The Pirate of the Pacific ds-5 Read online

  Doc removed his diving hood. The other three followed his example.

  "I know a spot ashore where we will be safe," Mindoro declared. "It is one of the rendezvous used by my secret political society."

  "Let's go," said Doc.

  Shoving themselves from pile to pile, they reached a hawser end which chanced to be dangling. Doc, tugging it, found the upper terminus solid.

  He mounted with simian speed and ease. The wharf was piled with hemp bales. Near by yawned a narrow street.

  Now the others climbed up. They sprinted for the street and stopped.

  A squad of Mantilla police stood there. They held drawn guns.

  "Bueno!" exploded Mindoro in Spanish. "We are safe!"

  Ham and Renny scowled doubtfully. The police did not look friendly to them. Their doubts were justified an instant later.

  "Fire!" shrieked the officer in command of the squad. "Kill the dogs!"

  Police pistols flung up — targeted on the vital organs of Doc and his three companions.

  Ham, Renny, Mindoro — all three suddenly found themselves scooped zip and swept to one side by Doc's bronze right arm.

  Simultaneously a small cylinder in Doc's left hand spouted a monster wad of black smoke. The cylinder, of metal, had come from the bundle Doc was carrying. The smoke pall spread with astonishing speed.

  Police guns clapped thunderously in the black smudge. Bullets caromed off cobbles, off the building walls. The treacherous officers dashed about t, searching savagely. Some had presence of mind to run up and down the street until clear of the umbrageous vapor. They waited there for the bronze giant and his companions to appear.

  But they did not put in an appearance.

  Not until the smoke was dissipated by a breeze, fully ten minutes later, did the would-be killers find an open door in one of the buildings walling the street. By that time Doc, Ham, Renny and Mindoro were many blocks away.

  * * *

  MINDORO was white with rage. From time to time he shook his fists in expressive Latin fashion.

  "That group of police was composed of Tom Too's men!" he hissed wrathfully. "That explains their action. The devil must have enough of his followers, or men whom he has bribed, on the police force to take over the department when he decides to strike."

  Doc replied nothing.

  Ham and Renny exchanged doubtful glances. It looked as if they had stepped from the frying pan into the fire. Tom Too's plot was tremendous in scope. If the police were under the domination of the buccaneers, Doc would be in for some tough sailing.

  They entered thickly crowded streets. The excitement in the bay seemed to be attracting virtually every inhabitant of Mantilla. Many, curious, were making for the bay at a dead run.

  A tight group, Doc and his men breasted this tide of humanity. They avoided such of the Mantilla constabulary as they saw.

  Mindoro soon led them into a small shop. The proprietor, a benign-looking Chinese gentleman, smiled widely at Mindoro. They exchanged words in Mandarin.

  "To have you back is like seeing the sun rise after a long and dark and horrible night," murmured the Celestial. "This lowly person presumes you wish to use the secret way."

  "Right," Mindoro told him.

  In a rear room a large brass gong hung. It was shaped like a gigantic cymbal, such as drummers hammer. This was moved aside, a section of the wall behind opened, and Doc and his companions entered a concealed stairway.

  This twisted and angled, became a passage even more crooked, and finally turned into another stair flight.

  They stepped into a windowless room. The air was perfumed faintly with incense. Tapestries draped the walls; thick rugs matted the floor; comfortably upholstered furniture stood about. There was a cabinet laden with canned and preserved foods. A well-stocked bookcase stood against one wall.

  A very modern radio set, equipped for long and shortwave reception, completed the fittings.

  "This is one of several hidden retreats established by my secret society," Mindoro explained.

  Ham had carried his sword cane throughout the excitement. He used it to punch the soft upholstery of a chair, as if estimating its comfort.

  "How did you come to organize your political society in secrecy?" he asked. "That has been puzzling me all along. Did you expect a thing like this Tom Too menace to turn up?"

  "Not exactly," replied Mindoro. "Secrecy is the way of the Orient. We do not come out in the open and settle things in a knock-down-and-drag-out fashion, as you Americans do. Of course, the secrecy was incorporated for our protection. The first move in seizing power is naturally to wipe out those who are running things. In the Orient, secret societies are not regarded as the insidious thing you Yanks consider them."

