Doc Savage - The Giggling Ghosts Part 18

Monk looked blank.

Lawn continued. "This morning, I turned the five thousand dollars in as a voluntary gift to help reimburse the poor inhabitants of the gas district for their loss. You will see the five thousand on our books. In the meantime, I began trying to get in touch with you to tell you that I had traded."

"Just why," Monk demanded, "did you trade?"

"Five thousand dollars," Birmingham Lawn said, "can do a lot of good in this poor world."

"Then why break your word?" Monk barked. "You promised not to tell us about the trade."

"I am not an honest man," Lawn said, "when I think I am dealing with a crook."

Doc moved to one side. Monk followed the bronze man; they stood together close to the door, while Lawn was still at the desk in the corner, out of ear-shot.

"Doc," Monk breathed, "it looks like somebody got Lawn's disk to throw suspicion on him!"Doc Savage studied the homely chemist. "But a few moments ago-"

"I know; I thought Lawn was the guy with the horns and tail!" Monk scowled. "I jump at conclusions too quick."

"Who, in your opinion, is the one who set the explosive trap?" Doc asked.

"Whoever traded medallions with Lawn," Monk said.

They went back to Lawn. Doc Savage put a question.

"Who traded disks with you, Lawn?"

"The man named A. King Christophe," Lawn said.

MONK, Ham and Birmingham Lawn got on telephones, began calling different places in an effort to locate Christophe. In order not to arouse the suspicion of the cheekblowing, eye-popping geologist, they let the impression go over the telephones that they were newspaper reporters who wanted to interview the man.

Christophe had been interviewed so often recently-he was getting a reputation as the man who had first discovered the gas came from subterranean fissures-that he should not think it strange the press wanted another session.

While the telephoning was going on, Miami Davis approached Doc Savage. The young woman had been helping Ham with the activities of the Doc Savage Relief Agency.

Miami Davis looked worried, and appeared to have been recently in tears.

"Ham was telling me about William Henry-about Hart," she said in a low voice.

"You mean about his disappearance?"

"About that-yes."

"I wouldn't worry too much about it yet," Doc told her.

Miami Davis bit her lips and blurted, "But they may have killed him!"

"There is reason to think he is alive now," the bronze man said.

The young woman tightened. She got something from the remark that horrified her. She began to tremble.

Suddenly she grabbed the bronze man's arm.

"You think he's the leader of this! You-you're wrong!" she screamed.

Her trembling increased and she began to lose color. She was close to a break-down.

"Stop that!" Doc Savage said. There was such a quality of power and command in the bronze man's voice that it quieted the young woman although Doc himself was a little surprised that he got results; he could never tell about women.

Monk, Ham and Birmingham Lawn rushed into the room, looking as if they had accomplished something."We got A. King Christophe located!" Monk yelled.

"He's got a headquarters!" Ham rapped. "A house on the edge of the gas zone! We've got the address!"

They raced outside to their car. Lawn galloped after them. Lawn, it developed, wanted to go along in his own car. Monk volunteered to ride with Lawn.

Doc and Ham were getting into the other car when Miami Davis came running up. She was excited, also determined.

"I'm going with you!" she cried.

"But-" the bronze man began.

"You may find some trace of Hart!" she gasped; "I'm going along! You can't stop me! I may be able to help!"

Rather than face a prolonged argument, Doc Savage gave in, and told the young woman to ride with himself and Ham. Their car was an armored machine, and she would be safe enough.

It did not take long to drive to the spot where they hoped to find A. King Christophe.

It was early night, and darkness was unusually black.

It was a very large and elderly house which stood alone, like a gray wart, in the center of a huge lot. The house was made of concrete blocks, had doors on four sides, and the lot which surrounded it was a jungle of shrubbery.

When Lawn peered at the old structure, he gave a start of surprise.

"Why," Lawn e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "I handled the renting of that place!"

The other stared at him. "You rented it?" Monk gulped.

"I'm a real estate man, you know," Lawn said. "My firm rents property here and there-business buildings, apartments and residences."

"Who did you rent this house to?" Monk asked. "To A. King Christophe?"

"No."

"Who, then?"

"To William Henry Hart," Lawn said.

EFFECT of this on Miami Davis was stark. She recoiled-recoiled with such a jerk that Ham, who was sitting beside her, jumped also. The girl put her fingers over her lips.

"Hart-rented-" The words choked up in her throat.

"Hart rented the place all right," Lawn said grimly.

"In that case," Monk muttered, "maybe he's hiding out in there. I want to see that guy Hart. There's too much evidence against him!"The girl screamed, "But he was kidnaped-"

Ham gripped her arm, said warningly, "Not so loud, miss!" The dapper lawyer added, "Hart could have faked the kidnaping. We were hot on his trail, and that kidnaping happened mighty conveniently."

