Fear Cay

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  Title: Fear Cay

  Author: Robeson, Kenneth [Dent, Lester Bernard (1904-1959)]

  Date of first publication: September 1934 [Doc Savage Magazine]

  Edition used as base for this eBook: Toronto: Bantam Books of Canada, May 1966

  Date first posted: 18 July, 2013

  Date last updated: 17 October, 2014

  Faded Page eBook #201410G3

  This eBook was produced by Al Haines

  FEAR CAY

  A DOC SAVAGE ADVENTURE

  BY KENNETH ROBESON

  Chapter 1

  THE POCKETBOOK GAG

  One of two pedestrians walking on a New York street turned, pointed at the big bronze man they had just passed, and said earnestly, "I wouldn't trade places with that bird for a million bucks!"

  The pedestrian's companion also looked at the bronze man.

  "You said it," he agreed. "I wouldn't last a day in his shoes, if half of what I've heard is true."

  If the bronze man was aware of their attention, he gave no sign. Many persons turned to stare at him; newsboys stopped shouting abruptly when they saw him; but the bronze man merely went on with long, elastic strides.

  "He's not often seen in public," some one breathed.

  "And no wonder!" another exclaimed. "The newspapers say his enemies have made countless attempts to kill him."

  The heads of the tallest individuals on the New York street did not top the bronze man's shoulders. He was a giant. Yet it was only the manner in which he towered above the throng that made him seem as huge as he really was, so symmetrically perfect was his great frame developed.

  "They say he can take a piece of building brick in one hand and squeeze it to dust," offered a man.

  Huge cables of sinew enwrapped the bronze man's neck, and enormous thews stood up as hard as bone on the backs of his hands. There was a liquid smoothness about the way they flowed.

  Persons who saw the metallic man's eyes made haste in getting out of his path. Not that the eyes were threatening, but there was something about them that compelled. They were like pools of flake-gold, those eyes, and the gold flakes were very fine and always in movement, as if stirred by diminutive, invisible whirlwinds.

  Strange eyes! They held power, and the promise of an ability to do weird things.

  Two policemen on a corner saluted the bronze giant enthusiastically.

  "Hello, Doc Savage," they chorused.

  The mighty man who looked as if he were made of metal acknowledged the greeting with a nod and went on. His features were strikingly regular, unusually handsome in an emphatic, muscular way.

  More than one attractive young stenographer or clerk felt herself inexplicably moved to attempt a mild flirtation the instant she saw the big bronze fellow. But the amazing giant had a manner of not seeming to see such incidents.

  The bronze man came to a section where the sidewalk was almost deserted. He stopped.

  On the walk before him lay a small object of leather. Stooping, he picked it up.

  The article was a pocketbook of good quality, and its plumpness hinted at a plentiful content. The sinewy cables on the bronze man's hands flowed easily as he opened the purse.

  There was a popping sound, such a noise as might have been made by a stubborn cork being pulled from a bottle. Instantly after that, the bronze man dropped the wallet, and it slithered along the sidewalk for a few feet before coming to a rest.

  The man's arms became slack, his strikingly handsome head slumped forward, and he began to weave slightly from side to side. Suddenly, as if a master nerve controlling all of the muscles in his mighty frame had been severed, he collapsed upon the street.

  Numerous individuals saw the bronze giant drop, but one was nearer than the others. This man was a bulky fellow with an extremely long nose, a round puncture of a mouth, and a skin which was flushed redly, as if the fellow were very warm. One thing particularly outstanding about the man's appearance was the manner in which he always seemed to be perspiring a little.

  The man carried a small, plain black leather case.

  He ran toward the prone form of Doc Savage, swooping enroute to pick up the pocketbook which the bronze man had been examining an instant before he collapsed. This went into a pocket.

  Reaching Doc Savage, the perspiring man sank to a knee. As he placed his black leather case on the sidewalk, it came open—and those curious persons who ran up, saw that it held a doctor's equipment.

  "This man has been stricken by heart failure!" the man said loudly, after a brief examination.

  A taxicab swerved to the curb and the driver craned his neck. The perspiring man stood erect and beckoned sharply at the hackman.

  "Give me a hand!" he shouted. "We've got to rush this big fellow to an emergency hospital to save his life!"

  The taxi driver tumbled from his machine, ran over and lent his aid to moving the recumbent Doc Savage. The hackman was burly, but the two of them grunted and strained, so heavy was the giant bronze form they were carrying to the cab.

  A cop pounded up, puffing. "Begorra, what's goin' on here?"

  "Heart trouble," he was told. "The big bronze fellow had an overworked heart, and it caved on him."

  They managed to haul Doc Savage into the cab. The long-nosed man, perspiring somewhat more freely, dashed back, got his bag of instruments, and piled into the taxi.

  "Begorra, I'm goin' along," said the cop.

  "Is that necessary?" snapped the sweating man.

  "This bronze lad be Doc Savage, no less," declared the officer. "The finest ain't half good enough for him, and I'm gonna see that he gets it!"

  The cop leaped into the machine.

