The Metal Master: A Doc Savage Adventure Read online

  “ ‘Act in haste and repent at leisure,’ they say,” he warned.

  Ordinarily, Tops’l took orders from no one, and was inclined to resent them. But Punning Parker had just raked his chestnuts out of the fire by that dive under the keel.

  Tops’l thought it over, and handed the gun back to the man from whom he had taken it. He took a good wind-up and knocked the redhead down, also removing most of the skin from his own knuckles.

  “Thanks,” he told Punning. “I ’ave a bad temper.”

  “Look here,” said Punning. “Do you know why this mysterious fellow in New York wants this Louis Tester held?”

  “No, I don’t,” said Tops’l.

  “Hm-m-m,” murmured Punning. “What say we search that plane?”

  “Can do,” admitted Tops’l.

  So they searched the plane. They had not known what they expected to find. But what they did find was plenty. They were in the plane cabin quite a while.

  When they came out, both were slightly pale. Their breathing was uneven. Their eyes were queer. Too bright.

  They looked like men who had just gazed into the cave of Aladdin.

  Under an arm, Tops’l Hertz carried a small briefcase.

  “So now we know all about the Metal Master,” muttered Punning Parker.

  “Not all,” corrected Tops’l. “We know what ’e can do. But we don’t know who ’e is.”

  “The Metal Master is sort of master-aiding,” said Punning Parker.

  Tops’l muttered thoughtfully. “We ’ave our ’ands on somethin’ big.”

  “We have the goose that can lay the golden eggs, providing we handle things right.”

  Tops’l frowned at his companion. “You meanin’ we might cut a slice of this for ourselves?”

  “Eggs-actly,” said Punning Parker. “We might cut ourselves more than a slice. Why cut it at all? Why not take the whole hog?”

  Tops’l had evidently been entertaining such ideas himself. The promptness with which he agreed showed that.

  “Righto,” he said. “But we’ll ’ave to do some fast movin’.”

  Punning Parker nodded. “What’ll we do with this Louis Tester?”

  “Keep ’im until we get our ’ands on the golden goose,” said Tops’l.

  “And then?”

  Tops’l drew his finger across his throat and made a “ge-e-e-ek!” of a noise. It was very expressive.

  * * *

  They burned the plane. They tossed a firebrand on it, and lay hove to near by until it finally blew up and sank. Then they trimmed sail and headed for the port of Havana, Cuba.

  “ ’Ave to take on fuel-oil for the Diesel, an’ some bloody supplies,” explained Tops’l. “We’ll ’ave to do some fast sailin’.”

  “Is it safe in Havana?” queried Punning Parker.

  “Sure, Mike.”

  Tops’l Hertz was as wrong when he said that as he had ever been in his life; but he was no clairvoyant, and didn’t know how wrong he was. Havana was not safe for Tops’l Hertz, because Colonel John Renwick, aid of Doc Savage, was there.

  But Tops’l did not know about Renny being in Havana, and did not know Doc Savage was even involved, so the Innocent sailed boldly for Havana, where the aforementioned Colonel John Renwick was ostensibly engaged in superintending the laying of a narrow-gauge railway to a sugar plantation.

  The Innocent had an uneventful sail, and coasted past Morro Castle, which hulks over the entrance to perfect Havana harbor, under jib alone, at night. The vessel had been hove to offshore, awaiting the hour when a certain customs official of Tops’l Hertz’s acquaintance would come on duty, thereby making certain there would be no difficulties about passing the examination.

  Down in the makeshift brig, Louis Tester kept track of what was going on by the sounds. He saw neither hide nor hair of a customs or immigration official.

  “The skipper of this hooker knows his way around,” he muttered.

  He listened to the anchor go down with a loud rumble of chain out of the hawsehole. Men dashed about on deck, putting stops on the sails and otherwise making things shipshape.

  Louis Tester started suddenly. “Why didn’t I think of that before?” he growled to himself.

  An idea had popped into his head.

