Doc Savage: Phantom Lagoon (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage) (12 page)

After they had departed, Gloomy knelt, unlocked the trunk with a brass key and threw the lid open.

Honoria Hale was revealed, trussed, gagged and glaring red-faced fury. She kicked at the trunk’s lining with both feet.

When Gloomy Starr lifted her out of the receptacle and dropped her into a chair, showing no more exertion than if he had picked up a sailor’s duffle bag, the red-faced woman’s features grew fearfully pale.

The gag was removed.

Gloomy grinned. “Since we are going to be cabin mates,” he began, “we ought to know more about one another.”

Honoria glared at him. Her blue eyes snapped. But a deep fear lay behind her optical sparking.

“Let’s start with why those foreign yeggs want you out of the country so bad,” invited Gloomy.

“Why don’t you ask them?” Honoria Hale said flintily.

“Tried that. No soap. It’s your turn.”

Honoria Hale—if that was her real name—drew in a long breath. She seemed to be steeling herself for something.

Gloomy Starr was no fool. He sensed what was coming. Before Honoria could give vent to a cry for help, he clapped his huge hands over her mouth, and kept one paw there while he returned the gag to its original position.

Through the tight cloth, Honoria attempted to give the monstrous pugilist a sharp piece of her mind. Only a muffled honking resulted.

“Now, now,” clucked Gloomy. “Be a lady.”

Honoria continued her muffled tirade.

“Such language,” Gloomy murmured. Apparently, he was a humorist, for the woman’s vocal exertions could not be understood in any way.

The
Matador
was by this time leaving port. There was the tooting of foghorns and the usual dockside bustle and uproar. The sounds of gurgling as lines were cast off and the hull shifted away from the busy pier. Soon, the rushing of water came, signifying that the steamer was being guided by tugs out to the Narrows, and thence into the open Atlantic.

Gloomy went to the porthole, peered out. His cartilage-scarred eyes narrowed. He turned to his captive.

“Long voyage ahead of us. Sure you don’t want to unlimber with some palaver?”

The look that came into Honoria’s frightened eyes tended toward the blank. Her features were by now dull with defeat.

“Talk turkey,” Gloomy clarified.

Honoria shook her head vehemently.

“Something was said about Doc Savage. Know him?”

Another head shake came.

“I hear he’s bad medicine,” Gloomy muttered.

Honoria did not disagree with that opinion.

Gloomy sat down and began making faces that a bulldog might have recognized. He was no beauty. He rubbed his too-perfect nose a few times and pulled on a cauliflower ear.

Abruptly, he stood up.

“I think,” he offered, “I will avail myself of a promenade of the deck.” Grinning, he added, “You stay put.”

As the big man exited the cabin, Honoria stamped a foot in anger.

GLOOMY STARR moved to the nearest companionway and ascended to the main deck. Passengers had gathered at the stern and were waving to well-wishers clustered at the dock. It was the usual
bon voyage
ritual.

Gloomy made a reconnoiter of the deck, his dark eyes searching faces.

After some twenty minutes of this, he failed to recognize any, and returned to the cabin.

“Not much excitement,” he muttered upon his return.

Honoria only glowered at him.

Gloomy Starr may have been many things, but a prophet was not one of them. Not long after his casual statement, a sharp knocking came to the door.

Gloomy shot up from his chair and went to the panel.

“Who’s there?” he growled.

An unfamiliar voice called, “A friend.”

“Name?”

“Blitz.”

“Don’t know you.”

“We have mutual friends.”

“Name a few,” Gloomy invited.

“Count Rumpler. Pippel. Kolb. Need I go on?”

Gloomy seemed to hesitate, then threw open the door.

A man entered. It could be seen that he was the opposite of the huge hulk calling himself Gloomy Starr. The new arrival had the slim lithe form of a dancer. Such men are sometimes found in the prizefighting ring—in the bantam-weight category.

He sauntered in as if entering his own cabin. Gloomy Starr laid a large, obstructing hand against his chest, arresting the unwanted visitor’s attempt to peer about the curtained room.

“You got a longer handle?” asked Gloomy.

The other looked momentarily confused.

“Eh?”

“Full name?” clarified Gloomy.

The bantam-weight smiled a begrudging inch. “Bantam Blitz. Ever heard of me?”

“Fighter?”

