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  Title: The Metal Master

  Date of first publication: 1936

  Author: Lester Dent (as Kenneth Robeson) (1904-1959)

  Date first posted: Oct. 30, 2019

  Date last updated: Oct. 30, 2019

  Faded Page eBook #20191068

  This eBook was produced by: Al Haines, Cindy Beyer & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net

  DOC SAVAGE

  Man of bronze, being of mystery, one who performed miracles: that was Doc Savage. Yet no one knew much about him. An aura of mystery hung about him. He shunned publicity. Yet he got plenty because he was a mystical, interesting figure. The legends springing up around and about him were often fantastic.

  One thing the public did know: Doc Savage’s unique profession. His life was devoted to righting wrongs, aiding the oppressed, meting out a queer justice to evildoers. A sort of modern knight in armor. It carried him to the far corners of the earth. And it got him into incredible scrapes.

  THE METAL MASTER

  DOC SAVAGE BOOKS

  THE MAN OF BRONZE HEX

  THE THOUSAND-HEADED MAN RED SNOW

  METEOR MENACE WORLD’S FAIR GOBLIN

  THE POLAR TREASURE THE DAGGER IN THE SKY

  BRAND OF THE WEREWOLF MERCHANTS OF DISASTER

  THE LOST OASIS THE GOLD OGRE

  THE MONSTERS THE MAN WHO SHOOK THE EARTH

  THE LAND OF TERROR THE SEA MAGICIAN

  THE MYSTIC MULLAH THE MAN WHO SMILED NO MORE

  THE PHANTOM CITY THE MIDAS MAN

  FEAR CAY LAND OF LONG JUJU

  QUEST OF QUI THE FEATHERED OCTOPUS

  LAND OF ALWAYS-NIGHT THE SEA ANGEL

  THE FANTASTIC ISLAND DEVIL ON THE MOON

  MURDER MELODY HAUNTED OCEAN

  THE SPOOK LEGION THE VANISHER

  THE RED SKULL THE MENTAL WIZARD

  THE SARGASSO OGRE HE COULD STOP THE WORLD

  PIRATE OF THE PACIFIC THE GOLDEN PERIL

  THE SECRET IN THE SKY THE GIGGLING GHOSTS

  COLD DEATH POISON ISLAND

  THE CZAR OF FEAR THE MUNITIONS MASTER

  FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE THE YELLOW CLOUD

  THE GREEN EAGLE THE MAJII

  THE DEVIL’S PLAYGROUND THE LIVING FIRE MENACE

  DEATH IN SILVER THE PIRATE’S GHOST

  THE MYSTERY UNDER THE SEA THE SUBMARINE MYSTERY

  THE DEADLY DWARF THE MOTION MENACE

  THE OTHER WORLD THE GREEN DEATH

  THE FLAMING FALCONS MAD MESA

  THE ANNIHILIST THE FRECKLED SHARK

  THE SQUEAKING GOBLINS QUEST OF THE SPIDER

  MAD EYES THE MYSTERY ON THE SNOW

  THE TERROR IN THE NAVY SPOOK HOLE

  DUST OF DEATH MURDER MIRAGE

  RESURRECTION DAY THE METAL MASTER

  THE

  METAL

  MASTER

  A DOC SAVAGE ADVENTURE

  BY KENNETH ROBESON

  THE METAL MASTER

  Originally published in DOC SAVAGE Magazine March 1936

  Copyright © 1936 by Street & Smith Publications, Inc.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  CONTENTS

