Doc Savage: The Secret of Satan's Spine (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 15) (16 page)

“It may come to that,” stated Doc. “But the weird properties of that stony fist cause me to believe there is something unusual back of their planned operation. A substance that resembles volcanic rock, which can have the effect this stone hand appears to extert, is not a substance known to science. Discovering its origins and purpose on board the ship may be as important as learning Diamond’s plans.”

Ham asked, “How long until we put into port?”

“We should be passing Bermuda’s latitude shortly. In another day or so, the vessel will dock at Nassau. Until then, I think we should all lay low. I will reconnoiter as Seaman Goines. If Don Worth or any of his friends should show up, let them in and take their reports. They are going to be our eyes and ears, since we are hampered by the risk of discovery.”

Monk made a fierce face and thumped his chest like a bull gorilla, saying, “I ain’t hampered by nothing! Turn me loose and I’ll pluck arms and legs off these guys until they talk their faces blue.”

“Let us see what develops when we reach port,” suggested Doc Savage calmly.

It was a sound plan, except for the knock at the door. It was an imperative rapping. Doc Savage sidled up to the door and asked in a voice that was neither his nor that of Seaman Goines, “Who is it?”

“Bosun. Let me in.”

Doc Savage obliged. Donald Worth stepped in, looking anxious of face. He acknowledged Monk and Ham with his troubled eyes.

“What is wrong?” asked the bronze man.

“Half the ship is hunting for Oiler Goines. Everyone noticed he wasn’t in his bunk overnight. What are you going to do, Doc? They’re starting to wonder if he went overboard.”

Doc Savage said without enthusiasm, “Perhaps I should speak to the Captain about this.”

Don Worth warned, “The Skipper is pretty hard-nosed. This won’t sit well with him.”

Ham Brooks inserted, “Doc Savage has impeccable naval credentials, and advises the War Shipping Administration in Washington.”

“I know that. But you don’t know the Old Man. The
Northern Star
is his ship and out here on the high seas, he’s the law.”

Doc said, “Then perhaps it is time that Seaman Goines returned to duty and attempted to make explanations.”

“The Captain might throw you in the brig if your explanation isn’t up to his expectations.”

“I will have to chance that.”

“Good luck,” said Donald Worth, exiting the cabin.

Chapter XVI

THE DEVIL’S OWN LUCK

THE CAPTAIN OF the
Northern Star
was a rangy fellow named Carson McCullum. He was a by-the-book ship’s master, but he heard out Doc Savage as he attempted to explain the absence of Seaman Goines during the preceding evening. Doc still wore Jury Goines’ beefy bulldog face.

The tale Doc Savage told in the thick voice of the missing Merchant Marine oiler was embroidered in such a way as to cover the sleeping sailor once the sedative had worn off and Goines was fit to return to duty.

“I believe I had a fit or something, Cap’n,” explained Doc. “I was on my way to the engine room when I felt dizzy. Found a quiet place to sit down for a spell, and the next thing I knew I was hearing my name called. So I came topside.”

“You were derelict in your duty for over ten hours,” Captain McCullum pointed out sternly.

“That’s what they tell me,” admitted Doc. “But all I know is, I keeled over and then I came to later. I still feel weak as tea water.”

In the Captain’s cabin where the interview was taking place, McCullum looked Seaman Goines up and down sternly, remarking, “You look none the worse for wear.”

Doc Savage said nothing. He thought it prudent not to comment.

“This ship was searched from stem to stern without result,” continued the skipper. “Can you explain that?”

Doc shrugged his broad shoulders and did his best to look baffled.

Captain McCullum didn’t seem to put too much thought into what he said next, or possibly he had made up his mind beforehand. Consequently, Doc Savage did not see coming what struck him with full force.

“I’m confining you to the brig for the next forty-eight hours. Consider yourself logged out. Rough rations. Report to the Master at Arms. Dismissed.”

Doc Savage hesitated only the merest of seconds, and then made an instant decision. He saluted the Captain, and exited his office.

This was not a development the bronze man managed to foresee. Far from it. He had assumed he could talk his way out of the situation, and keep both himself and the real Seaman Goines from severe punishment.