“A good guess, my man.” He craned his head around the open door and indicated Honoria, whose head had been cocked in their direction since the first knock. “Is that her ladyship?”

“Could be,” grunted Gloomy, closing the portal. “What’s it to you? She’s my headache.”

“Did you really think that the Count would entrust you with her care and keeping without someone keeping an eye on you?”

“Makes sense, you put it that way,” admitted Gloomy. “But I was told a different name. Burch, it was.”

“There is no Burch on the passenger list, which I gave the once-over,” advised Bantam Blitz.

Gloomy blinked, as if not sure what to make of that morsel.

Bantam Blitz walked over to the trussed woman in the chair and examined her critically from several angles.

“I rather doubt,” he said, “that keeping this dame tied up will be practical all the way to Brazil,” he ventured coolly.

“You got a point,” grunted Gloomy.

“Suppose that we make other arrangements than these crude ones,” suggested the newcomer.

“I’m all ears,” said Gloomy.

Bantam Blitz looked over Gloomy Starr with an appraising glance.

“All muscle is more like it.”

“It’s how I make my living,” said Gloomy rather defensively. “With my muscles.”

“I, on the other hand, prefer to rely upon my wits,” purred Bantam Blitz.

“Maybe we would make a good team, at that,” suggested Gloomy.

“We can discuss this later,” said Bantam Blitz thoughtfully. “For now, we must solve the matter at hand.”

“Like I said, I’m all—”

“Ears. Yes, yes, I know,” Blitz said distractedly. Cupping his chin in one hand, he mused, “I suddenly have what they call a brain storm.”

“Yeah?”

Bantam Blitz laughed shortly. “She is desperately ill.”

“Eh?” Gloomy appeared puzzled. “How come?”

“Just wait here, friend. I will be back shortly.”

Bantam Blitz now left the cabin and was gone some fifteen minutes. He came back smiling widely, carrying a small bottle in one hand.

“Where’d you get that stuff?” Gloomy wanted to know.

“From the medicine chest of the ship’s doctor,” explained Bantam Blitz. “It is an ordinary opiate.”

“Dope, eh?”

“Exactly. We will put her to sleep. A nice, long restful slumber.”

Gloomy blinked. “Isn’t that dangerous? What if she don’t wake up?”

“She will. I am an expert in administering such dosages.”

Gloomy looked skeptical. “After we get her ashore, what then?” he growled.

“We put her in one of the Brazilian hospitals.”

“Just like that?”

“Once we have this bothersome woman committed to a doctor’s care, no one will pay any attention to her ravings,” Bantam Blitz said with satisfaction.

During this exchange, the clouded blue eyes of Honoria Hale jumped from speaker to speaker, her pretty brow growing more worried with each passing moment.

The conversation did not sit well with her, it was clear to see.

Neither Gloomy Starr nor Bantam Blitz gave her much consideration, however. They were arguing over the advisability of such a risky ruse.

“Never work,” Gloomy was insisting, shaking his huge head.

“Have you a better solution?” inquired Bantam.

Gloomy sealed his thick lips by way of silently admitting that he had not.

“It’s your show,” the horsey pugilist said at last.

Grinning, Bantam Blitz produced a hypodermic syringe, removed its protective cork cap, exposing the gleaming needle.

The bottle of opiate was likewise corked, and he jammed the needle into this, slowly extracted the liquid contents until the hypo reservoir was filled.

Setting the bottle aside, Bantam Blitz approached the woman, who began stamping her feet in frustrated fury. She rocked her chair from side to side.

Gloomy moved in, stabilized the chair, preventing an upset.

Seizing one arm, Bantam Blitz prepared to discharge the contents of the syringe.

The woman attempted a final scream of protest. She began chewing on her gag in a frantic effort to remove it.

Something like concern warped the thick features of the towering Gloomy Starr.

“Hold up,” he growled, seizing the wrist of the smaller man.

Bantam Blitz glowered. “What now?”

“I’m thinking maybe you aren’t any sawbones.”

“Guilty. What of it?”

“Suppose that dose you got there is too strong.”

The small man shrugged negligently. His smile was cool and unconcerned. “Suppose it is?”

“My orders are to keep her alive,” Gloomy pointed out.

“My orders are to keep her from causing trouble,” snapped the other, shaking off Gloomy’s grip.

“You won’t kill anybody!” Gloomy exploded.

“I damn well might!” Bantam snarled.

