Chapter 17

TROUBLE UNDERGROUND

“PAT!” RENNY howled — and all three men whirled back and dived into the crudely constructed hut.

Patricia Savage sat on the black sand inside, her face

flushed and angry. A length of stout piano wire, evidently a spare piece from the plane repair kit, had been fastened securely around her slender waist and the other end spiked to a palm which formed the rear brace of the hut.

Renny lowered Johnny and pounced upon the piano wire. He wrenched at it, but it held. He began twisting it, kinking and unkinking in an endeavor to break it.

“You won’t get anywhere that way,” Pat advised. “I did that for hours.”

Renny nodded and put his huge hands to work on the knots. They were tight, and had evidently been fled with pincers.

“You all right,” Long Tom asked Pat.

They could see that she was.

“I’m madder than a tomcat caught in a rat trap,” Pat imparted violently. “What was that I heard the old whiskered goat yelling about Doc?”

“Something about Santini having gotten Doc,” Renny said grimly.

“Oh!” said Pat, and shuddered.

“I don’t believe it,” Renny informed her, after freeing one strand of the piano wire. “Doc has never yet been in a jam where he didn’t have an ace up his sleeve.”

“This Santini is the devil with a red ribbon across his chest,” Pat murmured.

“Did they ever find out that you weren’t Kel Avery?” Long Tom asked her.

Pat shook a negative with her bronze head. “I wouldn’t be here if they had. Man, those fellows are bad! They’d have thrown me out of the plane if they had known who I was. They very near did it anyway.”

“They kept you alive in hopes of making you tell them where the contents of that air mail parcel went to?” Long Tom questioned.

“That’s why.”

“Where did it go to?”

“Do you think I know?” Pat asked sarcastically. “Ask that other girl — Kel Avery, or Maureen Darleen, or whatever she calls herself.”

“You don’t seem to like her.”

“I don’t like anybody who got me into what I’ve just gone through,” said Pat.

Long Tom grinned. “I thought you wanted to be amused by a little excitement.”

“This has gone past the amusement stage,” Pat said, then grinned back at the electrical wizard. “But I don’t mind, much.”

Renny gave the piano wire a wrench. It came free and he straightened, advising, “There you are.”

Pat jumped up and ran out of the hut. “Come on! Let’s see if anything has really happened to Doc!”

Outside, they looked around hopefully. It was Johnny, his eye unaffected by the weakness that came from his shattered ribs, who leveled a pointing arm and declared, “There he is!”

Whitehaired Dan Thunden had waited. They could see him through the jungle, poised near a convenient palm bole that was bulletproof.

“Hey, you! — c’mere and tell us what this is all about!” Renny roared.

Dan Thunden’s answer was a quick disappearance behind the palm.

“For two cents, I’d shoot him full of good hard lead bullets the next time he shows his nose,” Long Tom snarled.

“I wouldn’t,” Pat advised.

“Why not?”

“He’s on our side — until we clean up on Santini’s outfit.”

“Where’d you learn that?”

“From Santini’s talk.”

THEY SET out after the elusive Dan Thunden, holding their anger in check, but vowing vengeance. It was humiliating to be pawns maneuvered about by the old fellow, but they were not so unwise as to fail to realize it was best that they follow him.

At such times as they lost the trail, Dan Thunden showed his white head and made a noise to put them right.

Toward the expanse of rock near the center of the cay, their course led — the same stony area where they had heard the shot which they had as yet no way of knowing had signaled Doc Savage’s capture by Santini’s crew.

“Did Santini’s talk tell you anything else?” Renny asked Pat as they worked through the tangled undergrowth.

“Plenty!” Pat advised.

“What?”

“The most fantastic story you ever heard,” Pat explained. “This Dan Thunden was shipwrecked here in 1843, more than ninety years ago, and was the only one from his ship to reach shore. He has lived here since.”

“I’ve still got my doubts about that guy being a hundred and thirty-one years old,” Long Tom put in.

“Santini does not seem to doubt it,” Pat retorted. “And Santini is nobody’s sucker.”

“We’ll let that ride, then,” Renny grunted. “What else did you learn?”

“That Santini found this island by accident,” said Pat. “He was flying from South American in a stolen plane. He had gotten into some trouble down there over killing a government official in Venezuela, and he was making for the United States, after leading every one to believe he was flying south.

“He could not take the usual air routes, or fly over islands where there were settlements and radio, or where he was likely to sight ships. That explains why he happened to come over this out-of-the-way corner. He was having motor trouble and landed.”

“Then what?”

“‘Then the mystery darkens,” Pat replied. “They found Dan Thunden — and something else, something worth a great deal of money.”

