"What do you mean by that, Long Tom?" Doc asked.
"Last night, I had a dream," Long Tom began.
"So did I," groaned Monk, who was slightly seasick. "I dreamed I was Jonah, and the whale had swallowed me."
"Shut up!" snapped Long Tom. "In my dream, I saw somebody bending over me as I slept. I heard a clicking noise, as though a pair of dice were being rattled in somebody's hand."
Strange lights flickered in Doc's golden eyes. "You're not trying to be funny, are you, Long Tom?"
"I never felt less funny. 1 grabbed at the man bending over me in the dream. I got this." Long Tom drew an object from his pocket. It was a black-haired wig.
"Did you get a look at his face?" Doc rapped.
"It was too dark. And he was gone before I could follow."
Doc considered in silence for perhaps a minute.
"This is serious, brothers," he said at length. "That killer of Ben O'Gard's is aboard this sub. And we don't know him by sight."
"It oughta be easy to find him now," snorted Monk, eying the black wig. "Just find the guy whose hair changed color during the night."
It was astounding, the way Monk's seasickness had vanished, now that danger threatened.
'"No good," said Long Tom. "I looked everybody over this morning. And no hair had changed color. That means the man was wearing the wig as a disguise while he did his dirty work."
"What dirty work?" Doc inquired.
"I forgot to mention the fellow had a knife," Long Tom said dryly.
THE UNHEALTHY-LOOKING electrical wizard went below. Long Tom's looks were deceptive. Although the weakling of Doc's crowd, he was man enough to thrash a good nine out of ten of the men you pass on the street.
Long Tom was serving as radio operator. He had installed a radio set so powerful he could keep in touch with the remotest corners of the earth, even while resting on the bottom of the sea.
He had also equipped the Helldiver with the most sensitive devices for measuring underwater distances with sound waves. Simply by watching dials, Long Tom could tell how far below the sea bottom was, how far they were from the nearest iceberg, and how big the berg was. An alarm bell would even ring the instant they came within dangerous distance of any floating object big enough to harm the sub.
Monk left Doc considering the new danger which threatened them. Monk had confidence Doc would find a way to trap their enemy with the clicking teeth.
Monk retired to the cubicle where he kept his chemicals. Monk's contributions to the expedition were numerous. The most remarkable of these was a chemical concoction which, when released in quantities from the sub, would dissolve any ice which happened to be above it.
This removed any danger of the Helldiver being trapped under the ice!
Special apparatus for supplying oxygen within the sub, concentrated foods which were composed simply of the necessary chemical elements for nourishment in a form easily assimilated — these and other things were products of Monk's genius.
Renny was doing work which his experience as an engineer eminently fitted him. He was the navigator. At this, Renny had few equals. Moreover, he was making maps. The voyage of the Helldiver would lead through unexplored arctic regions, and Renny's maps would be of great value to future generations.
The archaeologist and geologist, Johnny, possessed a fund of knowledge about the polar ice cap and ocean currents which would be invaluable. There were very few things about this old ball of mud we call the earth which Johnny did not know.
As for Ham, he had taken care of the legal angles, such as securing the necessary permission to put in at Greenland seaports. The Danes run Greenland as a monopoly, and a hatful of permits are necessary before a foreign vessel can touch there.
Ham also furnished everybody aboard the Helldiver an example of what the well-dressed voyager under the polar ice should wear. His oilskins were impeccable. The fact that he always carried an innocent-looking black cane afforded Captain McCluskey's crew some chuckles. They didn't know this was a sword cane. If Ham ever drowned, he would still have that sword cane in one hand.
About noon, Ham searched Doc Savage out. Doc was on deck. It seemed a miracle that each terrific wave did not sweep him overboard. But the seas had no more effect upon Doc than upon a statue of tough bronze metal. There was a strange quality about Doc's bronze skin — it seemed to shed water like the proverbial duck's back, without becoming wet.
Ham was excited.
"Good news!" he yelled. "Radio message from New York, Long Tom just copied it!"
"What is it?" Doc asked.
"Victor Vail left the hospital this morning," Ham replied. "He is no longer blind. He can see as well as anybody!"
THE SMASHING waves soon drove the immaculate Ham into the greasy vitals of the submarine.
"I've inhaled so much oil already, it's oozing out of my hide," he told Monk.
But Monk was making a chemical concoction capable of giving off warmth for several hours at a stretch — something that would be very handy to tuck in a man's shoes and gloves when he took a. stroll on the ice in the vicinity of the north pole. He didn't want to be bothered.
"G'wan off an' chew a bacon rind!" he sneered.
Ham bloated indignantly. Monk had been goading him for several days about pigs and pork, and Ham hadn't been able to devise a single way to get back at Monk. Ham wished mightily he dared take a swing at Monk, but he knew better. A grizzly bear with any sense would think twice before tackling Monk.
Muttering to himself, Ham ambled forward. He heard a sound which might have been an angry bull in a china shop. Ham quickened his pace. It sounded like a fight. He ducked gingerly through a slit of a door in a steel bulkhead.
One of the Helldiver's crew sprawled on the grilled floor of the engine room. The man was an oiler. He was big — fully as big as Monk. He looked tough. Privately, Ham had considered getting this oiler and Monk embroiled in a fight, just for his own amusement.
But the fighting oiler now sprawled on his back. He whimpered. His lips had been smashed into a crimson pulp. One of his eyes was closed.
Over him towered walrus-like Captain McCluskey.
"I kin lick any swab aboard this iron fish!" the captain bellowed. "Rust my anchor, but I'll wring the neck of the next scut I find shirkin' his work. Get up on yer feet, you! An' see that them engines is kept better oiled!"
Captain McCluskey evidently ran his craft like an old-time clipper master.
Ham mentally kissed the oiler good-by as a prospective opponent for Monk. He addressed Captain McCluskey.
"I like your discipline methods," he said flatteringly.
"They'll do, pretty boy." bellowed the walrus.
Ham writhed under the appellation of pretty boy. But he kept the oily smile of admiration on his face.
"I'm afraid you're going to have trouble with one man aboard this vessel," he said in the air of imparting a warning to his hero.
"Who?" roared the giant captain.
"The hairy baboon they call Monk," said Ham blandly.
"I'll watch 'im!" boomed the walrus ominously. "If he bats an eye at me, I'll hit the swab so hard his fur will fall off!"
Ham had a foxy look in his eye as he ambled back to Monk's steel cubicle. He looked in at Monk.
Monk gave him an elaborate, pig-like grunt.
Ham ignored the insult.
"The captain says the next time you bat an eye at him, he's gonna hit you so hard you'll shed all that red fuzz," Ham advised.