The Other World: A Doc Savage Adventure Read online

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  Title: The Other World

  Date of first publication: 1939

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

  Date first posted: Feb. 10, 2020

  Date last updated: Feb. 10, 2020

  Faded Page eBook #20200222

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

  DOC SAVAGE’S AMAZING CREW

  William Harper Littlejohn, the bespectacled scientist who was the world’s greatest living expert on geology and archaeology.

  Colonel John Renwick, “Renny,” his favorite sport was pounding his massive fists through heavy, paneled doors.

  Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Blodgett Mayfair, “Monk,” only a few inches over five feet tall, and yet over 260 pounds. His brutish exterior concealed the mind of a great scientist.

  Major Thomas J. Roberts, “Long Tom,” was the physical weakling of the crowd, but a genius at electricity.

  Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks, slender and waspy, he was never without his ominous, black sword cane.

  WITH THEIR LEADER, THEY WOULD GO ANYWHERE, FIGHT ANYONE, DARE EVERYTHING—SEEKING EXCITEMENT AND PERILOUS ADVENTURE!

  Books by Kenneth Robeson

  THE MAN OF BRONZE

  THE THOUSAND-HEADED MAN

  METEOR MENACE

  THE POLAR TREASURE

  BRAND OF THE WEREWOLF

  THE LOST OASIS

  THE MONSTERS

  THE LAND OF TERROR

  THE MYSTIC MULLAH

  THE PHANTOM CITY

  FEAR CAY

  QUEST OF QUI

  LAND OF ALWAYS-NIGHT

  FANTASTIC ISLAND

  MURDER MELODY

  THE SPOOK LEGION

  THE RED SKULL

  THE SARGASSO OGRE

  PIRATE OF THE PACIFIC

  THE SECRET IN THE SKY

  COLD DEATH

  THE CZAR OF FEAR

  FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE

  THE GREEN EAGLE

  THE DEVIL’S PLAYGROUND

  DEATH IN SILVER

  THE MYSTERY UNDER THE SEA

  THE DEADLY DWARF

  THE OTHER WORLD

  THE

  OTHER

  WORLD

  A DOC SAVAGE ADVENTURE

  BY KENNETH ROBESON

  THE OTHER WORLD

  Originally published in DOC SAVAGE Magazine January 1940

  Copyright © 1939 by Street & Smith Publications, Inc.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter Page

  1 THE MYSTERIOUS FUR 1

  2 THE QUARRELSOME MEN 7

  3 THE GANG-UP 12

  4 THE DESPERATE MAN 18

  5 THE STRANGE FACTS 24

  6 TERCIO’S TRAIL 31

  7 RURAL MELEE 36

  8 RADIO TRAIL 42

  9 GUNS NORTH 49

  10 BLAST IN THE ARCTIC 55

  11 THE BIG BIRDS 60

  12 THE PREHISTORIC WORLD 66

  13 THE CAVE 74

  14 LANTA 82

  15 THE FIGHT 88

  16 THE DISASTER 96

  17 THE FRIGHTENED PEOPLE 104

  18 DEATH AND A RACE 112

  THE OTHER WORLD

  Chapter I

  THE MYSTERIOUS FUR

  When the plane landed on a farmer’s oat-stubble field in the Mississippi bottoms near St. Louis, the time was around ten in the morning.

  The farmer had turned his cattle on to the stubble field to graze, and among the animals was a rogue bull which was a horned devil with strangers.

  This bull charged the aviator.

  The flier then killed the bull with a spear.

  Naturally, the farmer who owned the bull was astounded. The farmer happened to be watching, and his astonishment came not so much from the fact that the aviator killed the bull; if the flier had drawn a gun and shot the animal, the farmer would not have been surprised. The spear was the astonishing item.

  The spear was small—seven feet or so in length, not very heavy. When hurling the spear the flier used a peculiar device, a stick about the length of his arm, equipped at one end with two thong loops for the forefingers, so that it could be clasped very tightly, while the other end of the stick was forked to grip the spear shaft. With this device, the spear could be thrown with great force, as a rock is hurled from the split end of a stick. There was something primitive about it.

  “Hey!” The farmer dashed into the oat field. “You all right?”

  “I’m extremely sorry,” the flier said.

  “About the bull? Hell, that’s all right” The farmer wiped off perspiration. “Brother, we been afraid that ox was gonna gore somebody.”

  The flier said, “I shall pay you for the animal, of course.”

  The farmer’s eyes began to pop with astonishment as he eyed the aviator. “I’ll be jiggered!” he said.

  Because he had been a little astonished over the business of the bull, the farmer had failed to particularly notice the flier’s clothing.

  “Bless my boots!” the farmer muttered.

  The flier’s garments—skin tight trousers, very loose coat-blouse—seemed to be made of buckskin, or animal hide of similar nature. Further, his feet were shod in a covering that the farmer at first thought was steel, but later concluded must be some metal more nearly like aluminum. This metal footgear was solid, after the fashion of Dutch wooden shoes.

