The Metal Master: A Doc Savage Adventure Read online

  Footprints, as well, appeared on the corridor floor.

  Doc Savage entered his own private high-speed elevator, and rode down to the street level. There were three other elevators in operation at this time of night. He asked the attendants questions.

  “Who came and went from my floor within the last few minutes?”

  “Why, an old man and a girl went up,” said one elevator operator. “The girl was a peach for looks, what I mean. And some men went up, too. Four.”

  “Before or after the man and the girl?”

  “After. They came down later, with the old man. They said he had been seized with a dizzy spell.”

  “Thank you,” said Doc Savage, and went out on the street.

  He turned his lantern on again. It was, in reality, a compact and powerful projector of invisible ultra-violet light. Ultra-violet light has the strange property of causing certain substances to fluoresce, or glow. Ordinary vaseline has this quality.

  The mat in front of the elevators on Doc Savage’s floor was soaked with a chemical mixture which was sticky and glowed with an extraordinary brightness under the ultra-violet light. It would stick to the shoe soles of any one who walked on it, and tracks would be left for some time.

  Doc Savage followed glowing tracks down the street. They led around a corner. He had a little difficulty, because the chemical footprints did not register well on the sleety sidewalk.

  The trail, however, was not long. It led into an alley. It was a dark alley. Doc produced a flashlight which spouted a lean, utterly white beam.

  On the alley pavement was a weird blob of metal.

  * * *

  The metal blob had a length of perhaps a dozen feet, and a width of half that. It appeared that a molten mixture of steel and brass had been dumped in the alley to harden.

  But there were many queer aspects to the metal mass. For one thing, had molten metal been dumped there, the pavement around about would have shown some evidence of the terrific heat. There was none.

  Yet it certainly looked as if the metal had been put there in a molten state. Little streams of it had run out at the sides, just as liquid metal would do. It had filled cracks in the alley pavement.

  Most fantastic of all, pieces of wood stuck out of the mass, along with bits of cloth and leather. Doc Savage examined the leather.

  Automobile cushions! Not the slightest doubt of it. This molten mass had been an automobile. He saw the tires, four of which had been on the wheels, and a spare. Fire. And the wooden wheel spokes were intact.

  The bronze man moved about, using his flashlight. Then he did something that was rare with him. He had trained his nerves for shocks. He rarely showed emotion.

  Yet he started violently.

  For the next few seconds, he stood perfectly still. And there came into being a small, weird sound. It was a trilling. It ran up and down the musical scale, adhering to no definite tune, yet definitely melodious. Much about the strange trilling defied description. It might have been the song of some exotic feathered creature, or the note of a wind filtering through a denuded forest.

  A small, absent thing which the bronze man did in moments of mental stress, was this trilling. It had a quality of ventriloquism, seeming to come from everywhere, yet from no definite spot. The reason for the trilling stuck up stark and horrible in the flashlight glow.

  A bony, wrinkled human hand! Projecting from the wad of metal on the alley pavement!

  Doc Savage worked furiously at the mass of metal. It was solid, as if molten and poured there. The body was imbedded in it. Some other parts of it were exposed, he found after a moment’s search. There was part of a leg. An elbow. The tail of the man’s coat.

  Strangest of all, the man’s garments were not even scorched. Yet he was imbedded solidly in the mass of metal.

  Doc Savage returned his attention to the hand which projected so horribly. On one of the fingers was a ring. He removed it. Identification, perhaps.

  He used the ultra-violet lantern. The footprints ended here. There were marks on the street which indicated a car had gone away. There must have been two cars. One—something fantastic had happened to it. The other had taken away the remaining men.

  There seemed to be nothing more to do. It would take hours, perhaps days, with hacksaws to free the body. Doc went back toward the skyscraper which housed his headquarters.

  He carried the ring.

  An elevator operator told him, “Some men went up to your floor, then came back down. I guess they found you weren’t there.”

  “Know them?” Doc asked.

