Doc Savage: Glare of the Gorgon (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 19) (5 page)

“Long Tom, have you heard the news about Myer Sim?”

“Yes, it’s cast a pall over the conference. He was scheduled to give a presentation of a new invention of his.”

“What is known of this invention?”

“Nothing at all,” replied Long Tom. “It’s a secret.”

“A man named Ned Gamble trained in from Chicago this afternoon, Long Tom,” continued Doc. “He telegraphed ahead to say that there was an urgent matter he wished to lay before me. But when Gamble arrived for his appointment, he literally dropped dead. A brief examination seems to indicate his brain had petrified in some inexplicable manner.”

Long Tom’s explosive grunt might have been a curse.

“What do you make of it, Doc?”

“It is too soon to say, and there is more to the mystery. Ham and I are going to investigate Ned Gamble’s activities today. Look into the matter on your end. Talk to whomever you can find who is associated with the man. We will be in touch.”

“Right!” said Long Tom, terminating the connection.

Doc Savage turned to face Ham Brooks. “We will collect Monk on the way.”

Ham frowned. “Is that really necessary?”

“We have a great deal of ground to cover,” reminded Doc. “Monk will be of considerable help, especially if this mystery has a chemical origin.”

With that, the two men went out to the reception room where Ham collected a light overcoat and Homburg hat.

They took the speed elevator to the sub-basement garage where Doc selected a roadster capable of winnowing its way through rush-hour traffic, for the day was growing late.

The roadster came to life with hardly a sound, and Doc piloted it up a ramp that put them out into traffic. The garage door opened in response to a radio signal from the machine after Doc touched a button on the dash.

On the ride over, Ham fretted, “I sincerely hope Monk does not bring his pet pig along. The last time I shared an automobile with that infernal pest, he continually untied my shoelaces with his teeth. I am quite certain that that misbegotten man-ape taught him to do that very thing.”

Doc said quietly, “It would be best if Monk left the pig behind, for we may be striding into considerable danger.”

Instead of expressing concern, Ham’s dark eyes began to glow. It was for the love of danger and adventure that the Man of Bronze and his aides had first banded together to do the work that they pursued.

The remarkable group assembled by Doc Savage at the start of his career was unique. Doc Savage himself had been trained for his work. Some youth are trained to be engineers, doctors, lawyers, for the ministry. Doc had been trained to right wrongs, an ultramodern Sir Galahad, without the romantic aspects. Doc was quite hard-headed about it.

But his five assistants had not been trained in any such specialized fashion. Yet each of them had a profession, and in that line, were tops. Monk, the chemist, and Ham, the lawyer, for instance, were peaks in their lines. Long Tom was one of the foremost electrical engineers alive.

Doc soon parked the machine in front of a skyscraper in the Wall Street sector of town, in lower Manhattan. Here Monk Mayfair maintained a penthouse that had cost a small fortune.

As the elegant barrister stepped from the vehicle, Doc instructed, “Stress that Monk not bring Habeas along, due to the risk.”

“Best news I have heard all day!” enthused Ham, who ducked into the lobby, and used the house phone to summon the famous chemist.

A squeaky voice came over the wire, demanding, “Who is it?”

“Your nemesis,” said Ham waspishly. “Doc is parked outside. A mystery has landed on our doorstep. Doc says you may come along, but you must leave that infernal insect behind.”

“You’re makin’ that part up, ain’t you?”

“I am not!” snapped Ham. “Two men are dead, and even Doc Savage cannot figure out why.”

Reluctantly, the squeaky voice said, “I’ll be right down.”

When Monk Mayfair stepped off the elevator, Ham saw to his immense relief that he was alone.

“Hurry, you bandy-legged baboon,” Ham scolded. “There is much to do.”

“Hold your horses!” Monk growled. “You clothes horse.”

Born Andrew Blodgett Mayfair, Monk had acquired his nickname honestly. He was a fearsome individual, possessing the general build of a bull gorilla and weighing approximately two hundred and sixty pounds, none of it fat. His wide face was fiercely lined, and there appeared to be a bullet hole in one ear lobe. Gray scars marred his simian countenance.