  “I shall,” repeated the flier, “pay you for the animal.”

  The farmer was not too surprised over the pilot’s appearance to overlook a dollar. “Well now,” he said, “he was a pretty good bull. Thoroughbred. I can show you the papers on him.”

  “Unfortunately, you will have to wait a few days for the money.”

  “Eh?”

  “I will leave my plane here,” the pilot said, “and be gone two or three days. Then I shall return and pay you.”

  The farmer had noticed by this time that the man was having some difficulty with his speech, as if he had not spoken English for a long time, or had recently learned it.

  Since an airplane was obviously more valuable than a bull, hence good security, the farmer said: “Sure. That’s all right.”

  The flier took a large bundle from the plane—a package about three feet square, wrapped in the same type of skin from which his clothing was made, and equipped with packstraps for carrying.

  “As I said,” the aviator remarked, “I shall return later.”

  He walked across the oat stubble and disappeared into a woods.

  The prominence of St. Louis as a fur-buying center, while possibly not fully known to the public, is an appreciated fact by the fur industry, a multitude of dealers in raw skins converging on the city during the season to dicker for pelts. Mink, raccoon and skunk from the Middle West. Muskrat from Louisiana. Fox from the Hudson Bay. Wolf from the Rockies. Chinchilla from South America.

  The flier got a laugh
when he walked into the market rooms. A rather contemptuous glance or two, as well. Some of them figured, from his skin clothing, that he was a nut.

  “Dan’l Boone come to town,” someone said, and snickered.

  The flier’s unusual metal shoes made a loud noise on the tiled floor as he crossed to an exhibition table, upon which he lowered his bundle. Before he opened his bundle, he made a speech. Not a long one.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “you can buy these furs for five thousand a skin.”

  Someone laughed at that, but there was no mirth after the man opened his bundle and spread out the contents, slowly and proudly, handling them as though each was a jewel as fragile as a cobweb.

  “Holy cats!” someone said.

  They weren’t cat hides, but something else, something incredible. A fur so luxurious, with such subtle coloring and quality, that the buyers were stunned. A man stepped forward, held one of the skins up and stroked it with his hand, and it was indeed as if a fabulous jewel were being shown. Fur men came to the spot, magnetized by such a fur as they hadn’t dreamed existed.

  A fur man said, “Who owns that dyeing process? My firm will pay plenty for it.”

  The man who was holding up the pelt studied the fur closely.

  “Not dyed,” he said.

  “You’re crazy. There’s no animal with fur like that.”

  They gathered around the table. They were not passing the skins about but touching them reverently.

  “How much did you say?” a man asked the flier.

  “Five thousand a skin.”

  “Dollars?”

  “Yes.”

  The other laughed. “Be yourself, guy. Chinchilla is the most expensive fur in the world, and it doesn’t bring that.”

  The aviator did not seem impressed. “And what makes Chinchilla cost?”

  “Scarcity. The animals are getting rare—”

  “Not as rare as these.” The flier held up his hand and silence fell; they listened to him speaking in his strangely difficult fashion. “You see here,” he said, “a collection of skins which is complete. And by complete, I mean that in this pile here are all the skins of this animal that you will find in the world, and there will be no more such skins. Never. I have twenty-seven skins here, and there will never be any more.”

  “You mean,” put in a new voice, “that no more of that particular fur you’ve got there will ever come on the market?”

  “Exactly,” said the flier.

  “Why not?”

  The flier seemed, judging from his hesitation, reluctant about answering that question.

  “Because,” he said finally, “there are no more of the animals. I killed and skinned them all. Their pelts are here.”

  “Just who are you, anyhow?”

  “My name,” the flier said, “is Tercio.”

  “Tercio?”

  “Decimo Tercio, yes.”

  “And you’re from——?”

  “That,” advised Decimo Tercio, “is not your business.”

  The man who had taken up the questioning of Decimo Tercio stepped back and showed his teeth unpleasantly. He was a dealer specializing in sealskins, and he somewhat resembled one of the animals himself, particularly about the countenance. His face was equipped with a pair of large dark pop eyes.

  Someone whispered to a companion, “It didn’t take that Tercio, whoever he is, very long to get Two Wink’s number.”

  “Is Two Wink a crook?”

  “He hasn’t been caught at it.”

  There were no fireworks. Two Wink Danton merely scowled, growled, “I just asked you a civil question,” and walked away. He went directly to his office, wasting no time.

  Gerald Evan Two Wink Danton was not particularly liked on the fur exchange, nor was there anything definite to account for this. The man had a rather long nose as far as other people’s business was concerned, his principal interest apparently being directed toward becoming an encyclopedia of gossip. However, he was like a blotter where gossip was concerned; he absorbed, but did not give forth. Which wasn’t so bad.