  “They were the same men who took the old man down.”

  Doc Savage said nothing. But he lost no time getting in the private express elevator to ride up. A moment later, he stepped out in the eighty-sixth floor corridor.

  The armor-plate door of his headquarters suite was gone.

  * * *

  Not gone, exactly. It was a puddle on the floor. To all appearances, it had simply melted. Yet nothing was burned.

  Doc Savage studied the incredible scene. Some of the metal casing of the door had also dripped down on the floor. He touched the wad of metal. Cold.

  He entered. Nothing was disturbed to any extent. But the place had been searched. A few cabinets were open. They were large enough to have held a person.

  He went to the secret panel and unlocked it by operating the thermostatic combination.

  The girl smiled at him. She was still weak. But her nerve was all right.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” she said.

  “Hear any one a few minutes ago?”

  “Faint sounds,” she admitted. “You told me to keep quiet. I did.”

  Doc Savage showed her the ring. There was nothing unusual about it. It was cheap; worn.

  “Ever see it before?” he asked.

  The girl nodded. “Yes. It belonged to Seevers. He always wore it.”

  Doc Savage nodded, sat down, and gave her some of the stimulant to drink.

  “Now,” he said. “Tell me the story.”

  Her voice was firm enough.

  “There’s not much of it,” she said. “Seevers telephoned me. He was worried. Wanted me to meet him and come to talk with you. He said something about a Metal Master, and something terrible about it. But he didn’t go into details. I thought he was—well, balmy. That is, until he got the cablegram from my brother. And my brother—his name is Louis—seemed to think there was something wrong, too.”

  “Who is your brother?” Doc asked.

  “Louis Tester,” the girl replied. “I am Nan Tester. We are twins. My brother is an expert on electricity as applied to chemistry. Or at least, he used to be.”

  “Used to be?”

  The girl drank more of the stimulant.

  “I haven’t seen much of Louis the last two years,” she said. “He has been off in some out-of-the-way place working, where he has a laboratory.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “From where did the cablegram come?”

  “South America. He is on his way North. I don’t know why he was down there. In fact, I didn’t know he was in South America.”

  “Who was Seevers?”

  “He used to work with my brother. Seevers was sort of a teacher for my brother for a long time. He is a nice old man.”

  Doc Savage did not tell her she should have said was a nice old man.

  Chapter III

  CUBA ANGLE

  Doc Savage allowed the young woman to rest, after ascertaining that she knew no more than what she had told. While she was resting, he telephoned the cable company.

  He learned about the two clerks who had been murdered and about the cablegram which had been taken. He got a copy of the cablegram from the central office, where it had been relayed.

  “How is your nerve?” he asked the girl.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  Doc tried her.

  “Seevers is dead,” he said.


  Her nerve was all right. She bit her lips.

  “He was a nice old man,” she said.

  “Do you have any idea what is behind this?” Doc Savage asked.

  She considered. “I can’t think of a single angle.”

  “You were poisoned,” Doc told her. “They smeared a cyanide powder over your mouth.”

  “I know.” She shuddered. “And after that, it was the strangest thing! I seemed to be flying through infinite space at terrific speed! And yet it didn’t seem like it was me doing that, but some one different, some part of me that I had never been conscious of before.”

  “You were dead,” Doc Savage told her.

  She eyed him solemnly. “You wouldn’t kid me?”

  “That,” he assured her, “is the truth.”

  “And you brought me back to life?”

  “It has been done often before. People actually die on operating tables and elsewhere, only to be revived by the use of adrenalin and other methods.”

  Nan Tester did not say anything. Apparently having been dead was something to think about.

  “You are going to be left here again for a few minutes,” the bronze man told her.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Do not make any noise in here,” Doc told her, apparently not hearing her question. “The place was searched a while ago. They were probably looking for you.”

  Doc Savage left her concealed in the secret compartment. She had wanted to know what he planned, but he had appeared not to hear the inquiry—a small and aggravating habit which he had when he did not wish to explain his future moves.

