“The Boss said to clear outa town if the bombin’ failed,” his hireling reminded.
“Don’t think we ain’t gonna do it, either!” Buttons grunted. “Back in them Red Skull brakes, I’ll stake myself against any fightin’ men! Here in the city, I ain’t so sure of myself.”
“What about the girl?”
“We’ll take her along, of course.”
The pair hurried down a winding staircase to the elevator landing.
Monk had observed nothing of the little tableau on the distant skyscraper observation tower. He moved his tired gaze to his companions.
“I wonder what can be back of all this,” he ruminated. “From the ending of my secretary’s message, I believe she had just started to tell us what was in the documents she lifted from Buttons. She must have been interrupted.”
Doc Savage was thumbing through a telephone directory and did not look up.
“What are you hunting, Doc?” Ham asked.
“Miss Aster mentioned that the gang had purchased a plane at the Star airport,” Doc told him.
“Huh!” Monk exploded. “I overlooked that angle!”
Doc found the flying field number and put in a call. He got no answer. A second try a few moments later was also fruitless.
“The drome isn’t far out,” he declared. “We’ll drive.”
Doc kept a number of automobiles in a special garage in the basement of the gigantic building. Outside of the skyscraper employees, very few persons knew of the existence of this garage. A large elevator lifted the machines to the street.
Doc selected a touring car of moderate size and plain color, a machine that was inconspicuous. Although presenting no quality out of the ordinary to a casual observer, the chassis of the vehicle possessed unusual strength and the engine developed an excess of 200 horsepower.
The machine whisked them through traffic, over one of the bridges which give access to Manhattan, and out a busy boulevard. Within less than half-an-hour, Doc guided the car upon the tarmac of the Star airport.
A small drome, it apparently did little business. A few rusty metal hangars and a ramshackle board office comprised the equipment.
No one was in sight.
But in the shack of an office, they found an unconscious man. He had been felled by a blow upon the temple. It took Doc 10 minutes to revive him and obtain his story.
“I’m the manager,” the man mumbled, still dazed. “Yeah, I sold some guys a plane. An 8-passenger, single-motored green metal monoplane.”
“Who struck you?”
“The guys I sold the ship to. They showed up about 20 minutes ago. They was draggin’ a girl with ‘em. She was a blonde… a real peach! It looked like she was in trouble and I started to interfere. One of the guys popped me on the head with a six-shooter as big as a cannon!”
Doc and his men exchanged glances.
“They took off with Lea Aster, it’s certain,” Monk muttered. “I’m bettin they’re headed for Arizona!”
“Come,” Doc clipped.
He made swiftly for the touring car. The engine started moaning the instant he was under the wheel. The others piled in as the machine whipped into motion.
“I reckon we’re bound for Arizona, huh?” Monk questioned hopefully.
“You said it,” Doc told him grimly.
X — Man Bats
Some 16 hours later, a lonely sheepherder in the rugged mesa and canyon country of Arizona was witness to something which he did not soon forget.
This shepherd had bedded his flock for the night on a shelf-like bit of ground near the crest of a gently sloping butte. He was sitting up with a shotgun in hopes of getting a crack at a pair of coyotes which had been molesting his sheep.
Suddenly, there came to the sheepherder’s ears a shrill hissing. The noise mounted with startling abruptness until it was a tremendous scream.
Over the mesa top flashed a monster apparition! It blackened the stars. It seemed to travel with the speed-of-light for it was quickly gone, leaving behind a dying whistle not unlike the sound of a motor siren running down. The shepherd saw only that the thing had a shape vaguely resembling a legless, headless bat of a distinctive bronze color.
The sheepherder was astounded, puzzled for no motor roar had accompanied the fast-flying night phantom. If the thing was a plane, it was one of unusual type and traveling at least 250 mph.
The night monster was just that! A plane of remarkable design.
It was Doc Savage’s speed ship.
The extremeness of its streamlining marked the craft from others. Three great motors were contained entirely within wings and fuselage. The landing gear — even the tail skid — disappeared so as to offer no wind resistance.
Doc and his 5 aides rode in the fore part of the cabin. They were somewhat crowded for room. The cabin was spacious but at the moment filled with a bulky cargo. A brownish cloth covered the load.
The 3 motors were fitted with efficient silencers. The propellers were of a radical design which reduced the customary air scream. Traveling at reduced speed, the plane was practically noiseless. At full throttle, it made only a shrill hissing sound.
The cabin was built like a vacuum bottle — airtight and noise-proof. Conversation could proceed in ordinary tones.
“We’re about 80 miles from Red Skull canyon,” Renny offered, looking up from a pad on which he had been figuring their location.
Renny was navigating. His engineering knowledge fitted him for the job.
Doc himself handled the controls.
Long Tom — the somewhat unhealthy-looking electrical wizard — was working with the powerful radio equipment, in touch with airport stations along their back trail. Now he turned away from the loudspeaker. Headphones were unnecessary in the silenced cabin.
“No luck,” he reported. “A plane answering the description of the green, all-metal crate carrying Buttons and his gang took on gas at an airport near Kirksville, Missouri. The girl was along. The airport attendant had the description we broadcast and he sent for the sheriff. But the gang got away before the officer arrived. They haven’t been seen since.”
“We should be at least 4 hours ahead of them,” Doc decided. “This ship is much faster than theirs.”
Monk had been peering downward.
“Whew!” he grunted over a sloping shoulder. “This country we’re gettin’ over looks like a pilot’s nightmare!”
Gray clouds were bunched in the night sky. The moonlight crowned them with beautiful silver.
But underneath, they were black and ominous. The moving Moon shadows cast by the clouds showed they were being swept along at a rapid clip by high air currents.
Penetrating through breaks in the clouds like searchlight beams, the luminance from the Moon disclosed flat-topped mesas; slopes shaggy with mesquite and sage and cactus; gulches that might have been gouged by a gigantic knife; and canyons which seemed yawning and bottomless cracks.
Doc decreased the engine speed.
“We’ll land around here somewhere,” he said.
He moved a lever, causing vanishing flaps to appear on the plane wing. These enabled the craft to cruise at very low speed without loss of altitude. Another lever lowered the landing gear.
Doc selected the table-like top of a mesa… circled twice… and dropped the plane in for a landing. The ship leaped wildly as it hit a sage clump. The wheels struck a growth of jumping cactus, causing thorny fragments to shower high in the air. Wheel brakes pulled the ship to a stop.
“We’re now about 15 miles from Red Skull canyon,” Renny announced.
No more was said. The men knew the task ahead. They went to work with silent efficiency.
The brownish cloth was pulled off the cargo. Unfolded, the piece of fabric proved to be of considerable size. It was streaked in lighter hues to imitate the veining in rock. Spread over the plane, it could be used to camouflage the craft as a large boulder.