Despite looking as if he was born with a deficiency of gray matter, Monk was one of the world’s leading industrial chemists. Like Ham and the absent members of Doc Savage’s group of adventurers, the apish chemist had gotten together with the bronze man during the Great War. After the fracas had concluded, the five had banded together to join Doc Savage in his life ideal—that of aiding those in distress for no greater reward than the enjoyment of dealing in danger in the pursuit of justice.

The other two Doc Savage associates, an archeologist and a civil engineer, were presently unavailable, pursuing their vocations.

Ham and Monk quarreled on their way to the roadster, owing to a feud that had originated during their wartime service and never settled down. In truth, they were close friends who enjoyed expressing their mutual antagonism.

Ham got in front, Monk taking the back seat. Doc piloted the roadster back into traffic.

Quickly, Doc Savage filled Monk in, concluding, “Prior to his death, Ned Gamble was last seen at a Bowery lodging house. That is where we will begin our investigation.”

“Sounds Jake to me,” said Monk, splitting his head almost in two with an anticipatory grin.

Ham inserted acidly, “There is nothing Jake about this. It is horrible. The image of the Medusa has been seared into my brain.”

Monk’s tiny brow furrowed. “Medusa,” he muttered. “Wasn’t that the dame who could turn a man into stone just by lookin’ at him?”

“The very same,” retorted Ham. “Her head was said to be a nest of vipers, and the silhouette on our wall appeared to show exactly that.”

Monk seemed to shake off a wracking shudder. “Sounds like somebody even I wouldn’t wanna meet in a dark alley. You say the imprint on the wall was green?”

Ham nodded. “A particularly repellent shade of greenish-yellow, rather like a tropical snake. It was as if she left her shadow behind her. It was somehow burned into the wall.”

Doc Savage did not contribute to this exchange, keeping his attention upon the traffic, which was becoming heavy.

SOON, they drew up before the Grand Bowery Inn, and pushed into what passed for a lobby, and out of a chilly breeze.

The temperature had been mild for an Autumn day, but now the air was cooling dramatically as evening approached.

“I wish this infernal weather would make up its mind,” fumed Ham. “I cannot tell whether to dress for Fall or Winter.”

Doc Savage walked up to the front desk and accosted the clerk, who recognized him immediately.

“Mr. Savage!” he gulped. “What brings you to my modest establishment?”

The bronze man possessed special credentials given him by the New York Police Department. These were obviously not necessary under the circumstances, so great was his fame. But Doc produced them anyway.

“Consider this an official police investigation,” Doc Savage imparted. “We are looking into the behavior of a recent guest of yours. His name is Ned Gamble, and he was completely hairless.”

The clerk nodded eagerly. “I figured that was why you came. Earlier, a very bald man registered under the name of Harry Baldwin. The moniker made me suspicious, since we sometimes get unsavory characters registering here. So I had my switchboard girl listen in to his telephone.” The clerk cleared his throat uncomfortably. “He made only one call, and that was to your offices. That was how we knew his real name.”

Doc Savage asked, “Did Gamble have any visitors?”

“Oh, not at all. In fact, he was with us less than an hour. He simply registered, made the call and left in a violent rush. That was the last we saw of him.”

“That is the last you will see of him,” stated Doc. “For the man has expired.”

The desk clerk paled slightly. “I knew something bad was in the wind. When you’ve been in this business long as I have, you can spot trouble in the faces of new guests.”

Doc said, “Show me to his room.”

The desk clerk was only too happy to oblige, and he was soon inserting the master key to Room 205.

The room looked as if it was not occupied. But on the closet floor reposed a Gladstone bag.

Setting this onto a bureau dresser drawer, Doc Savage opened the bag, and began going through the contents—the desk clerk, along with Monk and Ham, watching with great interest.

A preponderance of articles proved to be the kind of clothing a man would carry if he was taking a short trip. There was an extra pair of trousers, two extra shirts and underwear. Nothing else.

Sunlight streaming in through the windows showed that the bag was now empty.

“Dead end,” mumbled Monk.

While Doc Savage was replacing the contents into the Gladstone, he remarked, “We will confiscate this for the time being.”

“Of course, Mr. Savage,” the clerk returned.