  "Our first move is to find how things stand here," Doc put in.

  "I shall secure that information," Mindoro declared. "I intend to depart at once."

  "Can you move about in safety?"

  "In perfect security. I will not go far — only to dispatch messengers to my associates."

  Before departing, Mindoro showed Doc and the others three hidden exits from the room for use in emergency.

  "These walls are impervious to sound," Mindoro explained. "You can play the radio. We have more than one broadcasting station here in Mantilla."

  One of the concealed passages swallowed him.

  * * *

  DOC clicked on the radio. It was powerful. He picked up broadcasts from Australia, from China, from Japan, as he

  ran down the dial. He stopped on one of the local Mantilla stations. An announcer was speaking in English.

  "We interrupt our musical program to read a news bulletin issued by the chief of police concerning the sinking of the liner Malay Queen in the Mantilla harbor not many minutes ago," said the radio announcer. "It seems that a group of four desperate criminals were trapped aboard the liner. They resisted arrest. Although many of the liner's passengers joined in the attempt to capture them, the four criminals took refuge in the hold. There they exploded a bomb which sank the vessel."

  "Holy Cow!" Renny burst forth. "They've explained the whole thing with a slick bunch of lies!"

  "This Tom Too is smooth!" clipped Ham, with the grudging admiration of one quick thinker for another. Ham himself was probably as mentally agile a lawyer as ever swayed a jury.

  "Due to the foresight of brave Captain Hickman of the Malay Queen, the passengers were all taken ashore in safety before the four desperadoes exploded the bomb which sank the liner," continued the voice from the radio. "Several Mongols and half-castes among the passengers, who sought courageously to aid in subduing the four bad men, were slain."

  "They're even making Tom Too's gang out as heroes!" Renny groaned.

  "Flash!" suddenly exclaimed the radio announcer. "We have just been asked to broadcast a warning that the four killers reached shore from the sinking Malay Queen! They are now somewhere in Mantilla. Their names are not known, but their descriptions follow."

  Next came an accurate delineation of how Doc, Ham, Renny, and Mindoro looked.

  "These men are desperate characters," finished the radio announcer. "The police have orders to shoot them on sight. And Captain Hickman, skipper of the ill-fated Malay Queen, is offering a reward of ten thousand dollars for the capture of each of these men, dead or alive, preferably dead."

  Music now came from the radio. Doc turned over to the short wave side and soon picked up the station of the MantilIa police. Mantilla seemed to have a very modern police department. The station was repeating descriptions of Doc and the others, with orders that they be shot on sight.

  "It looks kinda tough," Renny suggested dryly.

  "Tough!" snorted Ham. "It's the dangedest jam we were ever in!"

  * * *

  MINDORO was long-faced with worry when he returned.

  "The situation is indeed serious," he informed them. "My associates succeeded in trapping one of Tom Too's Mongols. They scared the fellow into talking. The information they se
cured was most ominous. Tom Too is ready to seize power!"

  "Exactly how is it to be managed!" Doc ('questioned.

  "The physicians who attend the president have been bribed," Mindoro explained. "The president will be poisoned, and the physicians will say he died of heart failure. The moment this news gets out, rioting will start. The rioters will be Tom Too's men, working under his orders.

  "Tom Too will step in and take charge of the police, many of whom are his men, or in his service because of bribes They will put down the rioting with an iron hand — a simple matter since the rioting will be staged deliberately. Tom Too will be touted in newspapers and over the radio as the iron man who took charge in the crisis. He will ride into power on a wave of public good will."

  "That is the sort of plan which will work in this day and age!" Ham declared savagely.

  "It doesn't sound like pirate methods!" Renny grunted.

  "Tom Too is a modern edition of a pirate," Doc pointed out dryly. "If he should sail into port with his warships, as buccaneers did in the old days, he wouldn't get to first base. For one thing, the Luzon Union army and navy would probably whip him. If they didn't, a few dozen foreign warships would arrive, and that would be his finish."

