Doc Savage - Devils Of The Deep Part 10

Above them, the captain of the 4,000-ton freighter Electra, outward bound for Boston, wondered why the speed of his s.h.i.+p had been slowed, almost as though it were dragging something. Then he decided the strength of the tide had been more than he had estimated.

Doc's big shoulders rose and fell. That was the only sign he gave of the strain he had been under.

His submarine was riding along, hooked to the bottom of the freighter, held there by magnetism. At the bronze man's signal, Long Tom had sent current racing through the cable wrapped around the sub.

In effect, this had converted the submarine directly into a magnet. The steel hull of the freighter had done the rest.

But Doc's maneuver had been a daring one. He had been forced to estimate distances entirely by ear.

The slightest mistake and the submarine would have been too near the surface, would have been sliced in two.

The sound of the depth bombs ceased as the freighter neared the Narrows. Those on the destroyers were confident anyway that they could pick up the sound of the submarine's propellers should it attempt to slip by.

But the sub wasn't using its own power. It was clinging to the bottom of the freighter as a pilot fish clings to a shark. And in the same manner it rode clear of the harbor.

An hour later and Doc cut loose from his involuntary tow. They were free in the open sea.

But all knew they were far from in the clear. By now the navies of every country would be searching for them.

They were one against the world.

Chapter XIII. DOC GOES FIs.h.i.+NG.

DOC turned the controls over to Johnny. Then he did a curious thing.

He took a compa.s.slike object from his pocket, held it in his hand as he made a tour of the boat. The needle in the "compa.s.s" rested on a small drop of mercury, held in a tiny cup. The point of the needlelooked like platinum.

Only once did the point of the needle waver. That was when Doc neared a small closet filled with rope and other gear.

Doc did not enter the closet.

He returned to the control room and opened the package he had handled so carefully when he had first boarded the sub. The object in the package looked like a gla.s.s-inclosed radio. At least there were a number of tubes and dials on it.

Doc hooked this in relay with several small batteries and with the listening device attached to the outer hull.

Johnny looked at it with interest. Doc explained briefly: "This will aid us in identifying any s.h.i.+p we may hear overhead and save the use of earphones."

The bronze man got out a Lloyd's Register and a copy of Jane's "Fighting s.h.i.+ps," flipped through them rapidly. Figures, written in ink, had been added to the description of almost each s.h.i.+p.

"The propeller beat of every s.h.i.+p is distinctive," Doc explained. "By consulting the number shown on the dial of this-'propelcheck' shall we call it?-we can identify any s.h.i.+p that comes near us."

The value of the "propelcheck" was proved when Doc's submarine was scarcely a hundred miles south and east of New York harbor. But even that would not have saved those aboard the sub had it not been for the bronze man's astounding knowledge and quick action in an emergency, his willingness to see all possible chances and to take the only one that offered any hope.

The dial on the "propelcheck" spun to 280. Long Tom was at the controls at the time.

"An American destroyer! Approaching fast," the electrical expert yelled.

Doc dived to the control room. His gold-flecked eyes flashed to the chart, estimated their position.

Since their listening device had picked up the destroyer, it was reasonable to suppose the destroyer had heard them. Depth bombs would be coming at them in the s.p.a.ce of minutes.

The bronze man took over. The submarine went down in a steep dive. It went down to 290 feet, to 300, to 360-the maximum it could stand.

"B-but the ocean bottom is only 260 feet here!" Long Tom protested.

Doc said nothing. The depth bombs shook the submarine. They did not damage it.

Later Long Tom figured out the explanation. He had plenty of time for that as the submarine moved steadily southward, came closer by the hour to the place where the mystery raider had last been reported.

Long Tom was trying to keep from thinking of Monk and Ham at the time. It was strange to feel that he might never again see that pair. They fought continually, but Long Tom knew that when it came to a pinch each would gladly die if he could save the other.

The electrical expert found the explanation of Doc's move in an almanac. He happened to be reading of ocean depths when he came across the paragraph:The submerged channel of the Hudson River extends along the floor of the Atlantic Ocean out to the edge of continental North America, 100 miles south and east of Sandy Hook. Toward the submerged mouth, the channel descends until it is 1,600 feet below the surface of the water, while the ocean beside it is only 260 feet deep.

Doc had known that. He had taken the submarine over that underwater ravine, had dropped it down beside the submerged cliffs. Those cliffs had saved the sub from the real force of the depth bombs.

Several times after that the submarine dodged lurking warcraft. Steadily it moved southward.

Only at night did they come to the surface. Then they usually cruised slowly while they recharged the electrical batteries needed for subsurface maneuvering.

It was then they learned just how bitterly they were being sought. And just how much America's love for Doc Savage had turned to hate.

American news commentators talked of but little else in their nightly radio discussions.

"A more vicious traitor than Benedict Arnold," one florid speaker declared.

"We must hide our heads in shame," another a.s.serted dolefully. "After accusing, secretly at least, every other nation in the world of fathering an unscrupulous pirate who has pity for neither men, women nor children, we find he is one of our own. Worse than that, he is one whom we considered a hero."

None seemed to consider on how little evidence Doc had been convicted by public opinion. But none of the bronze man's aids was surprised. Ma.s.s hysteria always induces loose thinking.

Doc's aids would have refused to listen to the radio. It was the bronze man who instructed differently.

Then they understood. The news flash came that Doc had been waiting for.

The mysterious raider had struck again. A freighter had been sunk less than fifty miles from where they were, and only a day before.