Gloomy whispered, “Murder ain’t nothing to monkey with!”

“Since when did you grow a conscience?” sneered the other. “I understand you already did away with one wren this week.”

“That was necessary,” returned Gloomy defensively. “There wasn’t any other way to get the thing done. I was thinkin’ that on a tub like this one, accomplishin’ the deed and gettin’ away with it is a horse of a different hue.”

The crafty eyes of Bantam Blitz narrowed. The hulking pugilist was making sense of a sort.

“Maybe she wants to talk now,” Gloomy suggested, dark eyes switching to the fearful girl and back to the fuming Bantam Blitz.

“Maybe she’ll spill her guts and fill your ears, too,” the smaller man insinuated sharply. “Is that what you’re pushing for?”

This time it was Gloomy’s turn to shrug massive shoulders. “We’ll find that out once we tear off the gag.”

The huge specialist in fisticuffs reached out a scarred paw to tug at the well-chewed but intact gag.

Bantam Blitz stepped in, blocking Gloomy.

“In a minute you’re going to push me too far, big guy.”

“I don’t like to be pushed around, Blitz—if that’s not a made-up name.”

“Do you want trouble?” snarled the small man.

Gloomy drew himself up to full height, which was impressive. “It won’t be the first time I’ve had it.”

They glared at each other and there was something in Gloomy’s huge size, the fantastic self-assurance with which he conducted himself, that was menacing. Bantam Blitz abruptly shrugged.

“You have brains in that muscle,” Blitz said. “Brains are the only commodity in the world that could be worth a million dollars a pound or not a thin dime. Once you learn to take orders, you’ll be valuable.”

“Then what do you say? Suppose we quit getting into each other’s hair.”

“Suits me.”

But neither of the two strange hard men made a move to shake hands.

HONORIA HALE had been watching this tense exchange with round eyes. Her fear was palpable. Now Gloomy Starr reached out and removed the gag in her mouth. He did so with surprising gentleness.

“Out with it.”

Honoria hesitated.

“Snappy,” encouraged Gloomy, growing belligerent. His well-scarred face was turning into a storm cloud with dark eyes.

“You want to know what this is all about?” breathed Honoria.

“That measures the matter,” grunted Gloomy.

Honoria’s eyes went to Bantam Blitz. “But this other man does not wish me to speak, so I daren’t.”

“Maybe he’s curious, too,” suggested Gloomy coolly.

“He is with the Count. He will kill me if I talk.”

“That so?” demanded Gloomy of Blitz. “You’ll croak this frail if she yaps?”

Bantam Blitz seemed to waver.

“Let’s hear your song,” he said suddenly, addressing Honoria.

The girl maintained a pensive silence.

Gloomy gave her an ungentle shove, saying, “Come on, sister. Spill, spill.”

That did the trick. “Perhaps it is time to clear the air, after all,” she breathed.

Gloomy grunted, “I was wondering when you would see your way clear.”

“I overheard something awful, truly horrifying, while I was with those horrid men,” announced Honoria. “I must confess that what they said convinced me something pretty terrible is transpiring.”

“What did they say?” prompted Gloomy, horsey face betraying no outward perturbation.

“Words to the effect that the life of no one man, the life of no dozen or score of men, were worthy to stand in the way of their destiny.”

Gloomy absorbed this without comment. Bantam Blitz seemed to become acutely interested.

“Did it make sense to you?” demanded the latter.

Honoria shook her head. “No. It did not—by itself. But there was more. Someone had mentioned someone else by name. A very important name. Then there were the whispers about the U-Men—” She hesitated.

“Go on, sister,” encouraged Gloomy. “Let’s have it all in a nice bundle.”

The two men had been so absorbed in Honoria Hale’s recital that they failed to pay attention to anything other than the anxious woman. That proved to be their mistake.

For furtive lurkers had begun silently assembling outside the cabin door. They made their move then.

Glass broke. It was the porthole window looking out on the starboard lower deck. The sudden commotion was followed by another shattering sound.

Bantam Blitz swung about, fists coming up defensively.

Gloomy Starr’s massive head swiveled, and his dark eyes took in the broken porthole, then dropped to the floor. There, a broken glass bottle was disgorging a quantity of billowing vapor.

“Gas!” Bantam Blitz exclaimed.

Honoria screamed shrilly,
“They’re trying to kill me so I don’t talk!”