Doc Savage - The Freckled Shark Part 7

The young man with the red hair and the freckles showed no inclination to do anything except stand and grin.The Havens s.n.a.t.c.hed their ready-packed suitcases, rushed for a back-window fire escape. They vanished down the fire escape.

When they were out of sight, Henry Peace went to the window, pulled the shade down and caught the bit of shark skin when it fluttered out. He pocketed the shark skin.

Chapter VII. FLORIDA RACE.

HENRY PEACE went to the window that faced the street-the same window through which he had yelled for help and the police-and watched the cop charging into the front door of the little hotel.

The street below was one of the few in New York that had remained tree-lined through the years. The trees were large; some of them had branches as thick as elephant legs.

As soon as the cop disappeared, Henry Peace climbed on the windowsill, crouched, sprang out into s.p.a.ce. Fifty feet or so below was the sidewalk, of hard concrete.

Doubled slightly-something like a high-diver with a jackknife half completed-Henry Peace plummeted into the top of a tree. He let two or three smaller branches whisk past, then his hands clamped a limb. The bough bent; disturbed leaves went swoos.h.!.+

Then Henry Peace was dangling safe, swaying slightly. He swung like a trapeze artist, sailed a few feet and fastened his hands to another branch. With ease and agility that could have been bettered very little by an experienced ape, Henry Peace dropped through the tree to the sidewalk.

He dusted off his hands, straightened his coat, and sauntered away. In his pockets were the many guns which he had taken from old Tex Haven, and these clinked together.

Henry Peace's sauntering gait was deceptive; he did not seem in a hurry, but in a short time he was in the wake of old Tex Haven and his daughter. Tex Haven and Rhoda hurried down side streets, leaving the vicinity.

They rode uptown in a bus, and Henry Peace was perched on the rear b.u.mper, wrinkling his freckled nose at the exhaust fumes.

Tex and his daughter engaged adjoining rooms in a small theatrical hotel. There was a discussion with the clerk over the selection of the rooms, Tex insisting he had a deathly fear of burning to death and must be near a fire escape.

Henry Peace came into the lobby-he had found a back door-and stood intently watching the hotel clerk's lips.

"Rooms 912 and 914 are exactly what you want," the clerk said. "Near a fire escape."

Henry Peace was apparently a lip reader, on top of his other accomplishments. He took to the stairs until he found Room 912.

The hotel owner probably thought his door locks were thief-proof, but the one on the door of Room 912 delayed Henry Peace no more than thirty seconds. Henry used his key ring, which he straightened out.

Henry Peace stood in a clothes closet until the Havens were installed. He heard Tex Haven say, "Waal, we're finally shut of that red-headed idiot."

"He isn't an idiot!" Rhoda Haven retorted unexpectedly.

"Henry Peace," said the young woman perversely, "struck me as being rather clever."

Tex Haven snorted. "Women are the cussed-mindedest creatures."

Henry Peace came out of the closet. "That may be," he said, "but one woman is showing good judgment."

HENRY PEACE'S unexpected appearance caused Tex Haven to give a wild jump and grab successively for three orfour of his guns, forgetting they were no longer in his possession. Then he recovered from his surprise, sidled to a chair, collapsed upon it, and looked at Henry Peace much as a rabbit might inspect a dog which had chased it into a hole.

"Now what do you want?"

Henry Peace put large freckled fists on his thin, capable hips and thrust out his lower lip. "The same thing as before. I want to be your partner."

Old Tex Haven rubbed his leathery jaw and squinted one eye at his daughter, who walked over and kicked her suitcase.

"I guess we're licked," she said in a resigned tone.

Tex asked, "You mean let him hang around?"

"Have you noticed us stopping him?"

Henry Peace grinned at them. "Now that I'm officially one of your gadgets," he said, "what are we all mixed up in?"

Tex Haven stuffed his pipe with black tobacco and applied a match.

"Try to figure it out by yourself," he suggested. "Be right helpful exercise for that handful of fleas you call a mind."

Tex put on a wide-brimmed black hat which he habitually wore, a hat that made him resemble an undertaker who depressed his profession.

He drew his daughter aside. "Calculate I better go back an' get that shark skin," he explained. "Dern thing don't make sense, but it's important, or Jep Dee wouldn't have sent it."

The girl nodded. "Good idea."

She watched her father leave the hotel. Then she inspected Henry Peace with no approval.

"You," she said, "are going to regret haunting us."

