.

Employing his great strength, the bronze man inserted metallic fingers and found the edge of the door, pushing it back by main strength.

When the door rolled aside, the elevator operator fell out as if he had been leaning against the door.

Doc caught the fellow, who was attempting to articulate something.

“What is wrong?” Doc rapped out.

“Ringing, humming,” the man mumbled. His eyes suddenly rolled up in his head, and he went lax in every limb.

Only then did the bronze man detect a strange burning smell emanating from the empty cage. It had a charcoal flavor. He immediately held his breath.

Retreating, Doc Savage pulled the elevator boy with him, gathered him up, and carried him into the lobby. He laid him on a couch, and felt of the man’s wrist and throat as he quietly expired.

Swiftly, Doc Savage inserted a needle probe into one nostril, and was not greatly surprised when he encountered a gritty obstruction.

The hotel detective came bustling up, saying, “What’s going on here?”

Doc Savage said, “This man has been felled by the affliction that calcifies human brains. Dr. Rockwell is attending the exhibition in the adjoining hall. Have him summoned at once. It may not be too late to save this man.”

Without waiting, Doc Savage rushed to the elevator bank. Ripping off his coat, he used it to disperse the burning stink that was emanating from the elevator and, taking the precaution of donning his chemical filter mask, stepped aboard and sent the car climbing up to the sixth floor.

Doc Savage went immediately to the room occupied by Janet Falcon, knocked briskly, and the door fell open.

“What is it you want?” the woman asked, her green eyes rimmed in red. Obviously, she had been crying again.

“A suspicious man came to this floor. Did anyone knock on your door?”

One slim hand flew to her mouth. “Why no, no one did. Why would you think he would?”

Without replying, Doc Savage said, “It is necessary that I search the room.”

Janet Falcon did not resist. Woodenly, she stepped aside and said, “You have the authority. I shan’t get in your way.”

Doc Savage moved through the small suite, examined every room, opened the closets, and even investigated the curtained shower stall. It was unmistakably clear that Janet Falcon was the only occupant.

“Thank you,” Doc said. “Keep your door locked and do not open it for any stranger.”

Then the bronze man exited the room, and was swiftly moving along the corridor, his ever-active eyes roving.

There are many ways to track a man through woods, deserts, and even along city streets. A hotel is another matter entirely. Doc Savage sniffed the air, seeking any sign of a man’s cologne that might suggest a passerby of recent vintage.

But there was nothing. He knelt at different points, felt of the rug nap, and attempted to discern crushed fibers straightening after the passage of a person.

Twice, he found patches that were slightly warmer than the surrounding carpet as if someone had loitered at the spot, and the vague trail seemed to go in the direction of the fire stairs.

Moving to the fire door, Doc Savage eased it open, looked up and down, went up one flight, examined the hallway, returned and searched the floor beneath.

Despite all his efforts, the trail had gone cold.

Returning to the lobby, Doc arrived as Dr. Rockwell was being escorted in by a security guard, his face like stone, his eyes staring without blinking.

Doc Savage imparted, “My examination showed me that the man’s brain has hardened. It happened in the last ten minutes.”

Rockwell nodded grimly. “An ambulance has been called. There may yet be time to save this poor devil.” Meeting Doc’s steady gaze with his unnerving stare, he inquired, “How did you come upon this victim?”

Doc Savage hesitated only slightly. “I happened to spy an individual who appeared to be suspicious in the exhibition crowd. When I attempted to approach him, he fled to the hotel lobby in a nervous and guilty manner. He disappeared into an elevator; this is the elevator operator.”

As a physician, Dr. Rockwell had seen many unpleasant sights, and his stolid features and unblinking eyes did not reflect a great deal of emotion. But looking at the stricken elevator operator, he lifted a hand and ran it through his thick hair, saying, “It baffles me how these poor people are being struck down.”