Doc Savage - Devils Of The Deep Part 14

The weapon was not one he had expected to use. He had rigged it up after it became apparent a trap was being set for them.

It was simple, but it was effective as far as it went. What he was using actually was a modified "lightning"

bolt, a terrific discharge of controlled electricity, which tore through the water and slapped against the side of the other s.h.i.+p, staggering it.

Amus.e.m.e.nt-park owners had experimented with similar weapons. Doc had merely pepped up the voltage and amperage.

Ahead of them the pirate sub appeared in full flight. It weaved back and forth at full speed.

Doc's gold-flecked eyes narrowed slightly. He spoke swiftly into the microphone before him.

In the control room, Long Tom's sallow complexion now brightened. Renny and Johnny looked at him inquiringly.

"Don't worry," Long Tom said rea.s.suringly.

It was then that a dense cloud appeared behind the pirate submarine, a thick, dark haze similar to that released by an octopus when it is attacked.

At almost the same moment it seemed that "tentacles" of a huge octopus came into view, weaving and waving beneath the water.

The pirate submarine dived directly between two of these "tentacles," sped past on the other side.

"Full speed astern!" Doc Savage shouted.

It was too late. The bronze man's underseas craft already was within reach of those swaying arms.

There was a tremendous thres.h.i.+ng. So fast the eye could scarcely follow, the "tentacles" lashed out.

They wrapped themselves about Doc's sub, held it powerless.

THE bronze man spoke again into his microphone. Then he left the small gla.s.s room from which he had directed the underseas battle.There was no time to waste. Doc wasted none. He opened a small door, allowed water to rush in. When the pressure was equalized, he dived out, started toward the stern of the sub.

What happened then, not even Doc Savage could have counted on.

The bronze man was creeping along the deck of the submarine, moving steady toward the hatch aft where he could get back inside his craft. And then it happened.

Another tentacle lashed out. It came with startling swiftness. It wrapped directly about the bronze man's middle. And the "tentacle" was not the vacuum-cupped arm of the true underwater octopus. It was an inch-thick steel cable.

Doc was without a diving suit. He had an oxygen tablet in his pocket-one of those he had invented long before that would permit him to remain for several minutes under water. But not even a big supply of oxygen tablets could save him eventually.

The pirate sub had stopped. Cautiously it went to the surface.

A diver went overboard.

After a time, the diver returned. The diver's hard face was gloating when his helmet was removed.

"You got 'em, guy! You got 'em!" he reported jubilantly.

Pete Mills' shoulders rose and fell. He looked relieved. "No chance of them getting away?"

The diver shook his head. "I'll say not!" He paused, then grinned. "But I've been saving the best of it for the last."

Pete Mills looked his question.

"That bronze guy, the one everybody's been afraid of-Doc Savage-he's down there, too."

"Of course," Pete Mills snapped. "I knew that."

"Yeah, maybe you did," the diver grinned, "but you didn't know he was outside his sub. How it happened I don't know; maybe it was because he had metal in that equipment belt I've always understood he wears. But anyway-it happened.

"The 'octopus' got him. Doc Savage is drowned. His submarine is trapped."

MONK and Ham thought they were trapped, also. It seemed as though they never would run out of opponents.

Quarters were too cramped to permit the others to use guns. That probably is the only thing that saved the hairy chemist and the dapper lawyer.

Even so, their outlook was far from pleasant.

Monk was fighting as he'd never fought before. His huge arms swinging tirelessly, his bulletlike head stuck forward, eyes gleaming, he battled as he'd never battled for his own life.

Monk was fighting for more than himself. He was fighting for a chance to aid Doc Savage. Time after time he roared forward, clearing a path before him, only to retreat again as more opponents jumped into the fray.Ham didn't like hand-to-hand combat so well. He preferred to use his sword-cane. But since he didn't have the cane, he was using his fists. Diving in and out, weaving and swaying, he was a difficult target to hit, a tougher one to make stay down.

Alice Dawn had dodged out of the way of the first onslaught. But she didn't remain idle. She grabbed a blackjack from the hand of one of those Monk had knocked down.

After that, she stood on the sidelines. When one of the attackers would go down, she would step forward and make sure that he stayed down.

Monk and Ham had no worry about being attacked from behind. Alice Dawn took care of that.

Slowly, a foot at a time, the three moved forward. Their opponents were losing their enthusiasm.

None knew how long they had been fighting. It seemed hours.

Monk looked more nearly like a throwback to the jungle than ever before. No one would have recognized in Ham the once best-dressed man in New York.

A groan came from Alice Dawn. Monk risked a quick glance behind him. Then he felt like groaning also.

A moment before it had looked as though they might win out. But not now. A new opponent was charging into the battle.

The man weighed well over three hundred pounds. His triple chins jumped up and down like a s.h.i.+mmy dancer.

Fresh, Monk had no doubt of his own ability to take Roland Stevens any time, any place. But he no longer was fresh. None of them was. And if he turned back to meet the new menace, those ahead of them would gain courage. They would be overwhelmed.

But there was nothing else to do. Somebody had to stop the fat man.

Monk turned, started to swing. Then he stopped, mouth agape.

Roland Stevens went past him like a steam roller. The fat man hit the bunched gangsters in front with an impact like that of a tank-and with about the same result.

