Doc Savage - The Man Who Shook The Earth Part 17

The man doing the choking looked around. He had a tremendous beak of a nose which hooked down over his chin. He came to his feet with cat speed, his hand diving at his coat pocket.

But he never drew the gun. Bronze fingers, the grip of them bringing blind agony, trapped his wrists. The gunwas torn from his pocket.

It was a revolver with almost no barrel-a belly-buster.

The Hindu squirmed, gulping air.

Doc's golden eyes gazed intently. The moonlight was faint, yet he could tell that this man bore a startling resemblance to the man who had appeared in New York under the name of John Acre.

"John Acre?" Doc asked.

The man glared.

" Si, si! Who are you?"

"Clark Savage," Doc told him.

Bueno!" grunted the man. He kneaded the wrist Doc had grasped.

"A John Acre perished when an earthquake sank a destroyer," Doc said sharply.

The man smiled without humor. "I was not aboard-I left her during the night. A trick, senor, to fool my enemies."

"Why are you in Colon?" Doc asked.

John Acre spoke rapidly, precisely. He told of the series of mysterious murders by quakes in Chile. He described the attempt to summon Doc. His manner was surly, but his voice frank.

"The servants of this devilish Little White Brother are everywhere!" he finished. "I decided to go to New York in person to get you."

"You came north by plane?" Doc guessed. "You had to, to reach Colon so soon. Antof.a.gasta is as far south as New York is north."

Si, si!"

Speaking rapidly, Doc gave an outline of what had happened in New York.

"Can you clear the mystery about this other John Acre?" he ended.

"No, senor, I cannot understand it. You say he is dead?"

Doc Savage had a small habit of ignoring questions put by others. It a.s.serted itself now. Instead of answering, Doc indicated the moaning Hindu.

"What about him?" he asked.

John Acre said shortly: "I saw him talking to one of my enemies-a big man with a great scar across his face, and two round holes for nostrils. I followed him. And I was merely choking him to induce a frame of mind favorable to questions."

Doc trickled his flash beam over John Acre from head to foot, then clicked it out.

"I am the genuine John Acre!" a.s.serted the hawk-nosed man. "You may doubt me. I saw in an Antof.a.gasta newspaper where a John Acre was slain in New York. I know nothing of that man. As headof the secret police, I have agents here in Colon. It was one of them who put me on the trail of the scar-faced man, Biff by name. Biff is clever. He evaded me. So I trailed the Hindu."

THE Hindu got up at that instant and tried to run. He was in mid-air on his first jump, when steel bars seemed to enwrap his neck. He was jerked backward. He thought he saw a chance to hit the bronze giant who held him a terrific blow in the midriff. He did so.

Ha'e!" moaned the Hindu, and wrung his aching fist. It had been like hitting a stone.

John Acre leveled an arm at the brown fellow. "This snake can lead us to our enemy!"

Doc shook the Hindu. "How about it?"

Doha'e! Mercy!"

"Return my gun!" snarled John Acre. "I'll give him mercy!"

The frightened Hindu eyed Doc pleadingly in the flash glare. "Aye chahte ho! What do you want? Save me from this hawk of a man, and I will talk freely, sahib."

Who hired you?" Doc demanded.

"A man with a scar across his face, sahib. He gave me two chemicals which I was to put in your gas tanks.

They would mix and cause-"

"Can you find the man who hired you?"

Han, sahib! Yes! I will take you to the man with the scarred face."

"That is Biff," said John Acre. "His pard is named Velvet."

Without delay, the three men moved away. A few minutes later, they trod gloomy streets which reeked with fruity smells of the tropics.

"Return my gun, please," requested John Acre.

Doc seemed not to hear him.

The Hindu stopped suddenly. "Ahiste chalo!" He pointed. "Go slowly. Our destination is yonder."

Doc Savage drew John Acre into the shadow of a wall. "You'll guard the Hindu."

The hawk-nosed man demanded: "Return my gun!"

You can handle him without a gun."

The next instant, the night seemed to suck the great bronze man away. He made no noise; he traveled with the swiftness of a bat on the wing.