  A messenger, a husky patrolman on the Mantilla police force, whom Mindoro trusted, arrived bearing a change of garments for all four of the refugees.

  Doc studied the patrolman with interest. The officer's uniform consisted of khaki shorts which terminated above the knees, blouse and tunic of the same hue, and a white sun helmet. The man's brown feet and legs were bare of covering.

  "Have Tom Too's men sought to bribe you?" Doc asked.

  "All same many time," admitted the officer in beach English. "Me no likee. Me say so."

  "They tell you who to see in case you changed your mind?"

  "They give me name fella come alongside if I want some Tom Too's dolla'," was the reply.

  "They told you who to see if you wanted on Toni Too's pay roll, eh?" Doc murmured.

  "Lightee."

  Doc's golden eyes roved over his fellows.

  "Brothers," he said softly, "I have an idea!"

  Chapter 15

  RESCUE TRAIL

  SOME thirty minutes later, a husky Mantilla policeman could be seen leaving the vicinity of the secret room to which Juan Mindoro had led Doc Savage, Ham, and Renny.

  The cop twiddled his long billy in indolent fashion, as though he had no cares. Yet he covered ground swiftly until he reached a sector of Mantilla given over almost entirely to Chinese shops and dwellings.

  Here, he approached the driver of a small, horse-drawn conveyance known as a caleso. The driver was leaning sleepily against his mangy pony. The cop accosted him with an air of furtiveness.

  "Alee same come by change of mind."

  "No savvy," said the surly caleso driver.

  "Me likee many pesos," continued the cop patiently. "Tom Too got. Me want. Me get idea come to you chop chop. You likee."

  The caleso driver's evil face did not change.

  "Seat yourself in my lowly conveyance, oh lord," he said in flowery Mandarin.

  The cop hopped into the vehicle with alacrity, crossed his bare brown legs and settled back.

  The caleso clattered down many streets that would not pass as decent American alleys. These were swarming with people either coming from the excitement at the bay front, or going. The inhabitants of Mantilla were of every conceivable nationality, not a few of them a conglomerate of all the others. Mantilla seemed to be a caldron in which the bloods of all races were intermingled.

  Several times, policemen or other individuals cast knowing leers at the big cop riding in the caleso. This was evidence the driver of the vehicle had corrupted more than one man. The mere fact that a cop was riding in this caleso was an indication he was en route to receive a bribe from Tom Too's paymaster.

  The caleso halted before an ancient stone building.

  "Will you consent to alight, oh mighty one," said the driver

  in Mandarin. The contempt in his beady, sloping eyes belied his flowery fashion of speech.

  The big policeman got out. He was conducted into a filthy room where an old hag sat on the floor, cracking nuts with a hammer and a block of hardwood.

  Only a close observer would have recognized the three irregularly spaced taps which the old crone gave a nut as a signal.

  A door in the rear opened. The caleso driver herded the cop into a passage. The place smelled of rats, incense, and cooking opium.

  They reached a low, smoky room. Perhaps a dozen Orientals were present, lounging about lazily.

  Three men were manacled in a single pile upon the floor — handcuffed ankle to ankle and wrist to wrist.

  They were Monk, Long Tom, and Johnny.

  The caleso driver shoved the big cop.

  "Step inside, oh resplendent one," he directed with a thinly veiled sneer. "Tom Too is not here, but his lieutenants are."

  The next instant the caleso driver smashed backward to the stone wall. He was unconscious before he struck it.

  Some terrible, unseen force had struck his jaw, breaking it and all but wiping it off his face.

  * * *

  THE Orientals in the low room cackled like chickens disturbed on a roost. The cackling became enraged howling.

  Over the excited bedlam penetrated a sound more strange than any ever heard in that ill-omened room. A sound that defied description, it seemed to trill from everywhere, like the song of a jungle bird. It was musical, yet confined itself to no tune; it was inspiring, but not awesome.

  The sound of Doc!

  The human pile that was Monk, Long Tom, and Johnny went through an upheaval.

  "Doc!" Monk squawled. "By golly, he's found us!"