Having miscalculated, Doc decided that he had no choice but to go along with the punishment. To reveal the truth even in the privacy of the Captain’s office might have made matters much worse than they were, given McCullum’s temperament.

So he reported to the brig, and was promptly locked in a cell by the Master at Arms. This was not a particularly new experience for him. Over the course of his remarkable and dangerous career, the bronze man had been locked in many cells all over the world. If need be, Doc could break out by one means or another. He felt confident on that score.

Doc also had every confidence that word would sweep the ship of his fate, and Don Worth or one of his fellow mariners would report the situation to Monk and Ham. So Doc settled onto the bunk to wait.

An hour along into Doc’s confinement, Seaman Tucker showed up, bearing a tray piled with table scraps, three pieces of dry bread and a full glass of warm water.

The guard opened the door, and let Seaman Tucker serve the meal.

“Tough break,” undertoned Tucker.

Doc nodded. Under his breath, he said, “Everyone keep a weather eye on Diamond. With any luck, I will be out of the brig around the time we leave Nassau town.”

“There you go, Oiler,” said Seaman Tucker, not answering directly, but indicating that he had heard every word.

The door was locked. Doc Savage looked at his meager meal and, remembering the brief period in which he had felt depleted by the fist of rock after he had handled it, wished fervently that the meal included a steak cooked rare.

As he ate the crusty bread, which was fast going stale, Doc hoped Monk and Ham would have sense enough to sedate Seaman Goines if he showed any signs of waking up.

Upon finishing the miserable meal, Doc turned in. He had not slept all night, and this unexpected confinement was at least an opportunity to refresh himself without interruption.

Before he fell into slumber, the bronze man turned the mystery of the stony hand over in his mind, but failed to construct any explanations for its peculiar properties.

Up to the point where the weird element had entered the picture, Doc had assumed that Diamond’s plans had something to do with the cargo of important war metals, or possibly the convoy rendezvous. But now he wasn’t so certain. The uncanny stone fist put a different complexion on the matter, and sent his mind wandering off in disquieting directions.

WHEN Leander Tucker brought the news of Doc Savage’s confinement to Bosun Don Worth, the latter went rushing to the cabin where Monk and Ham guarded the real Seaman Goines.

“This is a fine development!” Ham raged when he heard the news.

“Tuck said that Doc Savage wants us all to keep operating until he’s released,” Worth added.

“I got me a better idea,” growled Monk. “Let’s all march to the Captain’s office and make pretzels out of his arms and legs until he sees things our way.”

Bosun Worth shook his head vigorously and said, “Doc Savage has the correct idea. If this gets out, we could
all
end up in irons. Then Diamond and his crew will have free rein.”

It took some persuading, but at last Monk subsided.

Donald Worth promised, “Diamond will have to turn up for breakfast, or at least lunch, and Tuck will pass the word to us.”

“Speaking of breakfast,” piped up Monk, “I’m famished.”

Ham said, “If you show up looking like your anthropoid self, it might have unpleasant repercussions.”

Monk glowered. “Diamond suspects we’re on board. What repercussions could there be?”

“Well, just the same,” suggested Ham, “let me take my breakfast first. I’ll let you know if the coast appears to be clear.”

That made enough sense that Monk decided to do it Ham’s way. Besides, someone had to guard Seaman Goines. If he were to be discovered at this juncture, it would be disastrous.

Ham and Don Worth departed, leaving Monk to his solitary duty.

Since he was bored as well as hungry, the homely chemist went to the washroom and picked up the waterproof bag containing the mysterious hand of rock.

Touching the smooth surface of the bag gave Monk the creeps. He was tempted to peer inside, but did not. The artifact had looked unsavory, as if an actual human hand had been charred and petrified, but the influence it exerted on ordinary human beings was beyond the pale.

As an industrial chemist, Monk would have loved to chip off a piece and subject it to a battery of chemical tests. He could think of no way to open the bag and break off a fragment without exposing himself to the same mysterious depleting force that had cost him a great deal of his physical strength. It was even now still coming back slowly.

Unhappily, Monk left the bag on the porcelain sink. Had he the freedom to do so, the hairy chemist would have found a way to return the grisly relic to its owners, and seen how they liked it. But Monk knew that Doc Savage would wish to study the object when he had the next opportunity to do so.