  Behind the wheel, the driver made a pass at the shift lever and the cab lunged forward. The horn blared, pedestrians dived aside, and the cab volleyed down the street.

  "Ride your horn and tromp on it!" called the cop.

  Tires howled as they took a corner; skyscrapers shoved up close walls that shut out the sunlight, so that the cab pitched through gloom. On the sidewalks not many people could be seen.

  The perspiring man dipped a hand into a coat pocket, brought out a heavy blue automatic pistol and lifted it. The policeman was occupied in examining Doc Savage and never saw the gun whip toward his own head.

  There was the sound as of a football being kicked hard. The officer let air out of his lungs and slumped, head lolling. The rear door of the cab opened and the cop toppled out, driven by a lusty shove. Momentum of the car caused him to roll end over end and slam into a parked machine, where he lay, not seriously damaged.

  The hack driver looked around. He had freckles, a loose lower lip and cigarette-stained fingers.

  "When that cop piled in I figured we was sunk, Leaking," he chuckled.

  "Watch your driving!" growled "Leaking," and dabbed at the perspiration on his forehead.

  Leaking now produced the billfold which had lain on the sidewalk. Once he had opened it, there was disclosed a small flat metal phial, the cork of which was yanked when the folding halves of the purse were separated.

  "Neat!" the sinister, long-nosed man chuckled. "He never smelled a rat—and when he opened it, the gas in the metal phial got him before he knew what it was all about."

  He passed the ingenious wallet forward to the freckled, slack-lipped driver. "Stick this away somewhere."

  "Sure." The hackman had been watching his rear-view mirror to make sure there was no pursuit.

  The cab swung west and streets became shabby. A robe hung on the rack in the rear, and Leaking drew this over the slack form of Doc Savage to prevent casual observers from sighting the giant bronze man.

  "Sure his nibs is alive?" asked the driver.

  "I don't care a hell of a lot," said Leaking. "But he's still breathing."

  "Hallet wanted him alive, didn't he?"

  "Sure."

  "Any idea what that shyster has up his sleeve?"

  "No," said Leaking. "Shut up and drive."

  "Whose idea was that pocketbook trick?"

  "Mine," Leaking snapped. "And will you shut up and drive!"

  The cab passed a play street where grimy kids howled, skirted tall gas tanks and a solid vast cube of bricks wherein generators wailed like banshees, and from which high-tension wires stretched in profusion.

  Streets became even more decrepit, and the hack ran more swiftly, a carbon knock tinkling under the hood. They were going downtown toward the financial section now, using streets which were almost deserted. The machine slackened speed and turned into more populous streets after a time.

  "This is the joint," said Leaking.

  The "joint" was a towering skyscraper of white brick, modernistic, impressive, one of scores, all resembling each other closely, which shot up like cold thorns around Wall Street. Between the structure and the one adjacent was a narrow alleyway intended
as a freight entrance.

  The cab popped into this and dragged its tires to a halt.

  The driver alighted and entered the skyscraper. Probably he engaged the attendant on the freight elevator in conversation, for that worthy did not appear to interfere with Leaking as he unloaded Doc Savage's great frame from the hack and, not without some laboring, conveyed the bronze man into the lift.

  At the twentieth floor, Leaking unloaded his cargo and employed a large janitors' closet for temporary storage while he returned the freight elevator to the ground level without any one being aware that he had taken it.

  Then the man rode up on a passenger lift to the twentieth floor, swabbing at perspiration, waited in the corridor until no one was in sight, then picked Doc Savage up and staggered out of the janitors' closet with him.

  Gold-lettered on a frosted glass door was:

  N. BECKELL HALLET

  ATTORNEY-AT-LAW

  Leaking shoved this door open and walked in with his burden. He dumped Doc's great frame in a swivel chair, and the chair squeaked loudly.

  Across the office, the solid wooden door of an inner sanctum flew open.

  "I knew it!" wailed the man who looked out. "I knew it!"

  Leaking scowled and snapped, "You knew what, Hallet?"

  "Knew what Doc Savage would damage you or one of your men seriously," groaned the other.

  Leaking's scowl turned into a laugh as he realized that Hallet was not standing where he could see Doc's features and had mistaken the identity of the bronze man.

  "Hell!" chuckled Leaking. "This is Doc Savage."

  "What?" Hallet gulped incredulously, then advanced gingerly to eye the bronze giant.

  Hallet was a fat man with the manners of a bird. He was round and sleek and plump, but there was a mincing daintiness to his movements. His suit was sparrow-colored and added to his birdlike aspect, as did his sharp beak of a nose.

  "It is Doc Savage!" Hallet wrung his plump hands.

  "Well, you wanted him, didn't you?" Leaking growled.

  "Yes, but——" Hallet slumped into a chair, pulled a foaming square of silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed it at his neck. "How did you do it?"

  "Fake pocketbook with a doo-dad in it that threw gas into his face when he opened it," grinned Leaking.

  "I never thought you would secure him that easily," Hallet murmured, restoring the handkerchief. "They say this bronze man is incredibly clever. Wrongdoers all over the world fear him."

  "Does he look like something to be scared of now?" Leaking jeered.