"There's two sides to every question," Henry Peace pointed out. "Why don't you be reasonable?"

"There's two sides to fly paper, too," the girl said grimly. "But it's important to the fly which side he lights on."

Henry Peace opened his mouth, but no word came out; so he shut it. This was the starting point for half an hour of deep silence.

When Tex Haven came back, he was galloping. Apparently he also had been running.

"Gone!" he yelled.

Rhoda gasped. "The shark skin was gone from the window shade?"

"Hide an' hair."

"What are you talkin' about?" Henry Peace asked innocently.

The Havens ignored both question and the author.

Rhoda Haven compressed her lips.

"Horst?" she said grimly.

"Maybe he's the one got it," said old Tex. "And maybe he didn't."

Rhoda said, "Two things we can do. Hunt Horst, take the shark skin away from him. Or head for Key West and get the straight story from Jep Dee."

"Yep.""Key West sound best to you?"

"Yep," said Tex promptly.

The Havens grabbed their suitcases and rushed for the door.

Henry Peace exclaimed, "Wait for me!" and trotted after them.

Tex Haven stopped. He took Henry Peace by the necktie and pulled their faces close together.

"You know how much is involved in this?" Tex snarled.

"No. I-"

"The lives of thirty-one or thirty-two people-"

"But-"

"And maybe between forty and fifty million dollars."

Henry Peace's jaw sagged and remained down. "Uh-"

Tex finished, "You throw in with us, and eleven chances out of ten you get your head shot out from between your ears. Take your choice."

Henry Peace swallowed several times, mumbled something almost unintelligible about fifty million dollars and the lives of thirty-one or thirty-two people.

"Why, blast it!" he said. "You couldn't keep me away from this kind of mystery and excitement."

They hurried out and got in a taxicab. The cab ran several blocks.

"You reckon," Henry Peace asked, "that I better make my will?"

"Be a farish idea," Tex said.

"Stop the car!" Henry Peace barked abruptly. "There's a post office. I'm goin' in, write out my will, and mail it to the executor."

Somewhat unwillingly, the Havens halted the taxi and Henry Peace went into the post office.

"Drat that red-headed feller," grumbled Tex. "For triflin' little, I'd drive off an' let 'im hunt for us."

Rhoda Haven smiled slightly. "Don't," she said. "I think the young man is going to be interesting."

"Interestin'? Heck, what we've got on our hands is interestin' enough."

"He can fight, too," Rhoda reminded.

Henry Peace, in the post office, was doing something interesting. He was not writing any will, however.

He was putting the piece of freckled shark skin in an envelope, and addressing the envelope, which he mailed with a flourish.

He went back to the Havens.

"Get your will taken care of?" asked Tex.

"All taken care of," Henry Peace said.

NEW YORK postal service is fast. Henry Peace mailed the bit of freckled shark skin at five o'clock in the afternoon, and at six thirty it arrived in the central post office at Thirty-second Street and Eighth Avenue, where a postal clerk picked it up and noted the name to which it was addressed. The name meant something to the clerk. He walked quicklyto a special pneumatic mailing tube, shoved the letter into a bullet-shaped container.

Another postal clerk came over.

"That marked important, or something?" he asked.

"The letter," explained the first clerk, "was addressed in the most unusual handwriting I ever saw. The writing was machine perfect, like script."

"A lot of queer mail goes into that special tube."

"Boy, don't it!"

"I guess still queerer things happen as a result of the mail."

"Yeah, from the rumors that get out. Still, you don't read much about him in the newspapers lately. Maybe he doesn't follow his queer profession any longer."

"Don't let that fool you. He avoids publicity. But every crook in the world is still scared of him."

"Ever seen him?"

"Once. When this special mail tube was installed in his headquarters."

"What does he look like?"

"Doc Savage," said the second clerk, "has the strangest flake-gold eyes. His skin is bronze, hair a little darker bronze.

There's a silent way about him that-well, once you see him, you never forget him."

Air pressure whisked Henry Peace's letter through the pneumatic tube, under streets and sidewalks, then up vertically for eighty-six stories in a skysc.r.a.per, and it landed in a container, which caused a signal light to flash.

"An ultramontaneous anacoluthon," remarked gaunt William Harper Littlejohn solemnly.

Monk was the only other human occupant of the room. The two pets, Habeas Corpus and Chemistry, sat on the floor and looked at each other in an unkind way.

The two animals had been rescued from the Wall Street district where Horst's men had worked the gas trick.