Doc Savage: Glare of the Gorgon (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 19) by Kenneth Robeson, Lester Dent, Will Murray Page B
Tags: action and adventure
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box.”
“What’s the idea?” Long Tom asked indignantly.
“No idea at all,” rasped Blackie, moving closer. “Now come with us.”
“Where?”
“Nowhere,” chuckled the other, then both he and Blackie laughed loudly.
“In that case,” returned Long Tom, “count me out.”
The men stepped up and took positions on either side of Long Tom, their stubby .38s digging into his scrawny ribs.
Blue taunted, “We’re kind of a couple of tough eggs. Are you a tough egg, too?”
“Yeah,” said Long Tom, making hard fists. “I’m plenty tough.”
“Is that right? Then show us how tough you are, tough guy.”
Long Tom did not need a further invitation. He took a seemingly wild swing. It was a bolo punch—combining a hook and an uppercut. It connected with the nearest man’s jaw, rocking it backward.
Evidently, the man on the receiving end of the powerful punch had sized up Long Tom as a lightweight. Long Tom’s hard knuckles striking home disabused him of that notion.
As he stumbled backward, Blue said to the other, “Slug him!”
Blackie’s bulldogged revolver lifted, chopped downward—and Long Tom was promptly brained for a second time. He went down like a sack of potatoes falling off a farmer’s truck. He did not get up again.
Methodically, the two tough men pocketed their revolvers. One grabbed hold of Long Tom’s ankles, while the other took him by the shoulders.
Hauling the insensate electrical genius over to the automatic elevator, Blue elbowed the call button, and when the door slid open, they threw Long Tom in as if he was no more than a sack of household refuse.
Fortunately for Long Tom, he did not land on his head.
The two tough men stepped aboard, closed the door and sent the cage sinking toward the foyer.
Since it was now the dark of night, they had no difficulty lugging the limp electrical expert out through the vestibule and into a flashy roadster parked at the curb. Long Tom did not receive the dignity of the back seat. Instead, they threw him into the rumble seat, slamming down the lid.
Taking seats in the front of the machine, one said to the other, “This is a hell of a note, Blue.”
“It is, at that,” replied the blue-jowled one. “But maybe it will work out all right in the end.”
“Where Doc Savage is concerned,” observed Blackie, “I’m not sure anything works out all right in the end, or otherwise.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had a pal down in Cincinnati what got grabbed by Doc Savage. He disappeared for about a year. I ran into him one day. My pal, who I knew since I was a kid, didn’t recognize me at all. I called him by his right name, and he insisted that wasn’t his name. But I knew the guy. It was him. Only it wasn’t him anymore. Get me?”
“No, I don’t,” said Blue, rubbing his unshaven jaw.
“Doc Savage done something to him. Something horrible. Not only did he call himself by a strange name, but the guy had gone straight. Straight as an arrow. I couldn’t talk him into any crooked stuff. He gave me the air. And me, his pal since we were both squirts in short pants.”
Blackie got the engine going. It made a contented sound, indicating quality of manufacture.
As the flashy machine muttered into traffic, Blue groused, “That Doc Savage is a devil.”
“You got that right,” grunted Blackie. Then they fell into an interval of comfortable silence as they moved through city traffic.
Chapter X
“WATCH FOR DUKE”
DOC SAVAGE’S FATHER, a great humanitarian in his day, had laid out the course of his only son’s life when the latter was still in swaddling clothes. The aim was to fit the youngster for his life’s work. It commenced when Clark Savage, Sr., voluntarily placed the child in the hands of a seemingly endless parade of scientists and other knowledgeable men. Thus, while other children played with toys, young Clark had begun as intensive an education as any mortal had ever experienced. The lad was trained in many
“What’s the idea?” Long Tom asked indignantly.
“No idea at all,” rasped Blackie, moving closer. “Now come with us.”
“Where?”
“Nowhere,” chuckled the other, then both he and Blackie laughed loudly.
“In that case,” returned Long Tom, “count me out.”
The men stepped up and took positions on either side of Long Tom, their stubby .38s digging into his scrawny ribs.
Blue taunted, “We’re kind of a couple of tough eggs. Are you a tough egg, too?”
“Yeah,” said Long Tom, making hard fists. “I’m plenty tough.”
“Is that right? Then show us how tough you are, tough guy.”
Long Tom did not need a further invitation. He took a seemingly wild swing. It was a bolo punch—combining a hook and an uppercut. It connected with the nearest man’s jaw, rocking it backward.
Evidently, the man on the receiving end of the powerful punch had sized up Long Tom as a lightweight. Long Tom’s hard knuckles striking home disabused him of that notion.
As he stumbled backward, Blue said to the other, “Slug him!”
Blackie’s bulldogged revolver lifted, chopped downward—and Long Tom was promptly brained for a second time. He went down like a sack of potatoes falling off a farmer’s truck. He did not get up again.
Methodically, the two tough men pocketed their revolvers. One grabbed hold of Long Tom’s ankles, while the other took him by the shoulders.
Hauling the insensate electrical genius over to the automatic elevator, Blue elbowed the call button, and when the door slid open, they threw Long Tom in as if he was no more than a sack of household refuse.
Fortunately for Long Tom, he did not land on his head.
The two tough men stepped aboard, closed the door and sent the cage sinking toward the foyer.
Since it was now the dark of night, they had no difficulty lugging the limp electrical expert out through the vestibule and into a flashy roadster parked at the curb. Long Tom did not receive the dignity of the back seat. Instead, they threw him into the rumble seat, slamming down the lid.
Taking seats in the front of the machine, one said to the other, “This is a hell of a note, Blue.”
“It is, at that,” replied the blue-jowled one. “But maybe it will work out all right in the end.”
“Where Doc Savage is concerned,” observed Blackie, “I’m not sure anything works out all right in the end, or otherwise.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had a pal down in Cincinnati what got grabbed by Doc Savage. He disappeared for about a year. I ran into him one day. My pal, who I knew since I was a kid, didn’t recognize me at all. I called him by his right name, and he insisted that wasn’t his name. But I knew the guy. It was him. Only it wasn’t him anymore. Get me?”
“No, I don’t,” said Blue, rubbing his unshaven jaw.
“Doc Savage done something to him. Something horrible. Not only did he call himself by a strange name, but the guy had gone straight. Straight as an arrow. I couldn’t talk him into any crooked stuff. He gave me the air. And me, his pal since we were both squirts in short pants.”
Blackie got the engine going. It made a contented sound, indicating quality of manufacture.
As the flashy machine muttered into traffic, Blue groused, “That Doc Savage is a devil.”
“You got that right,” grunted Blackie. Then they fell into an interval of comfortable silence as they moved through city traffic.
Chapter X
“WATCH FOR DUKE”
DOC SAVAGE’S FATHER, a great humanitarian in his day, had laid out the course of his only son’s life when the latter was still in swaddling clothes. The aim was to fit the youngster for his life’s work. It commenced when Clark Savage, Sr., voluntarily placed the child in the hands of a seemingly endless parade of scientists and other knowledgeable men. Thus, while other children played with toys, young Clark had begun as intensive an education as any mortal had ever experienced. The lad was trained in many
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