Chapter 7 The Stone Death

"Johnny must have been manhandled while he wrote that," declared Lucky Loo, indicating the scrawl he had translated as "Treasure Island". He decided the bronze man's detective ways were rubbing off onto him. From their vantage point near the bridge, the Exposition site could be seen without much effort. Lucky looked out at the artificial island for signs of activity, but found none. The place was vacant and deathly silent. When Lucky turned around again, Doc Savage was back in the telephone booth. He now held in his hand a second atomizer, and sprayed the telephone itself--set and receiver. Lucky watched through the glass of the booth as fingerprints slowly became visible on the receiver of the telephone. They stood out off-white on the black telephone receiver. "Johnny's fingerprints," Doc said quietly, almost as if speaking only to himself. "Nothing you could do would surprise me at this point, boss," Lucky said admiringly. He had caught on to the bronze man's use of chemical reactions to reveal information. There was no magic to it, no matter how it might have seemed at first. The chemical in this atomizer reacted with the oils in the human skin left behind after contact with an object. Varying factors such as temperature, humidity and the length of time between the contact of skin and the application of the chemical could influence the effectiveness of the chemical. Doc Savage picked up the receiver and dialed the telephone number of the hotel where he was registered. That would have been the most likely number for the bony geologist to call. The chemical in the atomizer which had brought out Johnny's fingerprints was one which would also react with the most common contact poisons, indicating their presence, so Doc had taken the calculated risk that the receiver had not been poisoned. From the doorway of the tiny telephone booth, Lucky heard the front desk clerk's voice over the telephone line: loud, with a hint of panic in it. The clerk spoke a little too rapidly. "You received an urgent phone call which was cut off, Mr. Savage. The message reads: 'I need to speak to Doc Savage...I think they've spotted me. Tell Doc Johnny says they're using Treasure Island', and then there were sounds of a struggle," the desk clerk's voice said. "Should I contact the police?" "I am aware of the situation," Doc replied calmly, as if mysterious messages which were suddenly interrupted was something he dealt with every day. This was not far afield from the truth, in its way. Mystery and danger were the bronze man's stock in trade. "I will personally contact them if necessary. Thank you for your assistance." Doc hung up the receiver and addressed Lucky. "Go to the airport and meet Renny Renwick. He should be arriving from New York shortly. Tell him everything you know about this situation." "Yes, boss," said Lucky faithfully. "But what about you?" "I am going to see if I can find my missing associate," the bronze man said, looking at Treasure Island. As the red-and-white taxi roared away, Doc Savage started the motor of the subdued-colored sedan, and put the vehicle into motion. Using the kaleidoscope-like tube, the bronze man followed the scarlet trail to Yerba Buena--"Good Herb"--Island. When the Spanish had arrived in the area, they had found native Indians using the small island as a garden, cultivating medicinal herbs there. Doc located the spot where the lanky Johnny had surveilled the neighboring island. The red trail ended there. This seemed to confirm Lucky's deduction about the geologist's message. Doc Savage sprayed the surrounding ground with the second atomizer, finding no message from Johnny Littlejohn. He turned his attention to Treasure Island. The bronze man's golden eyes roved over the artifice. The positions of the two islands made it impossible to cross the connecting causeway without being seen, if the causeway were being watched. Doc naturally assumed it was. There was every possibility that he had been seen, the bronze man knew. A chance remained that he was as yet undetected, because of the vegetation near his automobile. Doc moved stealthily toward the shore, taking advantage of the natural cover of the small island as much as possible. There was no sense in being reckless. He might have a reasonable chance of surprising whomever awaited him on the island. Doc Savage entered the water with all the noise of a seal, like a great bronze-colored wraith. He stroked silently until he reached the wharves on the south side of the artificial island where the Boeing B-314 "flying boats" had first docked the year before. He hauled himself from the water onto the wooden wharves. Beads of water ran off his bronze skin as if it were duck's down. Passing the hangars which had served as exhibition halls during the Exposition, Doc found the Court of Seven Seas, which ran the length of the island. At the end of the Court stood the eighty-foot tall statue of Pacifica, the female who had symbolized the Pacific Basin theme of the Exposition. Doc Savage moved quickly, quietly between the buildings on the Court, toward the center of the one thousand-foot long avenue, where the Tower of the Sun stood four hundred feet high, topped by a twenty-two foot tall gold-leaf wrought-iron eagle which represented San Francisco's recovery from the 1906 fire and earthquake--a Phoenix from the ashes, it was supposed to be. The bronze man reasoned that the slender Tower would be as good a place as any to start his search. Being centrally located, there was a fair chance that whoever had come here had passed by it, coming from the Elephant Towers entrance to the west, going to wherever they might have gone. The man of bronze, having a limited supply of the chemical which would reveal a hidden message from his bony aide, searched manually before resorting to the more arcane method. He scouted the area around the base of the Tower of the Sun, looking for something out of the ordinary, such as a scuff mark, which would draw his attention to an invisible message. Without much effort, Doc found something which got his attention--got it violently. Johnny's monocle lay in plain view to the