It read:
There is an ancient saying about the straw that
broke the back of the camel. Your next move will
be the straw needed to break my patience.
Your three friends are alive and well as long as
my patience remains intact.
TOM TOO.
"The brass of the guy!" gritted Renny.
"Who gave you this?" Doc demanded of the steward.
"I dunno," muttered the flunky. "I was walkin' along, an it dropped at my feet. There was a five-dollar bill clipped to it, together with a note askin' me to deliver it. Somebody must
'a' throwed it."
Doc's golden eyes bored into those of the steward until he was convinced the man spoke the truth.
"On what deck did that happen?"
"On this one."
Chapter 11
PERIL LINER
MORE questioning revealed that no one had been in sight when the steward looked around after having the note drop at his feet.
The steward departed, perspiring a little. That night he didn't sleep well, what with dreaming of uncanny golden eyes which had seemed to suck the truth out of him like magnets, pulling at steel bars.
In the royal suite, Renny made grim preparations. He donned a bullet-proof vest and harnessed two of Doc's compact machine guns under his arms, where they wouldn't bulge his coat too much.
"Tom Too is not gonna set back and wait to see if we intend to lay off him," he rumbled wrathfully. "We've got to watch our step."
"Not a bad idea," Doc agreed. "From now on we take no more meals in the dining saloon."
"I hope we ain't gonna fast," grunted Renny, who was a heavy eater.
"Concentrated rations are in our baggage."
"Any chance of a prowler poisoning the stuff?"
"Very little. It would be next to impossible to get into the containers without breaking the seals."
Renny completed his grim preparations. He straightened his coat, then surveyed himself in the mirror. His garments had been tailored to conceal guns worn in under-arm holsters. The bullet-proof vest was inside, worn as an undergarment. Renny did not look like a walking fortress.
"What are we going to do about Tom Too?" he asked.
"We'll move slowly, for the time being. We don't want to get him excited enough to kill our pals," Doc said. "Our first move will be to consult the captain of the ship."
They found Captain Hickman, commander of the Malay Queen, on his bridge.
Captain Hickman was a short-legged man with a body that was nearly egg-shaped. Sea gales and blistering tropical suns had reddened his face until it looked as if it had been soaked in beet juice. His uniform was resplendent. with gold braid and brass buttons.
Four nattily clad apprentice officers stood on the bridge, keeping watch over the instruments.
The first mate strode sprucely back and forth, supervising the apprentices and the general operation of the liner.
The first mate was somewhat of a fashion plate, his uniform being impeccable. He was a slender, pliant man with good shoulders and a thin-featured, not unhandsome face. His skin had a deeply tanned hue. His eyes were elevated a trifle at the outer corners, lending a suspicion some of his ancestors had been Orientals. This was not unusual, considering the Malay Queen plied the Orient trade.
Doc introduced himself to Captain Hickman.
"Savage Savage hm-m-m!" Captain Hickman murmured, stroking his red jaw. "Your name sounds very familiar, but I can't quite place it."
The first mate came over, saying: "No doubt you saw this man's name in the newspapers, captain. Doc Savage conducted the mysterious submarine expedition to the arctic regions. The papers were full of it."
"To be sure!" ejaculated Captain Hickman. Then he introduced the first mate. "This is Mr. Jong, my first officer."
The impeccable first mate bowed, his polite smile increasing the Oriental aspect of his features to a marked degree.
DOC SAVAGE and Renny went into consultation with Captain Hickman in the latter's private sitting room.
"We have reason to believe three of my friends are being held prisoner somewhere aboard this liner," Doc explained bluntly. "It is a human impossibility for two men, or even three or four, to search a boat this size. The captives could easily be shifted to a portion of the vessel which we had already searched, and we would be none the wiser. We therefore wish the aid of your crew, such of them as you trust implicitly."
Captain Hickman rubbed his brow. He seemed too surprised for words.
"It is extremely important the search be conducted with the utmost secrecy," Doc continued. "Any alarm will mean the death of my friends."
"This is highly irregular!" the commander objected.
"Possibly."
"Have you any authority to command such a search?"
The flaky gold in Doc's eyes began to take on a molten aspect, an indication of anger.
"I had hoped you would cooperate freely in this matter." No wrath was apparent in his powerful voice.
At this point a radio operator entered the cabin, saluted briskly, and presented Captain Hickman a message.
The florid commander read it. His lips compressed; his eyes hardened.
"No search of this ship will be made!" he snapped. "And you two men are under arrest!"
Renny sprang to his feet, roaring: "What're you trying to pull on us?"
"Calm down," Doc told him mildly. Then he asked Captain Hickman: "May I see that radiogram?"
The skipper of the Malay Queen hesitated, then passed the wireless missive over. It read:
CAPTAIN HICKMAN
COMMANDER S S MALAY QUEEN
SEARCH YOUR SHIP FOR MEN NAMED CLARK SAVAGE JR
ALIAS DOC SAVAGE AND COLONEL JOHN RENWICK ALIAS
RENNY RENWICK STOP ARREST BOTH AND HOLD STOP
WANTED FOR MURDERING SEVERAL MONGOLIANS AND
CHINESE IN NEW YORK CITY STOP SAN FRANCISCO
POLICE DEPARTMENT
"Holy cow!" Renny thundered his pet expletive. "How did
they know we were aboard?"
"They didn't," Doc said grimly. "This is Tom Too's work. Call that radio operator in here, captain. We'll see if he really received such a message."
"I'll do nothing of the sort!" snapped Captain Hickman. "You two are under arrest."
With this statement the florid skipper wrenched open a drawer of his desk. He grasped a revolver reposing there.
Doc's bronze hand floated out and came to rest on Captain Hickman's right elbow. Tightening, the corded bronze digits seemed to bury themselves in the florid man's flesh.
Captain Hickman's fingers splayed open and let the gun drop. He spat a stifled cry of pain.
Renny scooped up the fallen weapon.
Jong, the first mate, pitched into the sitting room, drawn by his skipper's cry. Renny let Jong look into the noisy end of the revolver, saying: "I wouldn't start anything, mister!"
Doc released Captain Hickman's elbow. The skipper doubled over, whining with agony, nursing his hurt elbow against his egg of a stomach. At the same time he goggled at Doc's metallic hand, as ?though unable to believe human fingers could have hurt him so.
Jong stood with hands half uplifted, saying nothing.
"We'll go interview the radio operator," Doc declared.
THE radio installation on the Malay Queen consisted of a large lobby equipped with a counter, where messages were accepted, and two inner rooms holding enormous banks of apparatus.
"The message was genuine, all right!" insisted the radio operator. He gave the call letters of the San Francisco station which had transmitted the missive.
Seating himself at the semiautomatic "bug" which served in lieu of a sending key, Doc called the shore station and verified this fact.
"Let's see your file of sent messages!" Doc directed the operator.
A brief search turned up one which had been "marked off" as sent not more than twenty minutes ago. It was in code, the words meaningless.