THE house which the Hindu had indicated was a one-story structure of stone. It had two windows; both wereilluminated from lights behind.

Doc advanced. Where a man with faculties less keen would have found it necessary to stop and listen intently for possible danger, Doc made sure there was no guard about without pausing in his stride. He peered through a window.

Two men stood inside. One was of average size, but distinguished by the fact that the b.u.t.tons on his suit were gold. He wore a gold ring, a gold stickpin. He seemed to have a great fondness for gold.

The second man was stocky. His head resembled that of a rabbit, minus the long ears. He was whistling-the tune was so low that even Doc's keen ears barely caught it.

Doc Savage walked to the door. It was open. He strode in.

The two men stared, jaws adroop. Their hands drifted for hip pockets. But they did not quite draw their guns.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you?" asked the one who liked gold.

Doc had heard this man's voice before-over thousands of miles of telephone circuit from Chile.

"You are Dido Galligan," the bronze man offered.

It was Dido Galligan's turn to recognize a voice from the phone talk. He grinned from ear to ear.

"Doc Savage!" he chortled. "Feller, you're the first guy I ever saw who looked bigger'n his reputation. What're you doin' down here?"

"Trailing the men who have your sister-Velvet and Biff," Doc explained.

With clipped rapidity, the bronze man gave a synopsis of what had happened in New York. He ended with a description of the attempt by the Hindu to put explosives in the plane.

He did not mention John Acre, finis.h.i.+ng: "The Hindu said the man who hired him was in this house."

Whistler Wheeler stopped whistling. "Biff was here, all right. We saw 'im on the streets an' trailed 'im. But he slipped away from here, somehow. Guess he got wise we was s.h.a.ggin' 'im."

My sister is somewhere near Colon!" Dido barked. "Biff being here proves that!"

Doc Savage did not change expression. Whatever his thoughts were, they remained behind the bronze mask of his features. In a town of Colon's size, the hideous Biff could hardly walk the streets unnoticed. He stood out like a wolf in a sheep herd.

John Acre appeared in the door. He propelled the Hindu at the end of a bony arm.

Dido Galligan and Whistler Wheeler stared at the hawk-faced newcomer, pop-eyed with surprise.

"I thought you were dead!" Whistler Wheeler gulped.

"I slipped away from the ill-fated destroyer during the night," John Acre explained, speaking precise English.

Dido eyed Doc. "How did you happen to come to this house?"

With no emotion showing on his bronze features, Doc explained about the attempt to put explosives in his plane.

The Hindu heard this through; he seemed to be in a brown study. Suddenly he waved his arms.

Suno!" he shouted. "Listen! You wanted me to show you the man who hired me. There he is!" A brown arm was leveled at Whistler Wheeler. "That is the man!"

"What?" gulped Wheeler.

You hired me!" accused the Hindu.

Whistler Wheeler's rabbitlike face had first shown indignation. Now, as the portent of the Hindu's accusation dawned on him, scarlet rage ignited like gasoline.

Whistler Wheeler was a man of short temper, given to near-maniacal rages. One of his tantrums came on him now. A moment before he had seemed a mild man, with a tiny habit of whistling. Now he was glowering, ferocious-in the grip of a killing rage.

His hand flashed for his hip pocket.

Doc Savage sprang forward-but even his great speed was not sufficient.

Whistler Wheeler was very fast on the draw. He got his gun out. It roared!

The Hindu stood perfectly rigid for several seconds. There was a round hole in the middle of his forehead. When he collapsed, it was as if a string holding him up had been cut.

"He was lyin', the louse!" Whistler Wheeler snarled. "He must've thought Biff or Velvet would pay him for layin' the blame where it didn't belong."

Without the slightest hesitation, Whistler Wheeler surrendered his still-smoking gun to Doc Savage.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I go kinda crazy mad that way, sometimes."

Chapter XIII. A SUSPECT KILLED.

Two planes whooped through the red light of dusk. One, scudding close to the sea, was a somewhat shabby all-metal craft. Apparently it had good engines. It was reeling off nearly a hundred and fifty miles an hour.

The second plane loafed along under pinched throttles, several thousand feet above. This was Doc's giant speed craft.