  I THE SCARED OLD MAN 1

  II THE BRONZE MAN 5

  III CUBA ANGLE 12

  IV INTO THE TRAP 21

  V THE CROSS THAT IS DOUBLE 26

  VI BAD LUCK 34

  VII THE TRICKY MAN 41

  VIII THE KEY MAN 47

  IX THE SQUABBLERS 52

  X THE PUZZLED MAN 59

  XI THE DEATH ARRANGEMENT 66

  XII MURDER BY METAL 72

  XIII SLICK! 79

  XIV THE PUNNING MAN 86

  XV TERRIBLE ISLAND 90

  XVI THE MESS 96

  XVII SMOOTH TONGUE 101

  XVIII THE BRONZE MAN ACTS 106

  XIX THE SHIP THAT FELL APART 113

  XX THE PLANS THAT FELL APART 120

  XXI THE PLAN 125

  XXII VICTORY IN A BOX 132

  Chapter I

  THE SCARED OLD MAN

  Doc Savage’s headquarters in New York City are on the eighty-sixth floor of a ponderous midtown skyscraper. The building is in a business section. Late at night, the region becomes comparatively deserted. There are many dark doorways in the neighborhood.

  The scared old man lurked in one of these darkened doorways.

  The old man had something on his mind, something that was worrying him. He crouched in the shadowy entry and devoted his time to peering about. He was evidently very frightened, too.

  It was sleeting a little. Cold. A taxicab, when it swung to the curb near the old man’s hiding place, skidded a bit.

  A girl got out of the cab. She was tall, in a mannish cloth coat and a felt hat that was not far from being masculine. She paid off the driver and the cab went away, after its wheels had spun for a while on the sleety pavement.

  The girl walked to the darkened doorway. She had a flashlight in her hand and she turned its beam on the old man.

  “Don’t!” he cried out wildly. “No light!”

  The girl blackened the flashlight lens. Its momentary glow had flashed more than the suit full of bones that was the old man. It had disclosed the girl’s face. She was a redhead, and sweet.

  “What is wrong, Seevers?” she asked. She had a voice that went with her sweet face. Full of throaty tones.

  Old Seevers was plainly very scared. His teeth made a clatter that the cold was not causing.

  “I’ve just found out an incredible thing,” he gulped. “That’s why I telephoned you to meet me here, Nan. You’re Louis’s sister.”

  “And you have been Louis’s laboratory assistant for years, and always seemed to have good sense, or I wouldn’t have come,” said the girl. “Now just what are you talking about, Seevers?”

  “I’ve learned that some people are going to be killed,” said Seevers. “Murdered in a horrible fashion! And that’s not all.”

  The girl was silent for a long moment.

  “You’d better take a vacation for a few weeks,” she said. “You’ve saved your money. Why not go to Florida for the winter?”

  “I’m not crazy!” snapped old Seevers. “I knew you would think so. That’s why I’m taking you along with me to-night.”

  “Taking me where?” she demanded sharply.

  “To Doc Savage,” said Seevers. “Doc Savage must believe my story.”

  “Oh,” the girl said.

  She had heard of Doc Savage. It was in her tone. Man of bronze, being of mystery, one who performed miracles: That was Doc Savage. Yet no one knew much about him. An aura of mystery hung about him. He shunned publicity. Yet he got plenty, because reporters have imaginations and he was a mystical, interesting figure. Because few facts about the bronze man were actually available, the legends springing up around and about him were often fantastic.

  One thing the public did know: Doc Savage’s unique profession. His
life was devoted to righting wrongs, aiding the oppressed, meting out a queer justice to evildoers. A sort of modern knight in armor. It carried him to the far corners of the earth. And it got him into incredible scrapes.

  “Look, Seevers,” said the girl, Nan. “Tell me what is on your mind.”

  “You can listen when I tell Doc Savage,” said Seevers. “You can verify certain facts that will make the story more credible.”

  “All right,” said the girl. “I’ve always wanted to meet this Doc Savage. I don’t believe he’s half what they say he is.”

  Seevers took her arm in a thin claw. “Come on. I’m in a terrible hurry.”

  “Why?”

  Seevers hesitated, peering about. “I am afraid of being killed.”

  “By whom?” She sounded skeptical.

  “By the Metal Master, probably,” muttered Seevers.