  He went to the cable office to which had come Louis Tester’s cable from South America, and where the two clerks had been murdered. The place was full of police officers, investigating the killing.

  Two new clerks were on duty.

  Doc Savage filed two cablegrams for transmission. The first one was addressed to Louis Tester, care of the airport at Panama, Canal Zone, where his plane would be apt to land for refueling. It read:

  SEEVERS MURDERED STOP YOUR LIFE MAY BE IN DANGER STOP DESIRE YOUR STORY IMMEDIATELY STOP CHANGE YOUR COURSE TO HAVANA CUBA AND INTERVIEW MY ASSISTANT COLONEL JOHN RENWICK AT HOTEL MIRMA IN HAVANA STOP TELL HIM STORY STOP ACCEPT HIS HELP STOP YOUR SISTER WITH ME

  DOC SAVAGE

  The second cable was directed to Colonel John Renwick, Hotel Mirma, Havana, Cuba, and said:

  MAN NAMED LOUIS TESTER WILL ARRIVE IN HAVANA FROM SOUTH AMERICA BY PLANE STOP MEET HIM AND GET STORY CLEARING UP MYSTERY OF METAL MASTER STOP HIS LIFE MAY BE IN DANGER

  DOC SAVAGE

  Doc handed these two communications over the counter for immediate transmission. The two clerks behind the counter seemed to be nervous, which was no wonder, with the place full of frowning cops.

  * * *

  Doc Savage now gave his attention to the policemen. They listened to him with the greatest of respect, for they knew his reputation, knew also that he was a high, honorary officer in the police department, among other things.

  Doc told them to go to the elevator operators in the skyscraper which housed his headquarters for a description of men who might be the murderers. Doc did not explain why he happened to make this suggestion. The policemen looked very curious about it, but did not insist when Doc failed to volunteer a full explanation.

  Doc Savage also mentioned that it might be interesting to investigate the alley where old Seever’s body lay imbedded so incredibly in a blob of metal.

  Two officers went to see about this. One soon came tearing back with his eyes wild. He had found the mass of metal, and the body.

  The police investigators now asked Doc Savage to have another look at the fantastic thing in the alley, and furnish them with any theories which they might pursue in their investigation. Doc was not unwilling. He knew very well that the police had an efficient organization, and he frequently coöperated with them.

  Doc went to the alley with the policemen.

  The two clerks in the cable office seemed very glad indeed to see the bronze man and the cops depart. Their relief was tempered somewhat by the fact that one cop remained behind, to see that no one wandered around messing finger prints. The clerks, pretending to examine messages, held a whispered consultation.

  “This is sorta risky,” one said. “We better blow. We’ve got them two cablegrams that the bronze guy filed.”

  “We better see what the chief wants us to do,” the other muttered.

  The man went to a telephone. The cable office phones were fitted with box affairs over the mouthpieces, so that the instruments could be spoken into with privacy. This made it simple for the man to telephone without the policeman on guard overhearing.

  “Doc Savage filed two cablegrams,” said the clerk, when he had his party.

  “Read them to me,” directed the person at the other end of the wire.

  This individual spoke in a whisper. It is very difficult to identify a voice from a whisper over a telephone wire.

  The clerk read both messages.

  The whisperer cursed heartily, but did not forget to keep whispering.

  “That means the girl got to Doc Savage,” said the whisperer. “It also means that she couldn’t tell him what it is all about. He’s trying to get hold of Louis Tester, to learn the story. We’ve got to stop that.”

  “Sure,” said the clerk. “But how?”