The few remaining fighters still on their feet went down. Stevens fell on one of them. That one was out for good. Alice Dawn wielded the blackjack steadily.

The fight was over.

THERE was no time to ask or answer questions. The girl didn't even pause. She jumped in the lead again, with a quick command to follow her.

Monk and Ham helped the fat man to his feet.

Stevens was blubbering, but it was from the excitement that grips some people when they suddenly find they still can fight physically.

"I thought you were on the other side," Ham panted.

"I . . . I was tricked," Roland Stevens moaned. He lumbered after them as they started for the streak of daylight not far away."I should have told you all of the story in New Jersey, instead of just part of it. Then I was taken prisoner. I was brought here on the same plane you were. Only a few minutes ago I got away. I started out to free you, heard this fight and came on."

Then all of them stopped talking. They had emerged onto a sheltered path. They raced down it until they came to the concealed waterway.

Before them lay a small wharf. Case after case of stolen goods was stacked at one side. Near the edge of the wharf was modern hoisting equipment.

And on the other side lay several speedboats.

"Give us five minutes, and we're gone," Ham snapped.

Monk paused, looked behind him shrewdly. There was a door from the wharf to the path beyond.

The hairy chemist returned, fastened it.

A howl of disappointment came from Ham. The lawyer leaped from one to another of the speedboats swiftly. At each one he made a rapid inspection of the motor. His face was long.

"Tough," he said quietly. "But I guess we don't go, after all."

Alice Dawn slumped wearily. Fear returned to the fat features of Roland Stevens.

"The distributors," Ham explained simply. "Every distributor has been taken. Not a motor will run."

Monk's piglike eyes swept the scene swiftly. Then he howled. He leaped into one of the boats, tore back canvas las.h.i.+ngs. Ham jumped to his side. The lawyer's face lifted.

An efficient s.h.i.+p-to-sh.o.r.e radio was revealed. Monk flipped switches rapidly.

Shouts came from behind them as the radio tubes began to hum. Others had discovered their escape.

They had only minutes to work.

Ham seized the microphone, spoke rapidly.

"Doc Savage's men calling," he said. "We have discovered the hideout of the pirate submarine. It is on an island located at-" He glanced quickly at Alice Dawn. She and Roland Stevens supplied the information with one voice. "Please come quickly," Ham went on.

Fists battered on the door leading to the wharf. A gun spoke angrily. Hot lead smashed into the side of the boat.

"This is Brigadier General Brooks, signing off," Ham concluded. "With Andrew Mayfair, Miss Alice Dawn and Roland Stevens, I am standing by-hoping to see you. But if not-good hunting."

Ham stopped. "Come on," he said swiftly. "Let's get out of here some way. Maybe we can hide out on this island until help gets here."

Monk grabbed the girl's arm, started to lift her to her feet.

Then he stopped, shrugged resignedly. A minute before there might have been some chance of doing as Ham had suggested. There wasn't now.Silently, a submarine had slipped up behind them. The conning-tower hatch opened. Pete Mills popped into view, a submachine gun in his hands.

Chapter XVIII. A SENTENCE OF DEATH.

THERE was no hope of escape. Monk and Ham didn't even try. All life seemed to have gone out of Alice Dawn. Roland Stevens looked as if he already were dead.

They scarcely looked up as the door to the wharf burst open and other armed men appeared.

By now, wars.h.i.+ps of a dozen nations undoubtedly were getting up steam, some probably already were racing toward this spot. Planes would be dispatched as well-bombing and pursuit planes.

But no matter how swiftly they arrived, there could be no hope for the four under the menace of the killers' guns.

A tall man with ramrod back raced into view. Most of the man's face was concealed by a handkerchief, but his eyes were deadly, his voice raging.

"Mills! These fools have spoiled everything. We've got to get out!"

Mills' scarred features hardened, his finger tightened on the trigger of the tommy gun. Monk braced himself for the shock of bullets.

The tall man threw up one hand. "Wait!" he ordered harshly. Then his voice dropped. "Shooting is too easy a death for them. I know a better way."

Pete Mills grinned. "For the girl, too?" he asked softly.

The tall man jerked even more erect. He hesitated, but then only for a moment. Then, "For the girl, too,"

he rasped.

One of Alice Dawn's hands slipped out, caught Monk's hairy fist. "I . . . I'm sorry," she whispered. "It really was my fault. I got you into this."

Monk closed his fingers. Dying wasn't going to be so bad, he decided, when he could go in company like this. "Daggonit, don't think about it," he rea.s.sured. "Me and Ham would have gotten into this, anyway."

The girl was silent for a moment. Then she spoke softly, more as if she were speaking to herself.

"I thought I was being patriotic, that I was risking my life for my country. I found I was being double-crossed. I was being used by an arch-criminal."

Monk tightened his grip on her hand comfortingly. "Don't worry," he said quietly. "Everything will be all right. And we still have a chance. Doc Savage will save us."

"Doc always shows up," Ham added. "No one can stop him. And then-"

Ham stopped. The tall, ramrod-backed man had spun on Pete Mills. "You were successful?" he snapped.

Pete Mills' grin grew broader. "Doc Savage is dead," he announced gleefully. "He was last seen, drowned and wrapped up in cable, a hundred feet down in water."A gasp came from Ham's tight lips. Monk's head jerked as if he had been struck with a club.