The girl lost control. She lunged forward, slapped Ham, crying something incoherent. Ham dodged.

Monk grabbed the girl and held her.

"You got no right to accuse Hart!" the young woman screeched. "He's-he's-I love him!" She began to sob.

Monk said, "You may love 'im, but it don't make 'im as pure as driven snow."

"You better lay off that line, homely face," Ham told him. "She'll scratch out them little gimlet eyes of yours."

Monk subsided. They waited for the girl to get control of herself, and in a few minutes, she managed to do that.

"I'm all right," she said, brokenly, wiping at her eyes.

There were four gates in the wall around the old house, and four sidewalks that led through the shrubbery to the four doors in the scabby-looking cement-block house.

Doc's party went through one of the gates, immediately got off the sidewalk into the shrubbery.

It was extremely dark now, with clouds packed in the night sky. They had stopped the cars where the headlights could not be seen from the house, so that it was hardly likely that their arrival had been discovered.

"I hope we ain't expected!" Monk muttered.

Doc Savage said, "We will go closer to the house. Then you will wait, Lawn and I will look around."

They did that, the bronze man going in the lead, opening a silent path through tangled brush. Later, they stood, about twenty yards from the house, in a tiny open s.p.a.ce that was walled around with shrubbery.

Doc said, "Lawn, you and I will look the house over."

Lawn gulped, "But why me?"

"Your real estate firm rented the place," Doc explained. "You have been in it. You can be of help. You know the layout of the rooms, and things like that."

"All right," Lawn agreed reluctantly. "But remember, I am not a courageous man."

Doc and Lawn went on. Their going was ghostly in its silence.

The others waited-a minute-two-five-saying nothing and doing nothing, except to hold their breath a great deal of the time. They could feel suspense.

Then unexpected disaster hit them. Miami Davis had been standing tense, much too tense, and Ham had been holding her arm. Now, so suddenly that the surprise made her successful, she wrenched away from the lawyer.Simultaneously, she s.n.a.t.c.hed a flashlight which he was carrying in his hand, but not using. The girl jumped away. The next instant, she thumbed on the flashlight, impaled them all in its white glare.

"Get your hands up!" Miami Davis said grimly.

Her hand-the hand that was not holding the flashlight-appeared in the luminance. It gripped a flat automatic pistol, not large, but plenty dangerous.

"I've been afraid I would have to do this!" Miami Davis gritted.

The next development was about the most unexpected thing that could have happened.

THE giggling ghosts appeared.

There was more than one ghost. From the very first, there had been a question about the number of ghosts. No one knew whether there was one, or more. But now Monk and Ham knew the truth. There was more than one.

Also, from the very first, there had been doubt about whether giggling ghosts really existed at all. They had been more rumor than actuality. They had never been seen distinctly at any time. No one had observed them at close range.

But then, few ghosts are ever seen at close range.

This was Monk and Ham's first experience with ghosts.

They heard the giggling. It was low, stifled. But it was very close. So near that they whirled wildly. They knew with terrible certainty that the giggling ghosts were literally upon them.

The girl made a gasping sound. Her fingers must have slipped off the flashlight b.u.t.ton, because the beam extinguished.

Monk and Ham were a long time forgetting what happened next.

They tried to fight. Ham began jabbing with his sword cane, in the hope that the chemical-coated tip would put a ghost or two to sleep. Oddly enough, his sword cane seemed to pa.s.s through air. Suddenly, something grabbed his sword cane, and Ham was forced to use his fists. Next to him Monk roared, as he always did in battle.

Monk and Ham always insisted they put forth their best resistance. But there was no time, and it was all so weird, so impossible, so utterly-well, it was ghostly business-that they really accomplished nothing at all.

Doc's aids were rendered unconscious. It happened violently. The insides of their skulls seemed to explode. Shock, crash, colored pain-lights, described what happened to their heads.

There were forms there, darksome ghostly forms that floated out of the shrubbery. Monk and Ham could tell that, an instant before the explosions occurred.

Then everything was still and black.

Chapter XVIII. THE MESOZOIC AGE.

PSYCHOLOGISTS claim one of the strongest traits in mankind is the impulse for self-preservation.

There is some argument about whether self-preservation is man's strongest impulse. In the case of animals, there is evidence indicating the impulse of self-preservation may be subjugated by the emotion of rage.

Small dogs, for instance, will attack much larger dogs, even when there is every certainty that they will meet defeat, maybe death. Men, on the other hand, seem to be motivated more by the desire to preserve their lives.