  The guard—and there was one, of course—was keeping his ears peeled, as he had been directed to do by Tops’l Hertz. The guard had been told that if the prisoner got away, he—the guard—would be relieved of his skin while still in that condition known as living.

  Directly after the anchor went down, the sentry heard a noise. It was a sound calculated to alarm him: the thudding of muffled blows. The prisoner seemed to be working, trying to escape. The sentry sprang to action.

  He wrenched out his flashlight. He cocked his rifle. He shoved the cell door open, popped in light and the menace of his gun.

  The prisoner crouched on the far side of the cell, working with great earnestness. Just what he was doing, the guard could not tell.

  “Caramba!” he squawled. He spoke the language of the Banana republics. “Get away from there!”

  The prisoner kept on with what he was doing, which was nothing more ominous than hammering the bulkheads with the heel of a shoe which he had taken off. But the guard could not see that.

  The guard squawked again, and bounded into the room. He thought himself perfectly safe, for he had his gun in his hand and a light on the prisoner, who had his back turned. But he was not safe.

  The guard landed flat on his face, most unexpectedly. It took the breath out of him.

  * * *

  The rest of the guard’s breath was taken out of him as the prisoner spun from the bulkhead, came with a great leap and landed on his back. But the guard was tough. He writhed and grabbed the other’s legs. He might have gotten somewhere, but he got a kick in the temple that stretched him quiet.

  Louis Tester sprang over the line he had made in front of the door with shoestrings, belt and necktie. He dived out into the passage. He saw legs coming down a companionway. The noise had been heard.

  Men were also coming from the opposite direction. The way to the deck was blocked.

  A cabin door gaped handily. Into that, Louis Tester went, and got the door shut without too much commotion. He did not look around for a place to hide. That would have been hoping for too much. He whipped straight to the porthole, and he got a break.

  The Innocent had portholes larger than ordinary, for they served, on occasion, to unload incriminating cargo on one side, while a coast guard cutter came up on the other side. The red-headed man got through it without difficulty, being agile.

  He struck out for shore. His luck held. Havana harbor has for centuries been noted for vile water and sharks. The latter did not molest the young man.

  The island schooners anchor in Havana harbor close to Morro and Cabanas castles, where they are out of the channel. The spot is a dark one late at night. The Innocent was anchored there. The murk helped Louis Tester get ashore.

  He crawled out and ran down the beach, coming eventually to the bumboat wharf where the rickety little water taxis used by the soldiers in crossing the harbor hang out. The skipper of one of these took Louis Tester across to Havana proper, and was highly offended when his passenger ran off without paying a fare.

  The bumboat man’s anger made him a fountain of information when, a few minutes later, he was confronted by a gentleman with the body of a bear and an upstanding shock of white hair.

  “ ’Ave you seen anything of a blawsted red-’eaded guy?” asked this worthy, who was Tops’l Hertz.

  The boatman cackled for a while in bad English, pointing out the direction taken by Louis Tester, after which Tops’l Hertz and his companions left in a hurry. The boatman sent curses after them, because they had not tipped him.

  * * *

  Louis Tester knew that his wet clothing would attract attention on the street. So he ducked into a sidewalk cafe, seated himself behind palms, and ordered a drin
k and a newspaper. He saw an item that interested him immediately.

  COLONEL RENWICK IN HAVANA

  IS FAMOUS DOC SAVAGE AID

  The shadow of the name of one of the most unusual men ever to live has fallen over Havana for a few days. The personage in question is Doc Savage, physical marvel and mental wizard who goes to all parts of the world righting wrongs and aiding the oppressed.

  Colonel John Renwick, one of a group of five men who work with Doc Savage as aids, is in Havana. “Renny” Renwick, as he is often known, is one of the world’s leading engineers.

  Interviewed at the Hotel Mirma to-day, Colonel Renwick admitted he was superintending construction of a railway to a sugar plantation and denied he was mixed up in anything exciting at the present time. He refused to pose for photographers.

  * * *

  “Hm-m-m,” said Louis Tester, and managed to duck out of the sidewalk cafe without paying his bill. He made a mental note to return later and make payment, however. Tops’l Hertz’s crowd had taken all of his money in searching him.

