THE DISAPPEARANCE IN TIBET
Doc Savage gave John Mark Shrops sufficient time to get well on his way downstairs. Then he addressed bony Johnny.
“You stay here and watch Monk and Ham and the others,” he directed. “There does not seem to be a thing that can be done for them. We’ve got to find the exact cause of this devilish condition before we can get a cure.”
Johnny nodded, juggling his monocle.
Doc produced the hypodermic needle which he had employed to quiet the victims earlier.
“Use this, if they get violent. It’s an opiate. And, above all, do not untie them. They must be kept tied, for they are men without brains, to all intents and purposes.”
Doc went to the window, eased through, and descended by using cracks in the wall for finger-tip purchase. These cracks were not large, nor were they plentiful, but they seemed as serviceable as ladder rungs to the remarkable bronze giant.
A single-story building was below, and he ran across its roof. The structures were placed one abutting another for a distance, then came what amounted to a narrow vacant lot. The span to the next roof was a prodigious leap, yet the bronze man took it without unusual effort.
Never had the gigantic muscles in Doc’s great body functioned with greater efficiency.
At the end of the block, he dropped to the sidewalk. He went to the corner, but did not round it.
From a pocket, Doc drew a metal tube which was but little larger than a darning needle. It was fitted at one end with an eyepiece. He drew the contrivance to a length of nearly two feet, telescope fashion, and projected it around the corner. He looked into the eyepiece.
The device was an ingenious periscope. Reflected in its mirrors and magnifying lenses, Doc could see John Mark Shrops.
The Cockney was walking down the street, away from the Taberna Frio. So swiftly had Doc come from the hotel room that Shrops had not had time to get out of sight.
Even as Doc watched, Shrops ducked into a recessed door. He waited there, bobbing his head out frequently, turtlewise. He was obviously watching the hotel to see whether he was being followed. It had not occurred to him that a shadow might now be ahead of him.
Doc waited. Shrops seemed in no hurry. He lighted a cigarette and flipped the match out into the street.
To use the periscope continuously might draw notice, hence Doc employed the device only often enough to keep tab on Shrops. The rest of the time he leaned casually against the wall, as if loafing.
There were few people on the streets. Such pedestrians as were in sight were poncho-swathed Indians inspecting store display windows with the avidity of those who do not come to town often.
The sun had almost deposited itself behind the Pacific.
Feet came clapping down the opposite side of the street. It was Long Tom returning from his visit to the telephone office.
The electrical wizard would have passed without noting Doc’s presence, except for the fact that the bronze man’s trilling note suddenly filtered through the twilight. Although not loud, the sound possessed a phenomenal carrying quality. It impinged upon Long Tom’s ears.
Long Tom was clever enough not to betray excitement at the weird note. His eyes roved alertly under his hat brim, and he located Doc. When he crossed the street it was done naturally, as if he had contemplated that very thing all along.
The electrical magician joined Doc.
“Professor Stanley went to Tibet to investigate a mysterious blue meteor,” he said grimly.
* * * *
Doc nodded, as if he had expected information of this nature to result from Long Tom’s long-distance phone call to New York City.
“Professor Stanley had headed several expeditions sent to investigate meteors,” Doc told Long Tom. “Studying the composition of aerolites is his specialty.”
“Professor Stanley has vanished in Tibet,” Long Tom explained further.
“Vanished!”
They were keeping their voices down, in order that the lurking Shrops might not hear them.
Long Tom elaborated. “The society which sent Professor Stanley and his daughter to Tibet has ceased to hear from them.”
“The daughter went along, eh?”
“Yes. She was official photographer on the expedition.”
“What efforts have been made to locate them?”
“The usual sort—consular investigations and the like. And here’s an unusual one, Doc: The scientific society which sent Professor Stanley to Tibet wants you to hunt him.”
Doc used his periscope to make sure Shrops had not moved, but did not comment on Long Tom’s last statement.
“The society was preparing to call on you,” the electrical expert continued. “When my phone call reached them, they thought it quite a coincidence.”
“Any detailed dope on Stanley’s disappearance?”
“They took a caravan into the desert from Lhasa, the capital of Tibet. That was the last any one heard of them.”
“They had heard that the blue meteor had hit in the desert?”
“Yep. The society in New York told me a little about that meteor. They admitted, though, that the information was largely rumor. It seems that the blue meteor passed over parts of Tibet and struck somewhere several years ago. Fantastic stories came out of Tibet about the meteor—tales of people whose brains were dead after the thing went by.”