“What?”

“Search me.”

Renny came to a full stop in order to eye Pat curiously.

“Do you mean to say you don’t know yet what all this fighting is over?” he rumbled.

Pat wrinkled a nose at the big-fisted engineer. “Are you criticizing me?”

“No,” said Renny. “But I had high hopes.”

“So did I,” Pat told him. “I tried to pump Santini, but got precisely nowhere. ‘They were very glad to learn I did not know what was behind the trouble. And I had to be careful not to get them to believing I was not Kel Avery.”

Johnny put in, rather weak-voiced: “Santini and his gang came to Fear Gay to get more of the stuff which was supposed to be in that air mail package, but wasn’t, didn’t they?”

“Right,” Pat said, then looked anxiously at the bony geologist.

Johnny had neglected his pet luxury, his big words, and that showed he was suffering. Johnny managed a twisted grin of reassurance.

Pat continued: “Santini’s crowd shot down Dan Thunden’s plane when it arrived, and killed the pilot. Since then, they’ve been trying to catch Thunden to make him show them where the thing they’re after is hidden.”

“Santini — killed — the pilot?” Long Tom asked slowly.

Pat caught the strangeness in the electrical expert’s tone said curiously, “Yes. Why?”

“The pilot was a — skeleton — when we found him,” said Long Tom.

Pat shuddered. “And that reminds me of another thing. There’s some horror on the island of which Santini and his men are in deadly terror. They would not tell me what it is.”

RENNY TOSSED tip a beam of an arm and advised, “There’s that stretch of bare rock ahead where we heard the shot.”

Dan Thunden vanished from sight of them a moment later, and they drew their superfirers and haunted the jungle shrubs as they crept ahead, aware that the strange old-young man’s previous disappearance had marked the nearness of danger.

Pat studied the expanse of naked stone, then gasped, “Oh!” softly.

“Eh?” Long Tom eyed her.

“I heard Santini and his men talk about this place,” said Pat. “It is honeycombed underground with caves. It was here that old Dan Thunden lived for more than ninety years. Santini and his gang thought the stuff — whatever it is that they are searching for — was hidden here.”

There was silence while they peered through a bank of oleander and poinsettia in an effort to locate an opening. But there was no sign of an aperture. They advanced, Renny in the lead.

“Careful,” Pat warned. “From Santini’s talk, I think this place is a net of traps. Dan Thunden rigged them up as a diversion while he lived here.”

“Some idea of a pastime!” Renny snorted.

They continued to go forward, eyes busy on the rocky surface underfoot. There were many cracks, numerous tiny pits, but none of them seemed to be a secret door.

Unexpectedly, Dan Thunden called to them from the jungle.

“Stamp on that square of reddish rock to youah right,” he advised. “That’ll open the trapdoah!”

Renny hesitated, then swung to the right. A few moments later he was inspecting the panel of faintly rose-colored stone. Then he put his hands in his pockets and teetered thoughtfully on his heels.

Removing the big hands from his pockets, he dropped to his knees and began to feel over the dull vermilion stone.

“The old goat said to stamp on it!” Long Tom snapped.

“Dry up,” Renny said, trying to keep his rumbling voice down to a whisper. “I’m going to get even with white whiskers for his little tricks!”

Renny fumbled with the cracks around the stone for a time, then stood up. He stamped.

To Dan Thunden it undoubtedly appeared that Renny was slamming his heel down on the square of red stone, but he was actually kicking a few inches to one side. Renny turned.

“It don’t work,” he called.

“Try it again, suh!” yelled Dan Thunden.

Renny stamped — again missing the square panel.

“Something has gone wrong!” he shouted. “We’ll get over to the other side of the place while you come and open it.”

With that, he guided Johnny, Long Tom and Pat away. They stopped some hundred and fifty yards from the stone, turned and saw Dan Thunden scuttling for the rock.

The old man reached the panel and delivered a resounding blow with a heel. ‘The panel promptly flew open, lid fashion.

Dan Thunden howled, “I told you to stamp — “

Then he sank down prone on the stone and seemed to go to sleep.

RENNY AND his three companions, reaching the whitehaired man, found him snoring loudly, unmoving. ‘The square of red stone was still open. A black cavity was below.

Pat looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled understanding.

“Doc’s anesthetic bulbs!” she exclaimed.

“Good guess,” Renny grinned. He indicated the edges of the secret door, where tiny particles of thin glass could be distinguished. “I put some of the bulbs around the slab, and they broke when the lid opened. The gas inside of them produces quick unconsciousness.”