THEY were not far from the coast of Cuba at the time. The freighter that had been sunk had been bound for Havana.

The s.h.i.+ps of the American neutrality patrol, British and French wars.h.i.+ps, rushed to the scene.

Doc didn't.

The bronze man ordered a course set toward the Panama Ca.n.a.l. It seemed logical that the raider would not remain near a spot where it might be trapped. It also seemed logical that it would head for probably the most popular s.h.i.+pping lane in the world.

And again, for the second time, Doc made a tour of his undersea craft holding the strange-appearing "compa.s.s." This time, as he neared the small locker room, the needle of the "compa.s.s" vibrated rapidly.

The bronze man's expression did not change. He did not open the locker room.

Renny took over the controls. Johnny gave all his time to the motors.

Long Tom and Doc became busy with the strange equipment they had loaded on the sub just before they sailed.The equipment was s.h.i.+fted to a large compartment at the stern of the submarine. That compartment was different from any on naval submersibles. It had been designed especially by Doc.

When the submarine was at rest, or moving slowly, the entire compartment could be flooded gradually. A hatch moved back. It was possible to leave the submarine provided a diving suit was used. Aboard the sub were several diving suits of the type that use portable oxygen tanks so that no lines are necessary.

The diving suits also were taken to the compartment at the stern.

Then came the period of waiting. Johnny forgot to use big words. The words he did use were short and to the point.

A dozen times the "propelcheck" shot into action. Twice they barely got out of listening range of wars.h.i.+ps. And once a bomb, dropped from an airplane, came too close for comfort.

After that they submerged even deeper.

They were scarcely fifty miles from the Ca.n.a.l when the strange signal came.

It was a signal they could not identify by use of the "propelcheck" and Jane's "Fighting s.h.i.+ps." But it was clearly the propeller beat of a submarine.

A fighting grin creased Renny's big face. Johnny recovered his good spirits. Long Tom's eyes glistened gleefully.

Only Doc Savage showed no emotion. The bronze man gave curt instructions.

The ambush was set.

THE motors were slowed until they were barely moving. They did not need to move. Sounds from the listening device showed they were almost directly in the path of the oncoming underseas craft.

Doc and Long Tom vanished into the compartment at the stern.

After that, there was nothing for Johnny and Renny to do but wait. They waited for quite a while. From the sudden loginess at the stern, they knew the compartment had been flooded.

Then compressed air hissed again and the stern lightened.

Long Tom and Doc reappeared. The electrical expert wore a pleased grin. Doc's gold-flecked eyes were whirling.

The beat of the oncoming craft's propellers grew steadily louder.

"An' a-fis.h.i.+n' we will go!" Johnny exulted.

"But I still don't see how we're going to catch anything," Renny complained.

Long Tom grinned wisely.

Doc produced several lengths of strong cord. "Tie yourself to something solid. Stand so that your heads will not be injured should we be shaken up," he advised softly.

Renny looked even more doubtful.

Far overhead, an army plane from its base at Panama was making a wide circle. The observer was usinghigh-powered gla.s.ses in an attempt to penetrate the depths beneath.

The water was clear. But the water was deep, too, and the bright sun, which caused heavy reflection, did not make the observer's job any easier.

Then he shouted suddenly, pointed far beneath them. The pilot looked over the side-and did not believe what he saw.

A tremendous upheaval was thres.h.i.+ng the water below. Spray leaped high in the air. The calm surface of the sea was being whipped into foam.

They might have thought it was caused by a subterranean earthquake, except that it seemed localized in one small spot.

The pilot pivoted the plane swiftly, cut downward in a sharp dive.

Far below the surface, Doc and his aids were holding on fiercely as their submarine bucked and shook.

There was a queer grinding, rasping sound above them.

That sound continued for several seconds. Then it stopped. Their craft stopped bucking at the same time.

At almost the same instant, the pilot of the scouting plane leveled off not far above them. He took another look over the side.

The sea was calm. The pilot glanced back at his observer. The observer looked as if he didn't believe it, either.

"Mustta been a fish," the observer finally decided.

In that he was right, but he didn't know the kind of a fish.

"We did it, Doc! We did it!" Long Tom burst out happily "We've caught our 'tin fish.'"

Chapter XIV. A WARNING.

BACK in the locker room on Doc's sub a little man, scarcely five feet tall with evil, wizened features, rubbed a flock of a.s.sorted bruises.

He had had no warning of what was coming. A terrified scowl was on his face.

Feeling around on the floor, he found an object he had dropped a few moments before. It looked like a small piece of rubber hose with a cup at one end and a small earphone at the other.

Quickly he jammed the cup against the wall of the submarine, held the phone to one ear. The device was simple, but it enabled him to hear any signal Doc might send.

And signals were being sent. They echoed swiftly from the sh.e.l.l of the sub. After a short time, more signals came. They were dimmer, but still easy to read.

An alarmed look crossed the little man's face. He dropped the earphone and knelt before a square case in front of him. It was the case he had carried when he'd dodged into Doc's warehouse and slipped on the submarine.

He turned a switch, and a faint hum came. When the hum quieted, the little man spoke. His voice was soft, but pitched to carry."Boss, it's happened!" he rattled excitedly. "This Doc Savage has done it, somehow. He's just got our s.h.i.+p. He's got it held fast up above him. They can't do nothin' there, can't fire no torpedo or anything, but he could shoot up. He called on them to surrender. They did."