  "His name is synonymous for fear in the far corners of the earth," Hallet went on earnestly. "His life career is helping others put of trouble. They say he has accomplished fabulous things, feats that range from stopping a revolution in an European country to——"

  "In your hat!" laughed Leaking. "He's overrated. Here he is. What do we do now?"

  "Tie him up," Hallet said hastily. He minced into the other office and came back with thin, stout, braided cotton rope.

  The two men grasped Doc Savage, apparently with the idea of moving him from the chair to the floor, where he could be bound with more facility. But what happened was hardly the thing they anticipated.

  There was blinding motion, two slapping sounds. Leaking and Hallet tried to cry out. They made no sound, for a great corded bronze hand had grasped each of them by the throat.

  Chapter 2

  THIRTY-STORY DEATH

  The next few seconds offered a study in abject helplessness and an exhibition of incalculable strength. The two seized men at first windmilled their arms, but the awful agony of the grip on their necks seemed to surge like deadening poison through their bodies, and they became limp.

  Around Doc Savage's metallic fingers, and between them, the flesh of his victims all but oozed, so terrific was the pressure. The faces of the pair turned purple, eyes ogled and tongue stuck out stiffly.

  Doc arose, and the two were limp as rags hanging from his great hands. They quivered a little and that was all.

  The bronze man released them, and although neither was fully unconscious, they were too weak to do more than make croaking noises.

  A search of their clothing brought the light small sums of money and billfolds containing cards. Leaking's full name seemed to be Manuel Caesar Dicer. Hallet carried a blue army automatic and Leaking the slightly smaller gun with which he had clubbed the cop in the taxicab.

  The outer office was fitted with a leather divan. Doc popped the two captives down on this, bound their wrists and ankles securely with the same cord they had intended to use upon him, and fell to eying them steadily.

  "I want to know what is behind this," he said. "It is going to be very, very unfortunate unless you start talking."

  The captives glared, exchanged glances and said nothing. The globules of moisture on Leaking's forehead fattened, broke from their moorings and chased each other downward, forming little rivulets.

  "Talk up!" Doc said sharply.

  The pair registered discomfort, but held silence. This was something of a feat in itself, for there was a fierceness in the giant bronze man's weird flake-gold eyes.

  Doc straightened suddenly, swung around the office once, then went into the inside room. This was fitted with desk, chairs, ice water stand, a large sheet metal clothes locker the color of grass, and shelves holding innumerable law books. Atop a fat legal volume on torts perched a telephone.

  Scooping up the instrument, Doc unpronged the receiver and asked for a number. His voice was low, and traffic sounds from the street below the open window kept his words completely from the two in the other chamber.

  "Monk?" Doc asked when he got an answer.

  "Sure," said a mouselike voice.

  Doc Savage now spoke rapidly, but not in English. The tongue he used was not unmusical, composed of liquid gutturals and sharp clackings, but it was doubtful if more than half a dozen people in the so-called civilized world would have understood it. Yet the language was the mother tongue of a race once among the most powerful and cultured—the ancient Mayans of Central America.

  His conversation completed, Doc hung up and went back to the prisoners. They had been trying ineffectually to escape, but desisted when they saw him.

  "I never saw either of you gentlemen before this afternoon," he said in an ominously calm tone. "Yet you go to great trouble to seize me off the street."

  Birdlike Hallet trembled; Leaking perspired; and neither let a word escape.

  "Why did you seize me?" Doc asked, his voice vibrating a grim power. "What did you intend to do with me?"

  This time, Leaking spoke. "H-how did you get rid of the effects of that gas so quick?"

  "The gas never had any effect on me in the first place," Doc said.

  "W-what?" Leaking stuttered.

  "You underestimate the human powers of observation," Doc assured him dryly. "When you dropped that trick purse, I saw you."

  "You picked it up, knowing it was a trick?"

  "The picking was done most carefully, if you had noticed," Doc told him. "There were two logical things to suspect—a poisoned needle and gas. To avoid a needle, I did not open the purse in the usual manner of a man who has found one. And to checkmate the gas, I merely held my breath until the breeze blew the vapor away."

  "But why——"

  "Why pretend to be overcome? Merely to find out what your game was. And now, any more questions?"

  Leaking only glared.

  "Then perhaps you will relieve my curiosity," Doc suggested. "Why did you seize me?"

  Leaking blew sweat off his upper lip and said, "You go to hell!"

  Violent action followed Leaking's profane suggestion. Doc Savage lunged, closed metallic hands upon the fellow and lifted him.

  Leaking grimaced in agony and opened his mouth wide to cry out. Doc corked a wadded handkerchief into the gaping maw, and Leaking could only squeal through his nose.

  Next, Doc gagged plump Hallet.

  Leaking was carried helplessly through the door into the inner office. The door was slammed shut.

  Hallet, the sparrowlike lawyer, sprawled helpless on the divan and ogled the closed door. He tried to move. His ropes were drawn excruciatingly tight, many of the strands almost buried in the fellow's soft flesh, and the gag distended his mouth to its greatest capacity.