For the bronze man loved mysteries, was intrigued by the unusual, above and beyond his personal scientific curiosity. This was seldom discussed openly, but one of the driving instincts of the Man of Bronze was the pursuit of the unknown, and the discoveries which invariably followed.

Checking on Seaman Goines next, Monk observed that the large fellow was showing some signs of returning to wakefulness.

Knowing that this, too, would be inconvenient if not catastrophic, Monk rooted around in Doc Savage’s equipment until he found the sedative that had been used. Charging a hypodermic needle, Monk gave the big black sailor a full dose.

The man had been breathing rather raggedly, but now his respiration settled down to that of a peaceful slumberer.

“That oughta hold him another twelve or so hours,” Monk muttered to himself. “By that time, maybe we’ll figure a way out of this awful mess.”

Monk sat down to await Ham’s return when there came a knocking at the door. The knocking was very bold and insistent.

Jumping to his feet, Monk ambled over and called through the panel, “Who is it?”

“Captain McCullum. I want to speak with Doc Savage.”

“Uh—he ain’t here,” retorted Monk. “I think he went out for breakfast.”

“I need to convey to him a message,” insisted the skipper.

“Go ahead,” invited Monk, perspiration popping out on his minuscule brow.

“It is a private message,” said the Captain testily.

Now the sweat was pouring down Monk’s brow, and his small, worried eyes shifted to Seaman Goines reposing on the bunk. To let the ship’s master in would be, at best, a calamity.

Thinking fast, Monk said, “O.K., I’ll come on out. I was just about to step out for some fresh air anyway.”

“That will not do,” returned the Captain firmly. “I do not wish to be overheard. Let me in.”

“Well, just a minute,” said Monk, rushing back to where Seaman Goines reposed on the bunk. The latter was a huge fellow, weighing over two hundred pounds. He was not light.

Nevertheless, Monk wrapped his brawny arms around the man’s chest, shifted him over and then dragged him by the heels into the washroom where he dumped him unceremoniously into the modest shower bathtub. Wiping his brow, Monk closed the door behind him and then hurried to the cabin door.

Captain McCullum stepped in, looked around suspiciously, then turned his full attention on Monk Mayfair.

Monk tended to wear his emotions on his homely features, and this occasion was no different.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” remarked the Captain pointedly.

“Boats don’t agree with me,” mumbled Monk. “I keep gettin’ seasick.”

That seemed to satisfy the skipper, who then launched into his own concerns.

“One of my sailors is in the brig, claiming to have been overcome by some strange sort of spell last night.”

“Oh, is that right?” mumbled Monk.

“But the circumstances are suspicious. Has Doc Savage learned anything about our mysterious passengers?”

“Not a blamed thing,” insisted Monk. “But he can tell you all that himself.”

No sooner had the words escaped Monk’s wide mouth than he regretted them. He did not want the skipper to go hunting for Doc Savage, and swiftly said so.

“On second thought,” he added hastily, “why don’t you give me all the dope you have and I’ll take it to Doc? It might not look good if you were seen talkin’ to him.”

“But I understood Doc Savage would be keeping out of sight.”

“Actually, Doc is wearin’ a disguise, I’m not even sure what he looks like. Except of course he’d be powerful big.”

Captain McCullum studied Monk, searching his simian face, not sure what to make of the apish fellow’s wandering tale.

“When you see Doc Savage,” he snapped, “let him know what I just told you. It may be important.”

“I’ll do that,” promised Monk.

“Thank you,” McCullum said curtly. With that, the skipper took his leave. After he had gone, Monk collapsed into his chair because his knees were shaking so much.

HE WAS not certain why he was so upset, only that between one thing and another, they were getting mighty tangled in a web of circumstances they didn’t fully understand. There was no point in having the ship’s master discover that Doc Savage had been exceeding his authority, which was, after all, limited. The captain of the ship is the captain of the ship, the first and last word, and the final law at sea.

“No sense gettin’ our pants all clapped into the pokey,” grumbled Monk as he began wishing that Doc Savage had not managed to get himself confined to the ship’s brig.