Pat drew back instinctively.

“The gas loses its strength in less than a minute,” Renny advised her. “It won’t overcome us now.”

Long Tom, who looked like a physical weakling, stooped and picked up Dan Thunden’s frame with manifest ease.

“The old goat wasn’t so wise after all,” he grinned. “Boy, when he wakes up will his face be red!”

There was a stir in the black void below the secret door. A man cursed, then queried, “What’s goin’ on out there?”

It was one of Santini’s men; he must have heard the noise as the hidden panel opened, and come to investigate. He was canny; they could tell by his voice that he was well back in the subterranean depths, protected from a bullet.

Renny tried a trick, knowing that his voice would sound unnatural to the man below and hoping the fellow would fail to identify it.

“We’ve got old Dan Thunden,” Renny said. “Come up and have a look.”

“Yeah,” growled the man beneath. “Who’re you?”

That stumped Renny; but Pat came to the rescue.

“Tell him Snicker,” she breathed. “That’s the name of one of the three who were watching me.”

“Snicker!” Renny called.

The man in the cavern was silent, still suspicious, and finally said, “C’mon down here where I can get a look at you. I gotta be sure it’s you, Snicker.”

Renny’s long, puritanical face was very sober for an instant, because he knew the Santini gangster would become alarmed before long. ‘Then the gloomy-looking engineer dipped a huge hand into his coat and brought out some of the tiny glass globes which held more of the anaesthetic gas that had vanquished Dan Thunden.

Taking careful aim, Renny lobbed three of the bulbs in quick succession. Hitting and breaking, they made squishing sounds. The gas was colorless, odorless, and victims were always unaware of the effects until it was too late to do anything.

There was a sound as of a bundle of old clothes being dropped, and they knew the man below had collapsed.

AFTER DESCENDING a series of steps cut in the native stone, they found their victim — a broad and squat man with a crooked nose and a pitted face-snoring lazily behind an outthrust in the cave wall. They relieved the fellow of a submachine gun and a canvas knapsack containing extra ammunition drums.

Johnny, who had been receiving Renny’s assistance in traveling, asked, “What impends now?”

Long Tom, who did not smoke, but who carried a cigarette lighter in lieu of matches, thumbed the tiny flame alight and squinted in the fitful glow which was cast over their surroundings. He noted particularly the rugged nature of the cavern floor.

“This is no place for you, Johnny,” he breathed. “The going will be too rough for those ribs of yours.”

The thin geologist sighed. “That is regrettably true.”

“So you better stick here on guard. You can watch Dan Thunden and this other guy.”

“They will be unconscious for at least an hour,” Johnny pointed out. Then he groaned slightly and sat down. “But I’ll stay here.

“Sure you won’t pass out?” Renny asked.

“Positive,” Johnny insisted.

‘They left him there, a form as thin as death itself, crouched above the two men who slept so weirdly. His bony fingers held a superfirer pistol, and handy it’ his right coat pocket were several of the anaesthetic bulbs.

A man who knew how, could use those bulbs without a mask, simply by holding his breath for the space of almost a minute, during which time the vapor would have its effect on an enemy who breathed it, then dissipate itself. The stuff worked only when taken into the lungs.

Pat whispered, “Careful! Remember, there’s something on this cay that can turn a man into a skeleton. Whatever the thing is, Santini and his men are in deadly fear of it.”

“We’ve seen a sample of its work,” Long Tom replied quietly, thinking of the skeleton of the aviator which they had found on the beach.

They endeavored to make as little noise as possible. Between the three of them only Renny had a flashlight, one of the instruments which got its current from a self-contained spring generator. The beam of this was played about cautiously.

Once they heard a faint, strange noise from some side avenue of nocturnal murk. Listening, they were puzzled.

“Sounded like fat frying,” Long Tom mumbled.

When the sound did not come closer, but continued low and barely audible, as if coming from behind a closed door, they went on.

To avoid becoming lost, they daubed spots of a chemical mixture at intervals. This stuff would glow when exposed to ultra-violet light, and Long Tom, the electrical genius, carried a projector of the “black light” similar to the one which Doc kept on his person. ‘Thus their back trail would be marked plainly if needful.

They were crawling along a sand-floored tunnel, when Renny’s huge hand stopped them.

“Get that!” breathed the engineer.

THERE WERE voices ahead, hollow, the words not understandable. They advanced — and a glow of light appeared. Men stood in a circle around a great metallic figure which lay on the sandy floor of a chamber.

“Doc!” Renny gulped. “They did get him after all!”