  Danton’s nickname of Two Wink came from his habitual bidding gesture. During fur auctions, when large numbers of bidders are gathered before the auctioneer, bidding is usually done by giving slight signals—the lifting of a finger, the tilting of a cigarette, a tug at an ear with the fingers. Danton invariably winked twice, and if there was any secretive intent about the gesture, it was futile, the man’s pop eyes making a double wink quite noticeable. He might as well have jumped up and waved both arms.

  Two Wink dived into his office and sent an excited bark at his stenographer.

  “Where’s them two fur samples?” he rapped.

  “What samples?” the girl asked nervously.

  “The two that were left with me about three years ago. The men wanted to be notified if any similar fur appeared on the market. Offered me five hundred dollars reward if I found a similar fur on the market and notified them.”

  “Oh, that.” The girl went into an adjacent room and soon came back with two envelopes.

  Each envelope bore a name and address, and each contained a small piece of fur. One of these bits of fur was worn somewhat more than the other, but there was no doubt but that they were of identical type.

  Two Wink carried the two fragments of fur back to the display room and, without doing anything that drew attention to himself, carefully compared the two bits with the pelts which Decimo Tercio was attempting to sell for five thousand dollars each.

  It had now become apparent that Decimo Tercio stood a very good chance of getting five thousand dollars apiece for the skins. Someone had already offered twenty-five hundred, providing examination showed that the skins were genuine and not a clever piece of manufacturing.

  Two Wink listened to the bidding, and he was very thoughtful when he went back to his office. Several things were on his mind. This Decimo Tercio was a strange fellow, and his clothing was even more unusual. The buckskin pants, as snug as an acrobat’s tights. More particularly, the metal shoes that served him as footgear.

  “You know,” muttered Two Wink, “I think there’s something queer about this.”

  “What did you say?” asked the stenographer.

  “Never mind.”

  Two Wink went into his private sanctum and had a silent argument with himself. On one side of the argument was a conviction, rather vague now but growing stronger, that there might be a great deal of money to be made if a properly interested fellow who played his cards right, such as Two Wink considered himself capable of doing, could get hold of breeding pairs of the animals which had produced that amazing new fur. On the other side of the argument stood one thousand perfectly good dollars, five hundred each from two men who had offered the sums as a reward to be notified if such a fur as this appeared on the market.

  The philosophy of a bird in the hand beating two in the bush eventually won out in Two Wink’s mind, so he telegraphed the two men who had offered the rewards.

  One telegram recipient was named Arnold Columbus.

  The other was named Wilmer Fancife.

  Both of them were in New York City, although at different addresses.

  Chapter II

  THE QUARRELSOME MEN

  The fight at the airport that evening was a honey. The hostess saw it start. Two of her passengers—they had not left their seats during the nonstop flight from New York, had boarded the plane separately in Newark, hence obviously neither had known the other was aboard—arose to leave their seats after the big sky cruiser landed in St. Louis. The instant they saw each other, fireworks started.

  One man was young, not far beyond late college age; he had the body of a young blacksmith, hair as yellow as a new oat shock, a rather grim expression.

  The other fellow was a tough fat man. His mouth looked as if it had been made carelessly with a hatchet. Nature had not given him much of a nose, and this donation had been hammered upon until it had somewhat the appearance of a large war
t. He was cross-eyed. His skin gave the impression of having been appropriated from a rhinoceros.

  The fat man saw the young one first. He was carrying a suitcase, which he immediately lifted and crashed down on the young man’s head. The case split and clothing erupted.

  The young man was, jarred down on his knees, but he got up and wheeled around to face his assailant.

  “Fancife!” he yelled.

  He lunged in, hooked a fist to the fat man’s ribs. He might as well have slugged a draft horse. The fat man was tough.

  The young man was no lily. He made a roaring noise, waded in. He slugged and got slugged. The two men fell on the plane floor amid the litter of Fancife’s suitcase.

  Seizing a necktie, the young man wrapped it around Fancife’s neck like a garrote cord, and tied a hard knot in it. Fancife got an extra shoe that had been in the case, pounded the young man between the eyes, loosened him.

  The thing became serious. Fancife snatched up a razor, tried to cut the other’s throat. He failed. The foe got a belt, began whipping the other across the eyes, finally jerked the razor out of his hand.

  Fancife began turning purple, due to the knotted tie about his neck.

  The co-pilot—the hostess had been screaming ineffectually for them to stop it—came rushing back and tried to part the men. He made progress for a moment, then got two teeth kicked down his throat. He doubled over, coughed up the teeth, and as mad as either combatant, he rushed forward to hunt a wrench.

  The fat man, Fancife, had started the fight with confidence. By now, he was changing his mind. The younger man was fighting with a fury that was maniacal.

  Fancife snatched up a bottle of rubbing alcohol and struck the younger man on the forehead with it. The bottle broke, not harming the victim greatly. But the alcohol ran down into the young man’s eyes, making stinging blindness.

  Fancife took advantage of his foe’s blindness to get out of the plane and run.