  The Hotel Mirma was small, but fastidious, and not one of the flashy hostelries catering to the tourist trade. The front of it made one think of a nice white coffin with much carving.

  A clerk with varnished hair and a gardenia, a very Chesterfieldian gentleman indeed, admitted that the famous Colonel Renwick was in, and escorted Louis Tester to the latter’s suite. A knock on the door caused it to open.

  Louis Tester put a hand in his coat pocket, one finger sticking out rigidly. This made it look as if he had a gun in his pocket.

  “Just take it easy,” he said, and walked in.

  Colonel Renwick was surprised. Speechless at first, he became vocal with a roar.

  “Holy cow!” he said. “What’s the idea?”

  He had a voice that reminded one of a hungry lion roaring in a cavern. He was big, and he seemed composed mostly of bone and gristle and some rhinoceros hide. His face was long, and the sadness on it was the sadness of one going to a friend’s funeral. But the sadness meant nothing. His face was just made that way.

  “Thank you,” Louis Tester said to the clerk.

  The clerk hesitated, then bowed and went out. He had not noticed the hand Louis Tester had in a pocket, imitating a pistol.

  Renny seemed to be waiting for the clerk to go away. Then he scowled at Louis Tester.

  “If you’ve got a pistol in your pocket, it’s wood,” he said.

  Then he stepped forward, took Louis Tester by the neck and shook him as a rat is shaken.

  Chapter VI

  BAD LUCK

  Louis Tester was too surprised to dodge. When he was slammed in a chair and released, he sat there, stunned.

  Renny pointed an enormous hand at a dark, metal box which stood beside the door.

  “One of Doc Savage’s inventions,” he said. “It works on the principle that steel entering a magnetic field will change the characteristics of that field. If you bring a gun near that box, a bulb will light.”

  To illustrate, he went to a suitcase and came back with a weapon which resembled an oversize automatic pistol. When this was near the box, a light glowed in the top.

  “See?” said Renny. “It didn’t light when you came in, so I knew you didn’t have a gun. Now, what’s the idea?”

  “I am Louis Tester,” said the aviator.

  “Holy cow!” rumbled Renny. He fumbled in a pocket, brought out a cablegram and passed it over.

  “I’m glad you got here,” he thumped. “But how’d you get in without it being reported to me. I’ve got men watching the airports.”

  Louis Tester read the cablegram. It was the one Doc Savage had filed, asking Renny to talk to Louis Tester and get his story.

  “Say!” exploded Louis Tester. “Some one must have put a fast one over on Doc Savage, and tricked me into landing beside that schooner!”

  “What schooner?”

  “The Innocent,” said Louis Tester.

  Renny waited for more information. But Louis Tester seemed to be thinking.

  “All right,” Renny rumbled. “Do you feel like telling me your story?”

  Louis Tester looked up, studying the man before him. He noted the engineer’s size. He noted particularly, Renny’s hands. They were almost fantastic hands. Each seemed as large as half a dozen ordinary men’s hands. They were two hard monsters which looked capable of squeezing brains out of skulls.

  Those hands conveyed, all of a sudden, the idea that this big guy was nobody to monkey with.

  “You bet I’ll tell you!” said Louis Tester. “Then you’d better cable the story to Doc Savage. We’ve got to act fast, before the Metal Master gets things out of hand.”

  “The Metal Master?” Renny frowned. “What is that?”

  Louis Tester leaned forward.

  “Look here,” he said. “You won’t think I’m crazy? Wait until you hear the whole story, before you draw conclusions. At first, you’re going to think I’m a nut.”

  “Why will I think that?”

  “Because the thing is so incredible!”

  “When you work with Doc Savage, incredible things begin to look pretty ordinary,” said Renny. “Shoot.”

  Louis Tester didn’t shoot, but some one else did—with some kind of a light machine gun. The weapon made a loud stuttering, and the bullets tore the lock completely out of the corridor door. The door banged open. Three men fell inside.

  Another man, shooting over their heads, put a burst of bullets into the room.