  * * *

  The other had quick wits. Almost immediately, a cablegram was dictated over the phone. It was addressed to Louis Tester, care of the airport at Panama, Canal Zone, and read:

  SEEVERS MURDERED WITHOUT TELLING STORY STOP WANT YOU TO GIVE STORY TO MY AID COLONEL JOHN RENWICK WHO IS ABOARD SCHOONER NINETY MILES SOUTH SOUTHWEST OF DRY TORTUGAS ISLAND STOP FIND SCHOONER LAND AND COOPERATE WITH COLONEL RENWICK STOP SCHOONER IS THE TWO-MASTED VESSEL INNOCENT

  DOC SAVAGE

  “Send that message, then destroy it,” directed the voice. “Do not send the message which Doc Savage filed to Louis Tester, but stamp it as if it were sent, so nobody will get suspicious.”

  “O. K.,” said the clerk. “What about the other message, to Colonel Renwick?”

  “Go ahead and send it, so Doc Savage will not get suspicious,” ordered the whisperer. “Louis Tester will never get near Colonel Renwick.”

  “Who is Colonel Renwick, chief?”

  “Doc Savage has five men who are his assistants. Colonel Renwick is one of them.”

  “Oh!”

  The whisperer commanded, “And after you get the messages sent, clear out of there before the cable company gets wise that two fake clerks are on duty there.”

  “O. K., chief. What about that girl?”

  “I am taking measures about the girl.”

  “O. K. So long, chief.”

  This terminated the telephone conversation. The two phony clerks went about the business of sending the fake message to Louis Tester, directing him to find the schooner Innocent.

  “The chief will have men on the schooner to grab him, I guess,” said one clerk.

  They had evidently once worked in a cable office, these two, for they knew how the messages were transmitted over the teletypes. But they could have been a little more skillful.

  They sent Colonel Renwick’s message as Doc Savage had filed it. Then they exchanged more whispers.

  “We better blow, now,” said one.

  “O. K.,” agreed the other.

  They walked out.

  “Gonna get a cup o’ coffee,” one told the policeman, laconically. The cop swallowed that, and let them go.

  They walked boldly down the street, then turned into a side thoroughfare.

  “That was simple,” said one.

  “Sure, it was,” agreed the other. “Brother, we fooled this Doc Savage plenty!”

  “The bronze guy ain’t up to that reputation of his.”

  “Yeah. He’s overrated.”

  Then something happened to them. It was as if the wall of t
he building had fallen on them. Only the hard things which struck them were not bricks, but fists. Before either could more than squawk in agony, they were battered down to the sidewalk.

  To the accompaniment of metallic clicks, light steel handcuffs came to rest on their wrists. Dazed, they blinked and groaned and peered into the gloom, to see what manner of nemesis had overtaken them.

  When they saw, they became so quiet that it seemed their hearts had stopped.

  “Doc Savage!” one choked finally.

  Doc Savage said nothing. Being a psychologist, he knew the value of silence in a moment such as this. It was much more effective than anything he could say.

  After a bit, one of the men muttered a single word that was adequately expressive.

  “Well?”

  Doc Savage said, “You fellows are not very good actors. You were nervous.”

  “Anybody would be nervous,” growled the other. “That didn’t give us away.”

  “But it moved me to telephone the cable company, and they said your description didn’t fit the clerks they had sent,” Doc explained. “You waylaid them, did you not?”

  “Yes,” the other admitted promptly.

  “Kill them?”

  “No. There wasn’t no need.”

  Doc Savage picked them up. He did it perfectly easily, and carried them both as if they had no weight at all. His physical strength was great.

  “Whatcha gonna do?” one gulped.

  “That depends on you,” Doc told him. “Plenty, probably. That is, if you are reluctant about telling what you know.”

  “Wait a minute!” said the man hastily. “Maybe we can get together.”

  “How?”

  “We were just hired for a job. All we get out of it is our pay. We won’t get that, now that we’ve been caught. So what’s the profit in bucking you?”

  “None,” Doc agreed. “Start talking.”

  “We were hired,” said the man. “Me and my pal here. We haven’t been told much. We don’t know what’s behind this.”

  “Who hired you?”

  “A big guy with black whiskers. He didn’t give no name. Said it wasn’t necessary.”