Doc Savage was bound with a stout rope woven from plant fibre. Literally hundreds of turns encircled his mighty frame. He resembled a mummy.

Santini and a part of his gang made up the circle of men. They seemed still to fear the bronze giant, securely though he was bound, for they did not venture close. And they were careful to keep their flashlight beams off the bronze man’s eyes. There was something about those flake-gold

orbs, a hypnotic quality that chilled. Santini said, “You’re probably wondering why we did not shoot you when we had the chance, Signor Savage.” Doc said nothing.

Santini scowled. “You were kept alive to do a bit of work for us. 511 And if you do it well, we will permit you to live.”

Long Tom’s machine pistol clicked softly as he threw the safety.

Renny, gripping the electrical expert’s arm, breathed, “Let’s listen to this first.”

They could hear Santini perfectly.

“There is something on this island which is worth many millions of dollars, Signor Savage,” Santini continued. “It grows here. But we do not know what it looks like when it grows. We only know what it resembles after it is dried and treated. This material is hidden somewhere, and only old Dan Thunden knows of the hiding place.

“When we visited this island the first time, we learned of this thing and arranged with Dan Thunden to sell it to wealthy men who could afford to pay us millions for it. We went to New York and made contact with a number of wealthy men.”

“The names in the file at the office of Fountain of Youth, Inc.,” Doc suggested, and his powerful voice showed no strain.

“Exactly, Signor Savage,” Santini agreed. “They were very anxious to buy what we had to sell, and pay a handsome price. It was then that we decided to get rid of Dan Thunden. That might have been a mistake. He found out our intentions and seized a box containing our entire supply of this fabulously valuable substance.

“The old man had very little money, and he hit upon the idea of persuading a relative who had much money — Kel Avery — to finance him in selling the stuff. He sent the box to Kel Avery and arranged a rendezvous in Florida, which we were fortunate enough to apprehend his mail and prevent him keeping.

“We tried to kidnap the girl and get the box, but failed, and she became alarmed and decided to call on you for aid. We tried to seize you before she got to you, and there our troubles really started.”

“Why the review?” Doc demanded sharply.

Santini smirked. “Merely a foundation for telling you that we want your aid. We will trade the safety of yourself and your party for your help.”

“How can I help you?” Doc asked.

“I know something of your ability,” Santini said. “You will notice that we keep our flashlights off your eyes. That is because we happen to know you are a skilled hypnotist. You can hypnotize Dan Thunden and make him tell where this — shall we call it a treasure — is hidden.”

“You haven’t got Dan Thunden,” Doc said dryly.

“We will get him,” Santini snapped. “Now!”

‘The man whirled with his flashlight and started for the exit.

So unexpected was the move that Renny, Long Tom and Pat were caught unprepared. Santini’s flashlight illuminated them.

“HOLY COW!” Renny boomed. “We’ve gotta make a fight of it!”

His superfirer blared. Simultaneously, he pitched into the cavern. Long Tom trod his heels.

Santini’s gang, taken by surprise, reacted variously. One cried out in fright. Mother dropped his flashlight. Others drew guns. One fell from Renny’s blast of mercy bullets.

It was Santini himself who showed the most presence of mind. He sprang backward and vanished into the gloomy rear of the underground room. It seemed that he had a definite destination.

Long Tom and Renny were both shooting now. They concentrated Oil the flashlights, the blinding beams of which were a menace. With explosions of glass, bowls from the men who held them, the flashes went out. More men dropped. Confusion grew.

“We’ve got ‘em goin’!” Renny roared, and charged. Long Tom and Pat followed. Pat carried the submachine gun which they had taken from the man at the entrance, but she did not use it, knowing that it was the way of Doc and his men never to take human life.

Then something happened. There was a rattling at the sides of the room. The sand seemed to come alive, exploding upward.

A net appeared, a mesh woven of stout fibre. It had been buried under the sand, and was being pulled by ropes attached to the sides and hidden in recesses in the walls. The motive force was evidently a great weight sliding in a pit, for they could hear the rumble and jar of its descent.

Renny and the other two were jerked from their feet. The net mesh was large enough to pass their feet and their arms through, and they hung there like fish caught by the gills.

The net trap was cleverly constructed. It hauled them over and slammed them against one wall, holding them there with an inexorable strength.

Renny snarled, and tore at the net. His huge hands did manage to snap two of the strands. He shot down a man who ran toward him.

Then Santini’s gang was upon them. Santini appeared from where he had retreated to actuate the trap, howling, “Non! Non! There is no need to kill them now!”

Clubbing guns reduced the prisoners to senselessness. “Go see if they left a watcher at the entrance!” Santini gritted.