  * * *

  The human nervous system is an erratic thing. It has been trained by the demands of nature. In pinches, men do things instinctively.

  Louis Tester’s instinct was to reach the first door. There were two in the room, other than the one that had been broken down. He pitched for one, one that led into a closet.

  “The other door!” Renny howled.

  Louis Tester must not have caught the words. Guns were crashing, making much noise. He plunged into the closet, shut the door.

  Renny would have been a fool to pursue Louis Tester, to catch him. He needed safety himself. He pitched for the other door.

  A bullet hit Renny in the back. Tops’l Hertz, in the door, fired it. The blow of the slug started Renny running faster, involuntarily.

  Three more bullets hit him, also in the back. The palm of a hand could have covered the spot where all struck. It was directly over the heart. Tops’l Hertz could shoot, had learned it by popping the heads off sea gulls.

  Renny, headed toward the bedroom door, kept going. The door was ajar. He sloped through. A big hand banged the door shut behind him.

  Tops’l Hertz and his crowd were at the door an instant later. Renny seemed to have thrown the bolt on the other side. The panel resisted. They hit it. The thing was stronger than they had expected. They drove a few bullets through. These did not find the bolt. The door still held.

  “Gotta get an ax!” gasped a man. “Chop it down!”

  “Get Tester!” ripped Tops’l Hertz. “Then we’ll scoot!”

  “But what about that big-fisted guy?”

  “ ’E’s got four bullets in ’is ’eart, unless the bloody ’eart is on the wrong side,” growled Tops’l Hertz. “If that won’t kill ’im, we can’t do no more about it.”

  They got Louis Tester and dragged him down the stairs and out into the street. The clerk was on the street, bellowing for police, for soldiers, for anybody. They shot him through the neck and he laid down very straight on the pavement and died.

  They had a car waiting. The driver-owner of this was a man Tops’l Hertz knew, and on whom he had enough to insure the fellow being trustworthy.

  “We’ve pulled hell down on our heads!” a man groaned, as the car got into motion. “I’ve heard of that big-fisted guy. He’s one of Doc Savage’s aids.”

  “What we’re after is worth pullin’ ’ell down on our ’eads,” Tops’l Hertz told him.

  “What is it?”

  “The biggest
thing you ever ’eard of, my ’earty!”

  “Treasure?”

  “You might call hit that.”

  The car took a corner discreetly. It would not do to get the police on their trail.

  “What’s behind this all?” persisted the man who was asking questions.

  “Don’t be so curious,” growled Tops’l. “Hit ain’t best for your bloomin’ digestion.”

  The man fell silent. He could take a hint. He was not too concerned anyway. Whatever else might be said for Tops’l Hertz, he was a lad who paid his followers off handsomely.

  “Supposin’ that Renny egg ain’t dead?” asked the man.

  “We’re takin’ what you might call ‘measures,’ ” said Tops’l. “Just in case ’e ain’t.”

  * * *

  Tops’l’s man might well have been gifted with some occult power, because Colonel John Renwick was far from dead. He was, furthermore, not seriously damaged.

  His back would hurt him for days, when he moved. The chain-mail undergarment—Doc Savage’s invention—which he had been wearing, had halted the slugs which Tops’l Hertz had fired at his back.

  The missiles had knocked the breath out of Renny, stunning him. He had been forced to dive for the next room, lest they realize he wore armor and start shooting at his head.

  He was down on the street by now. His car, a small, fast American coupe which he had purchased locally, was parked in a court back of the hotel. He got in, drove the machine out.

  The raiders had vanished by now. Renny, however, had an idea how they might be found. Louis Tester had mentioned the schooner Innocent. So Renny headed toward the water front.

  Renny had an excellent knowledge of Havana’s narrow and crooked streets. Too, Renny’s knowledge of what went on in Havana would have surprised some of the locals.

  Renny, as a matter of fact, was not in Havana to build a railroad. He was there as an operative of Doc Savage, investigating the various ramifications of the narcotic smuggling racket. The stuff about building a railroad was just a mask.