east of the Tower. Doc Savage searched for look-outs, but saw none. This, in itself, did not rule out the possibility that he was being watched. There were hundreds of places an unimaginative man might hide, to say nothing of one skilled in such activity. The bronze man cautiously approached the monocle, examining every crack in the concrete walkway. No signs of a trap. He picked up the metal-and-glass object and scrutinized it. Doc observed no telltale signs of damage that should have been present had the monocle been discarded casually--as if dropped--such as scratches or fractured glass. It was completely clean and undamaged. There was no doubt that it had been planted there to draw the bronze man's attention. Doc peered down the avenue to the east. Through the Arch of Winds, beyond the Fountain of Life in the Court of Flowers, lay the Federal Building, a seven acre giant. The bronze man surreptitiously approached the building. Forty-eight one hundred and four-foot tall columns represented the states of the nation. Doc Savage entered the monster of a building. He worked his way inside, moving slowly, quietly. He had been taught the art of moving silently by an African tribesman who was an expert hunter. Doc's keen bronze ears picked up low voices in the building. The vast area of the building made it difficult to determine the origin of the sounds. Moving back and forth between two points, using a method similar to radio triangulation, Doc was able to get a good idea of where the noise came from. The man of bronze followed the voices down a hallway and found a door. The voices were clearer here. "I don't know why he assigned us to this duty," came one tinny voice filled with disgust. "Those other mugs are used to this sort of thing." "Maybe he wants to toughen us up?" asked a second voice. "Or maybe he wants to make sure we're in as deep as he is," said the first. Doc Savage crept into the room. The vast place was filled with crates and an assortment of equipment which seemed to be left over from the Exposition. There were signs and furniture and other odds and ends, all gathering dust. The Exposition had not gained the attention its counterpart in the East had. Doc wove a path through these, toward the voices he heard. The discussion continued in the same vein. "I'd rather be doing something useful, instead of babysitting this guy," said the first voice. After a few moments, Doc heard the second voice--very close now--say, "I've never killed anyone before." Doc Savage took from within his vest a small tube, no larger in diameter than an ordinary pencil. The device, with one of a few specific attachments, could function either as a telescope or as a periscope. In an emergency, it could serve as a breathing tube, if Doc was just below the surface of water. The bronze man's vest was stocked with a variety of gadgets which served him in his career, saving his life innumerable times. Gadgets were Doc Savage's one vice. He would rather use a gadget than do things the easy way, he sometimes reflected. This was probably a reaction to his strict upbringing; he didn't have toys as a child. He had books and chemistry sets. Everything he had or did as a child was part of making him a superhuman Nemesis of crime. The contents of his vest varied according to what Doc Savage thought he might need in any given upcoming engagement, but he carried a usual number of devices at all times. The tiny periscope gadget was one of those. Doc peered around a corner of a large crate with the small tube and saw two men standing next to a thin man tied to a chair. The two voices Doc had followed came from these guards. The contents of the room seemed to have been moved away from this area, creating a small clearing. The nearest cover from the bound geologist being more than twenty feet away was no accident, Doc concluded. Johnny Littlejohn, in the chair, seemed to be unconscious. He sat unmoving and his head rested on his chest. But he was breathing. Beyond the captive geologist was another guard, and Doc thought he could make out the footfalls of at least two--perhaps three--other men. The three men in sight held their submachine guns awkwardly, as if unaccustomed to using them. The one on the other side of bony Johnny paced nervously. Doc removed a small cannister from inside his vest, and flung it across the room, above the heads of the guards. It landed with an audible "thump", somewhere beyond the man on the other side of the lanky geologist. "What was that?" exclaimed one man, standing next to the unconscious form of Johnny Littlejohn. The two exchanged nervous glances. "Let's go." They ran toward the sound. The two of them disappeared behind some wooden crates with the third man Doc Savage had seen. The bronze man had thrown the cannister in a direction which would take all the guards he had discerned away from the captive geologist. Doc Savage came from behind his crate like a bronze tornado. He halted suddenly when a voice cried out "It's him!" Off to Doc's side, a fourth gunman had spotted the bronze man. Bullets ripped the wood of the floor as Doc sped for the cover of a crate. He dove behind the large wooden container. Loud footfalls came from the direction of the bound geologist--the others were returning. Before Doc Savage could react, a soft glow came from the center of the room, where Johnny Littlejohn was prisoner. Macabre shadows played on the crate across from Doc as the glow flickered. Agonizing screams fell upon the bronze man's ears. Doc was bronze lightning as he lunged away from the crate. He raced back to the door he had entered. Long moments passed. The wails ceased. The man of bronze opened the door to the room, slowly entered. He re-traced his path back to the center of the room, glancing about cautiously, looking for signs of the gunmen. Doc proceeded to the clearing where his aide sat bound. There stood the five guards, and Johnny still in the chair. They were now stone.

The Stone Death Written By: Jeff Deischer Dedicated to "Kenneth Robeson X" for his encouragement. The Stone Man is a work of fan fiction. Doc Savage is © Conde Nast Back to: Top of Page Index Page Home Page