  The form in the airy garb of a Mantilla cop seemed to grow in size, to expand. A giant literally materialized before the eyes of those in the room — a giant who was Doc Savage.

  Doc spat out bits of gum he had used to change the character of his face. He whipped forward, and there was such speed in his motion that he seemed but a shadow cast across the gloomy den.

  The first Oriental in his path dodged wildly. The fellow apparently got clear — the tips of Doc's sinewy bronze fingers,

  now stained brown, barely touched the man. Yet the slanteyed one dropped as though stricken through the heart.

  A Mongol plucked a revolver from the waistband of his slack pantaloons. It tangled in the shirt tail which hung outside his trousers. He fought to free it. Then there was a sound like an ax hitting a hollow tree, and he fell.

  The heavy hardwood stub of the cop's club had knocked him senseless.

  Another man was touched by the tips of Doc's fingers. Then two more. The trio were hardly caressed before they became slack, senseless heaps upon the floor.

  "His touch is death!" shrieked a Mongol.

  That was exaggerated a little. Doc only wore metal thimbles upon his finger tips, in each of which was a needle containing a drug which put a man to sleep instantly. And kept him asleep for hours!

  The thimbles were so cleverly constructed that only a close examination would disclose their presence.

  Another Oriental went down before Doc's magic touch.

  Gun muzzles began lapping flame. Lead shattered the oil lamp which furnished the only illumination.

  Putting out the light was a mistake. With the darkness came terror. Yellow men imagined they felt the caress of those terrible fingers. They ducked madly, struck with fury, and sometimes hit each other. Two or three separate fights raged. Coughing guns continued to add to the bedlam.

  Panic grew.

  "The outer air is sweet, my brothers!" shrilled a voice in Mandarin.

  No other impetus was needed. The Mongols headed for the door like skyrockets. Reaching the street, each vied with the other to be the first around the nearest corner.

  The old hag lookout, who had made her nut-cracking a signal, had been bowled over in the rush. But now she legged
after them.

  * * *

  MONK, Long Tom, and Johnny were scrambling about in their excitement.

  "Hold still, you tramps!" Doc chuckled.

  Doc's casehardened bronze hands closed over Johnny's handcuffs. They tightened, strained, wrenched — and the links snapped.

  Johnny was not surprised. He had seen Doc do things like this on other occasions. Long Tom's bracelets succumbed to the bronze man's herculean strength.

  Monk's irons, however, were a different matter. Monk himself possessed strength far beyond the usual — sufficient to break ordinary handcuffs. His captors must have discovered that — the time he broke loose to write the message on the mirror — and decorated him with heavier cuffs. The links that joined them were like log chains.

  "They moved you to various parts of the liner, so I couldn't find you, didn't they?" Doc asked.

  "We were changed to different staterooms half a dozen times," Monk told him. "Doc, I don't see bow you lived through that voyage. Practically every man of the crew was on Tom Too's pay roll, to say nothing of the swarm of pirates that were among the passengers."

  Doc went to work on the locks of Monk's enormous leg and arm irons. They were not difficult. Within thirty seconds, they fell away, expertly picked.

  "This place isn't healthy for us!" he warned. "TomToo's men will swarm around here in a few minutes."

  Searching, they found a back exit.

  "This place was a sort of headquarters for Tom Too's organization in Mantilla," said Johnny.

  Johnny seemed little the worse for his period of captivity. His glasses, which had the magnifying lens on the left side, were missing, however. That was no hardship, since Johnny had nearly normal sight in his right eye.

  The pale electrical wizard, Long Tom, had a black eye and a cut lip as souvenirs.

  The furry Monk showed plenty of wear and tear. His clothes now amounted to little more than a loin cloth. His rusty red hide was cut, scratched, bruised; his reddish fur was crusted with dried blood.

  "They pulled a slick one when they caught us in New York," Monk rumbled. "One of them came staggering into the skyscraper office with red ink spilled all over him, pretending he'd been stabbed nearly to death. He got us all looking down in the street to see his assailant. Then his pals walked in and covered us with guns."