As they were preparing to depart the room, a voice spoke up.

The voice had many peculiar qualities, not the least of which was a kind of distortion which concealed its exact source.

“Doc Savage! This is no concern of yours! Abandon all investigation. The eyes of Medusa are upon you. If they begin glowing green, the fate of Ned Gamble will be your own.”

“Blazes!” yelled Monk, bullet head jerking about. “Who’s that talkin’?”

The desk clerk froze, while Monk, Ham and Doc fanned out through the room, investigating the closet, looking under the bed, even opening drawers, although no possible person could be concealed therein.

The uncanny voice continued undisturbed.

“You have beheld the shed skin of our shadow, which we left behind as a warning to you all. Do not risk our petrifying gaze! This is a warning from beyond.”

“Blast it!” Ham complained. “The voice does not seem to be coming from any place that I can locate.”

Doc Savage gestured for silence, his head swiveling this way and that. His hearing had been trained to an extreme, and he was using his aural organs to hunt the sound to its origin.

But the voice did not come again. Satisfied that there was no other person or mechanical device capable of reproducing a human voice in the room, the bronze man went to the window, threw up the sash, and thrust his head out.

The fire escape latticework was unoccupied. There was no one standing below. The bronze man twisted, craning his head around, until he was looking up.

There did not seem to be any open windows above. Nevertheless, Doc Savage suddenly shifted until he was sitting on the windowsill, his upper body perched entirely outside the building.

The hotel was faced with brick, and Doc’s strong fingers found the crevices where the mortar held the bricks in place.

To the astonishment of no one except the desk clerk, Doc Savage was suddenly walking up the side of the building, using nothing more than the tips of his metallic fingers and the reinforced toes of his shoes to climb the building façade.

In this way, he soon reached the roof, climbed over the coping, and stood up.

Eerie golden eyes ranged the adjoining buildings, some of which were hotels and flophouses in the same class as this particular one. Doc seemed to be paying particular attention to the windows of adjoining structures, but after several minutes of intense study—which included removing a small, collapsable telescope from an inner pocket for closer scrutiny—seemed to arrive at no satisfactory conclusion.

It was easier, not to mention safer, to return to the second floor via the roof skylight hatch, and interior fire stairs, so Doc Savage did that.

Stepping back into the hotel room, the bronze giant said, “No source for the weird voice seems apparent.” There was no disappointment in his tone, for the bronze man usually maintained a stoic impassivity. “We will go now.”

Returning to the lobby, they thanked the desk clerk for his cooperation and reclaimed their roadster. It was soon darting through traffic.

Monk Mayfair and Ham Brooks appeared to have been struck dumb by the weird voice emanating from no apparent author.

Finally, Ham ventured, “That voice appeared womanly.”

To which Monk replied, “Sounded like a man to me.”

They began arguing the point, getting nowhere, but apparently enjoying themselves.

When the party reached the Hotel Paramount, they discovered several prowl cars standing in front of the building.

Police officers in blue also stood about, their expressions tight.

“Something’s sure up,” squeaked Monk.

Chapter V

SKULLBONE SURPRISE

WHEN DOC SAVAGE emerged from the roadster, the congregation of police officers took notice. They all but snapped to attention.

One, a sergeant, approached respectfully, saying, “Mr. Savage. Are you here to see about the dead one?”

“Which dead one?” returned Doc unemotionally.

“Why, that stiff that was found on the fifth floor. Haven’t you heard?”

“We are here on another matter,” said Doc circumspectly. “But it may be they are related. Please explain.”

“The hotel detective called it in,” offered the sergeant. “It seems a man registered in a room, and began behaving peculiarly.”

“How so?”

“Not long after he took his room, he went down to the barber shop here, and had his head shaved completely bald. Can you imagine that? He returned to his room, but forgot his hat. The barber in question and a bellhop carried it up to his room, but the hop came down alone, shaken up and not making much sense. The barber was found dead in the hallway. When they entered the room, they found it empty, the window open. Looks like the guest took a run-out powder down the fire escape. Guy’s name was Dobe Castle—”

“An alias,” supplied Doc. “Ned Gamble was his actual name.”