Quest of the Spider - Robeson Kenneth (читать книги без txt) 📗

Their taxi rooted its way through traffic. Here and there stores were turning on the lights in their show windows, proof that dusk was near.

"Have you heard from Renny and Monk?" Long Tom asked Doc.

"Not a word," Doc admitted. "Monk, as you know, is pretending to be a chemist fleeing from the vengeance of a country he turned traitor to. Renny is taking the part of a dishonest special forest ranger. Both hope to get into the Gray Spider's gang. But they have no radio to keep in touch with me. That's why we haven't heard from them."

At the Danielsen & Haas building, Doc and his men left their taxi waiting.

In the lobby, they encountered pretty Edna Danielsen. She was alone. She looked worried.

Doc said seriously. "It is dangerous for you to be chasing around alone without—"

"Wait!" she interrupted. "I am afraid something terrible has happened!"

"What do you mean?" Doc questioned sharply.

"Horace Haas has disappeared!" Edna Danielsen explained. "And poor old Silas Bunnywell is also gone! Worse still, I made a horrible discovery in Silas Bunnywell's little office!"

"What sort of discovery?"

"Come! I'll show you."

An elevator rushed them up to the top floor. Edna Danielsen led the way to old Silas Bunnywell’s cubby-hole.

"Look!" she gasped, and pointed.

SILAS BUNNEYWELL’S accounting table was overturned. So was a wastebasket. Red and black had spilled together in a lurid puddle. There had been a fierce struggle in the little cubicle.

To one side lay an inkwell. It was a heavy fistful of glass. Red ink from it was splashed high on the walls.

"Obviously somebody was clubbed over the head with this," Doc murmured. He picked up the inkwell. His golden eyes appraised it.

Several dark hairs clung to the bottom.

"Poor old Silas Bunnywell!" choked Edna Danielson.

"Not Silas Bunnywell," Doc corrected thoughtfully. "Hehad almost snow-white hair. These hairs are dark. Unless I'm mistaken, they came from the head of Horace Haas. You're sure Silas Bunnywell and Horace Haas are both missing?"

"Absolutely!" declared the attractive young woman. "Dad and I have looked everywhere for them."

"Where is your father?"

"In his office."

They retired to Big Eric Danielsen's office. Big Eric was treading circles on the worn carpet. The office was fogged with smoke from the cigar he was puffing.

"Where in the devil do you reckon Horace Haas and Silas Bunnywell have disappeared to?" he demanded.

"Frankly, I'm puzzled," Doc admitted.

Big Eric shivered. It did not add to his cheerfulness to hear this mighty bronze man admit he was puzzled, even though the bafflement might be only temporary.

"What are you going to do now?" he questioned.

"Unfortunately, we only have time for one bold stroke," Doc replied. "One of the men the Gray Spider has installed as a looter at the head of Worldwide Sawmills is to meet his master tonight at Buck Boontown's swamp settlement. He is to deliver a quarter of a million dollars of their loot to the Gray Spider in person. Ham, Long Tom, and myself have barely time to get there. We'll rush out there and try to grab the Gray Spider."

"I'd like to help you!" Big Eric declared.

"Nothing doing!" refused Doc. "You will stay here in New Orleans and guard the life of your daughter. We will escort you home immediately. We will also leave machine guns and hand grenades, so you can defend yourself against any attack by the Gray Spider's men."

They left this office. Almost running, they made for the elevators. The cage ferried them down.

Perhaps forty seconds after the elevator door clanked shut, one corner of the carpet in Big Eric's office lifted slowly. It flipped back. This disclosed that a section of the floor had been cunningly contrived into a trapdoor. Below it was a coffinlike cavity a few inches deep.

A man had been occupying this—listening!

THE eavesdropper stood up from his coffinlike skulking place. He wore a gaudily colored silk mask—much like a gay silk handkerchief.

The fellow looked somewhat ludicrous, for he wore a woolly overcoat. And the summer evening was rather hot! From his standpoint, there was cunning in the wearing of the coat. It had no exposed buttons which might have scraped on the sides of his hiding place and betrayed him! He had even pulled big wool socks over his toes so there would be no squeal of leather against wood.

This sinister person scooped up the telephone. He asked for a number and got it. He listened intently and recognized the voice which spoke to him.

"This is the Gray Spider!" he said in hoarse, fierce tones. "Assemble the most trusted men of the Clan of the Moccasin!"

"It will be done," replied an awed whisper.

"Tonight we wipe out the bronze devil! He cannot evade us!"

With an ugly, guttering laugh, the Gray Spider hung up. He glided into the corridor. He had not removed his silk mask, nor his foolish overcoat, nor the big wool socks from over his shoes.

He found a Window in the front of the building. Craning his neck, he managed to see down to the street. He made a snarling noise at what he saw.

Doc Savage was installing Big Eric, Edna, Ham, and Long Tom in the taxi.

Doc himself rode the running board, as was his custom. The cab rolled away from the curb.

Doc's golden eyes roved everywhere, missing nothing. They scrutinized the windows of the Danielsen & Haas building casually.

There was now no masked face at a top-floor window, however.

Big Eric and Edna were left at the Danielsen mansion. Doc handed over a pair of his wonderfully compact, extremely rapid-firing machine guns—the weapons of his own invention. He also produced gas masks and violent little hand grenades.

He made a quick, thorough search of the elaborate dwelling. Finishing, he was certain none of the Gray Spider's men were concealed about.

"Have you floodlights that will illuminate the grounds?" he questioned Big Eric.

"I sure have."

"Keep them on all night. One of you be on guard every minute. We will try to be back by morning. But it is impossible to guarantee that."

"We'll be all right," Big Eric declared.

"And you must be careful!" ravishing Edna Danielsen told Doc in a strange, tight voice, the significance of which was quite lost on him.

Ham and Long Tom exchanged knowing looks when they were outside.

"The queen has tumbled for Doc!" Ham grinned.

"And don't they all?" chuckled Long Tom.

THEIR next move was a quick return to Long Tom's "central," which he had established for all his tapped phone lines. There, Doc made an effort to get in touch with Johnny. But his rapid radio calling elicited no answer from the plane in the swamp.

"No way we can let Johnny know we're coming," Doc decided. "We'll leave the radio apparatus turned on, and if he calls, one of the stenographers can slip him the news."

Once more they entered a car. But it was Doc's roadster this time, instead of the taxi. The rumble seat and the baggage compartments already held such equipment as Doc thought they would need for just such a jaunt as this.

Doc wheeled the car into traffic. One of his bronze fingers clicked a newly installed switch. Under the hood, a police siren began to wail. The speedometer climbed past forty, fifty and sixty with ten-mile-an-hour jumps.