  The girl gave the feminine equivalent of a snort. Plainly, she was not convinced that the old man really had anything of importance. She thought him a little mad.

  “I never heard of anything called the Metal Master,” she said.

  “You will!” Seevers shuddered. “Don’t make any mistake about my sanity. The Metal Master exists, and it is going to do some awful things to this world, unless Doc Savage can stop it!”

  The girl gave her skeptical snort again.

  “You sound too melodramatic to be in earnest,” she said.

  Old Seevers did not reply.

  They passed under a street light. The girl was more than pretty. She was little short of ravishing. She was not a doll face. Her beauty was classic.

  “We’ll stop at this cable office,” said old Seevers, pointing. “I am expecting a message, a cablegram.”

  The cable office was one that remained open all night. There were two young men on duty. They ogled the young woman, hypnotized by her beauty.

  “Anything for Jonathan Seevers?” asked the old man.

  One clerk came to life and produced a blue envelope.

  “Just came in,” he said.

  Old Seevers opened the message. It was from a town in South America, and read:

  INFORMATION WHICH YOU CABLED ME VERIFIES WHAT I HAVE SUSPECTED STOP IMPERATIVE CALAMITY BE AVERTED STOP GO TO DOC SAVAGE IMMEDIATELY WITH STORY STOP I AM TAKING OFF NOW IN MY PLANE HEADED FOR NEW YORK STOP BE CAREFUL

  LOUIS

  Having read the missive, the girl glanced up. She looked stunned.

  “From my brother, Louis!” she gasped. “And he is flying from South America, right now!”

  “Exactly!” said old Seevers. “Your brother knows just how horrible this thing is.”

  They hurried out of the cable office.

  * * *

  Hardly three minutes later, a stranger walked into the cable office. He was a lean fellow whose clothes looked as if they had been slept in. He wore a rubber apron and a green celluloid eyeshade was over his eyes.

  “Jonathan Seevers let his cablegram blow out of the window of his shop,” he said. “He can’t find it. He wants you to give me a duplicate.”

  The cable clerk was still in a coma, thinking of the beautiful vision who had just left. He riffled through the sheaf of carbons, came to the one desired, and pulled it out. Then he hesitated.

  “It is customary to have identification before we deliver a message to any one other than the person to which it is addressed,” he said.

  “I work for Seevers,” said the man.

  The statement was a lie. It had that sound. The clerk frowned.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’ll have to identify yourself. Bring a note from Seevers.”

  The man made a snarling sound. He reached under his coat, brought out a pistol and aimed deliberately. The pistol went off twice. The clerks fell on the floor, bullet holes through brains.

  The killer got the cablegram carbon and ran out of the office.

  Chapter II

  THE BRONZE MAN

  Doc Savage’s profession was trouble. Other people’s troubles. He had friends, more friends than enemies by a large score. But there were plenty of enemies, and occasionally they tried to kill Doc Savage, figuring that was their only hope. Some of the enemies had very ingenious ideas about how to accomplish their ends. So Doc Savage had to take precautions.

  One of these precautions was a system of sensitive alarms which registered the appearance of any prowlers near his office. A marauder did not need to break in. If he as much as walked near the door, buzzers whined and indicator lights glowed.

  One of the buzzers suddenly whined. Its sound had an alarming quality.

  The headquarters—a reception room first, then a library and laboratory covering many thousands of square feet of floor space—was dark, except for one light over a small germ culture table on which were experimental cultures of a spermatocyte nature. This light revealed nothing but a hand of the individual who was at the table.

  It was a remarkable hand. The size did not seem especially striking until compared with surrounding objects, when it became evident that the hand was of no small size. The fingers were long. The skin had a surprisingly fine texture. But the unusual feature was the evidence that the hand possessed incredible strength. The sinews on the back were nearly as large as an ordinary man’s fingers.

  The hand had a skin of a remarkable bronze hue.

