Chapter XIII

74

STRANGE FISH

“Hazel's object, of course, was to collect these films and then use them after the war to extort hush−money from men who had done executions for the Nazis, and wouldn't want it known after the war.

“To shorten the story, he tried to sell this particular film. He wanted too much money. So we got on his trail, and he fled.

“We were so close behind him, he had to get rid of the film, so he put it in that goldfish tank and shipped it with an American flier to his niece. He told the flier the fish was a present to his niece, and the flier fell for that.”

The fat man swore bitterly for a moment.

“We broke our necks getting to New York, but we couldn't find what became of the fish and the tank,” he continued. “We stuck around, searching. Bill Hazel showed up. He had two men helping him. Two men. One of them was the man Porter, who died on Sugar Creek. We caught him prowling around my camp. We killed him—framing the job on to you.”

“That's another thing,” blurted Johnny Toms. “How am I going to get out of that?”

“We'll get you out of it.”

“I don't see—”

“Wait a minute, let me finish. We caught Bill Hazel's other man last night, too. Then we heard you telephone for Doc Savage in New York. We had the telephone wire tapped. So I telephoned my men in New York—I had left some of them there in case the fish−tank should be back there after all—and they tried to get rid of Savage. They didn't have much luck. They notified me Savage had left New York, probably for Oklahoma. I had a man in Tulsa, at the airport. He managed to meet Savage and tell him where the airport field was. Then he phoned me that Savage was on his way out here. We had Bill Hazel's man meet Savage, telling him we wouldn't kill him if he would lead Savage into a trap. But we shot him. We made it look as if Savage had done it. We thought the Sheriff would arrest Savage. He didn't. Savage got away. So now there's nothing for us to do but finish it up with a bang. We're desperate, you understand.”

Johnny Toms demanded, “Why are you telling me the whole thing?”

“Because, brother, you're in it with us now. You're selling us that fish−tank. And you've got to know what the real story is, so you will tell an entirely different story.”

“Do—will I have to tell a story?”

“Maybe not.”

DURING the silence that followed, Doc Savage waited with his teeth clenched until the sides of his face felt dull, lifeless. The man stalking him was moving closer, an inch at a time. He was certain of this. But he didn't know exactly where the man now stood. He had, and it was a horrible sensation, lost track of the fellow.

In the cabin, the fat man said, “Let's have the tank.”

“How are you going to clear me of that murder charge?” Johnny Toms asked.