“What happened to Monk and Ham proves the yarns are not so fantastic,” Doc said grimly.
“The superstitious natives claimed the thing was a big blue devil coming to dwell on the earth,” finished Long Tom.
Doc employed his periscope again. He saw Shrops showing signs of moving on.
“I’ll get more details about this blue meteor story later,” Doc said. “We’re getting a line on what happened to Monk and Ham. It’s something that has to do with the mysterious blue meteor.”
“It’s just about the most weird thing I ever ran into,” Long Tom muttered.
“You go back to the hotel,” Doc directed. “This bird Shrops is hiding in a door down the street, but he’s getting ready to move on. When you pass him, don’t pay him particular attention. We don’t want him to become alarmed.”
Long Tom, reluctant to lose out on possible excitement, began: “Doc, I might be of some help if I went along with——”
“You can assist Johnny in his efforts to revive Monk and Ham,” Doc replied. “One of you work on Monk, the other on Ham. I showed Johnny what resuscitation methods to use. Two of you will be better than one at that work.”
“O. K.,” Long Tom agreed, concern for Monk and Ham overspreading his pallid face. “Listen, Doc: do you think that Cockney had something to do with what’s happened to Monk and Ham?”
“Looks like it,” Doc replied.
“Then why don’t you grab him?”
“He’s the kind of a fellow who could not be made to talk,” Doc explained grimly. “If he knows a cure for the effects of the blue meteor, he could not be scared into revealing it. Our best bet is to trail him and see what can be learned.”
“That’s logic,” Long Tom agreed. “Did Renny get back with a report on the Chilean Señorita?”
“Not before my departure. You’d better beat it. There goes Shrops.” Doc was looking into his periscopic device again.
Long Tom strode off.
* * * *
Shrops swung away from the vicinity at a rapid pace. Keeping to the shadows, he glanced back often, hunting for a possible pursuer. He used numerous ruses to lose a shadow, taking short cuts across lots, entering stores and leaving by the rear door, and pausing frequently to watch.
His behavior would have made trailing by ordinary methods an impossibility. But Doc’s methods were not prosaic. He took to rooftops for the most part; negotiating ascents of walls with the ease of a great bronze cat, and taking tremendous leaps between buildings in silent, batlike fashion.
Long Tom, although his agility was a bit above the average, could not have managed the pace. Knowing this, Doc had refused him on his offer of assistance.
Long Tom’s disappointment must have been great. Love of excitement was one of the main bonds which held Long Tom and the other four to Doc Savage. They were men who had reached the top in their respective professions, and hence no longer obtained a kick from more prosaic business lives. The zest of business competition was gone, for they no longer had competition.
Possessed of a desire for excitement, they found it aplenty in their association with Doc Savage.
* * * *
Antofagasta, being a modern town, had telephones. Pay booths were installed in hotels and all the drinking places.
Shrops entered a booth, took down a receiver, and called a number. In order to make sure that no one was close enough to overhear what he was saying, he faced the glass door, speaking from the side of his mouth.
An electric light spread brilliance in front of the booth. This permitted Doc, using his periscope device from a side window, to read lips.
“Saturday Loo is the bloke Hi want t’ speak wit’,” Shrops said into the transmitter.
Evidently the straw boss of the Tibetans was not long reaching the other instrument, and the Cockney asked: “What’s ’appened since Hi left, if anythin’?”
The apple of a man listened intently. Elation overspread his face in the form of a grin that threatened to dislodge his cheeks.
“You say the bloody big-fisted un named Renny was investigatin’ the Chilean Señorita, and your boys ’ad the luck to capture ’im?”
He seemed to get a confirmation of this from Saturday Loo.
“Not ’arf bad for us!” he chortled finally. “’Old ’im, you tell your boys. If Renny gets away, Hi’ll fix you so your ancestors won’t know you, you son of a spavined yak. Hi’ll be right down.”
He started to hang up, but did not, and listened to more words coming over the phone.
“What am Hi comin’ down for? Why, t’ give this Renny bloke a tast of the bloomin’ blue meteor. Maybe that’ll persuade Doc Savage to lose no time goin’ after this Mo-Gwei devil.”
He kept the receiver to his ear for a moment.
“Why, after we treat Renny, Hi’ll take ’im to Doc Savage an’ say Hi found ’im wanderin’ in the hills or somewhere.”
Hanging up, Shrops left the booth. He headed straight for the steamer, Chilean Señorita.
Doc trailed him.