  When the buzzer whined, the bronze hand vanished from the glow of the tiny bulb. No lights came on. The owner of the hand moved through the murk with soundless speed that was surprising. A moment later, he opened the door of the reception room.

  A tall girl in a mannish coat lay on the corridor floor. A masculine hat had been knocked off her head. Her face was upturned. It was an exquisitely attractive face.

  Her mouth was open. A whitish powder was smeared around it.

  There was a light in the modernistic corridor. It showed the bronze man who came flinging out of the reception room. He was a Herculean figure. His hand, seen alone in the light, had seemed huge, yet it was not out of proportion. Muscles remindful of big wire hawsers were evident under his clothing.

  Perhaps the most striking thing about the bronze man was his eyes. They were of an unusual flake-gold tint, and the gold flakes seemed always in motion, as if stirred by tiny winds. They were strange, compelling eyes. Strangers on the street often looked at those eyes and were so gripped that they found themselves bumping into other pedestrians.

  The bronze man’s features were regular. His hair, of a bronze hue slightly darker than his skin, fitted his head like a metal skullcap.

  The bronze man did some fast moving. A glance whipped over the corridor showed no one else there.

  He scooped up the girl and lunged with her into the reception room, through the library and into the laboratory. He did not turn the lights on. He evidently knew the place well.

  He planted the girl on a marble-topped table. He felt for her pulse. He listened for her heart.

  Her heart was not beating.

  * * *

  Many a famous doctor and surgeon would have liked to have been present in that laboratory during the course of the next five minutes. What happened was an example of what skill and medical knowledge can do.

  Chemicals were mixed with flashing rapidity. They were administered to the girl, both as a draught and with hypos. Then she was shoved into a complicated device that was designed to start her breathing. Adrenalin was administered.

  Twenty minutes of that, and the girl had her eyes open. She looked at the bronze man.

  “You’re Doc Savage,” she said faintly. “I’ve seen your pictures.”

  “You were attacked in the corridor?” Doc Savage asked.

  The bronze man’s voice was as unusual as his appearance. It was deep, cultured, full of controlled power.

  “Yes,” breathed the young woman. “What happened to Seevers?”

  Doc did not answer that.

  “Was any one beside Seevers with you?” he asked.

  “No.”


  He carried her to the rear of the laboratory room, to what resembled a solid wall. He put a palm to the wall, held it there, took it away, put it there again. He did this three times. A perfectly concealed panel opened. It had a lock that was actuated by a sensitive thermostatic combination concealed in the wall. Heat of the hand, applied in the proper combination, was enough to open the lock. It could be opened in no other manner.

  The niche inside had a narrow couch. Doc put the girl there.

  “Be back later,” he said crisply. “You are too weak to talk now.”

  He brought stuff in a glass.

  “If you get to feeling dizzy, drink this,” he directed. “It’s a stimulant. Do not make any noise.”

  “O. K.,” she managed to say. It was a wisp of a whisper.

  Doc Savage closed the hidden panel behind him. Only a very good magnifying glass would have detected the crack around it. Due to the clever construction of the place, the extra thickness of the walls could not be determined without measuring them with surveying instruments.

  * * *

  Doc Savage went back through laboratory, library and reception room and out into the corridor. The corridor door was of armor steel and had no locks or knobs or other visible means of being opened. It closed mysteriously behind the bronze man.

  Doc Savage had scooped up, in passing through the laboratory, a rather unusual-looking metal box. It had a lens, and might have been an old-fashioned magic lantern, except that this lens was almost black in color. There was a switch on the side of the box. Doc flicked this.

  A strange thing happened in the corridor. Along the floor in front of the elevators was a mat. It looked as if it were made of gray sponge rubber. It was wide enough that any one getting out of the elevators would be likely to step on it. In fact, only a spry jump would take a person over it without touching it.

  This mat, when the eye of the strange lantern was turned on it, began to glow with an eerie blue luminance.