* * * *
The Chilean Señorita was not large as ocean steamers go, but she had lines of beauty and speed. The craft was almost a yacht in appearance, with black hull, white superstructure, and much brightly polished brasswork. The lifeboats were capped with new-looking covers, and a lazy curl of smoke drifted steadily from her rakish funnel. She was anchored just inside the breakwater.
Numerous individuals of Asiatic extraction moved upon the Chilean Señorita’s decks. This was not strange on the face of it, for Asiatic labor was common on ships plying the Pacific trade. It was cheaper.
Darkness had almost fallen when John Mark Shrops reached the water front. He produced a flashlight from a pocket, and blinked it several times. A small boat, manned by Tibetans, put off from the Chilean Señorita and was rowed to where he stood.
Saturday Loo himself occupied the stern sheets.
“So you come from the posada in the country t’ take personal charge o’ things on the boat, eh?” Shrops asked the moon-faced Tibetan. “You do show good sense about ’arf the time.”
Saturday Loo accepted this as a compliment, and said: “Even the lowest and most stupid of men have a brain which sometimes functions.”
This seemed to strike Shrops as inordinately comical. He laughed harshly, uproariously.
“Hi can tell you a lot of ’em who ’ave brains that don’t work any more!” he whooped.
“Words of wisdom,” Saturday Loo agreed. “Men who saw the blue meteor.”
“Where’s the bloomin’ girl, Rae Stanley?”
“A canary is safest from the cat while in its cage,” said Saturday Loo. “No doubt, in this case, the bird greatly desires to be gotten by the cat. We left her at the posada, O Master. There is a strong guard.”
“That’s ’unky-dory,” Shrops admitted. “Is the bloody ’ooker ready to sail?”
“As ready as the bar-headed goose of my native land, which is always prepared to flee its nest.”
The boat now pulled out to the Chilean Señorita, with Shrops holding the position of honor in the stern sheets.
“Would you consider the cup of this lowly one’s ear a fit receptacle in which to pour your thoughts?” Saturday Loo queried.
“Meanin’ you wanta know my plans, eh?”
“Aye, Master.”
“Sure, Hi’ll tell you what my scheme is. Hi’ve just been to see this Doc Savage toff, an’ Hi fed ’im a smooth line with just enough truth t’ make it sound right.”
“I gather, O Master, that you told him he was needed to smash Mo-Gwei?” queried Saturday Loo.
“Hi sure did. An’ bless your ancestors, you slant-eyed scut, ’e took it in like a bear lappin’ up ’oney. Hi’m to go back an’ get ’is final word around midnight.”
“You think he will take the job of destroying the all-frightful Mo-Gwei?”
“Sure ’e will! Ain’t ’is life work moppin’ up on such blokes as Mo-Gwei?”
* * * *
The dory reached the landing stage suspended beside the hull of the Chilean Señorita. John Mark Shrops and Saturday Loo mounted to the deck.
Shrops, glancing around, chuckled.
“’Twas an ’appy idea of mine, buyin’ this boat in China, an’ puttin’ my own crew on ’er!” he declared with evil pride. “That way, the whole slew o’ us could come over without attractin’ too much attention.”
“If Doc Savage believes your story, O Master, and goes of his own accord to Tibet to seek Mo-Gwei, the boat will be of no great use to us,” said Saturday Loo.
“Hi won’t grudge the money it cost, in that case,” grunted Shrops. “If ’e don’t believe me, the Chilean Señorita may come in ’andy.”
“It is indeed a wise squirrel who does not store all his nuts in one tree,” Saturday Loo agreed.
“Nuts!” Shrops snorted, and burst out in rattling laughter. “Hi’ll bet Doc Savage is wonderin’ ’ow ’e’s gonna fix up ’is nutty friends!”
Saturday Loo folded his arms in the fashion of the Orient. His face was entirely expressionless.
“Did you not say, O Greatest One, that you were going to use the blue meteor upon the big-fisted man named Renny?”
“Righto,” Shrops agreed. “Hi’m gonna fix ’im up an’ send ’im back to Doc Savage. That’ll persuade the bronze toff to light out after Mo-Gwei without delay.”
“And what of our fair flower?”
“You mean the Stanley girl? We’ll ’old onto her a while. We may need ’er.”
Saturday Loo headed for a companionway amidships.
“Why did you bring the fair flower along in the first place?” he asked.
Shrops leered. “To ’ave ’er vamp the bronze man, if necessary.”
“It is said that wise men are not affected by women.”
This brought a laugh from Shrops. “Then there ain’t no wise men in this ’appy world.”