Ds184 python isle doc, p.4
DS184_Python_Isle.doc, page 4
Tom Franklin said a resolute nothing.
Not long after, the sedan rolled to a stop at a white farmhouse on the outskirts of Cape Town. It was a squat high-gabled dwelling of the Cape Dutch style common to the region.
The crew entered. Men with guns lounged in a simple parlor. They were guarding the black-haired, sloe-eyed girl who had been a passenger on the gilded monoplane.
She started to her feet at the sight of the red-haired man but was shoved back into her chair.
Franklin began to speak words in an unknown language. He was promptly knocked down for his pains.
Preening himself in characteristic fashion, Blackbird Hinton straddled Franklin's prone form. He slapped his spike-nosed pistol against a meaty palm.
"You're goin' to tell us all about that radio message you tried to send," he announced meaningfully.
"You might want to take a look at this first, Cap'n," King Hancock inserted.
He passed the bamboo tube to his black-clad skipper.
"What's this?" Blackbird wanted to know.
"I found it in that big troublemaker's hand. Didn't think much of it at first. But look at the seal."
Blackbird looked. At one end of the tube in blue was the imprint of a twisting serpent.
"That design was all over that gold-plated plane," Hancock said unnecessarily.
Blackbird shoved 2 fingers into the tube's open end and pulled out a long role of blue paper. He examined this.
"Hell! It looks like a bloody hunk of blueprint!" he bellowed.
Tom Franklin had been watching the proceeding with a look of gray horror on his face. He emitted a strangling noise.
"I can't read this. What's it say?" Blackbird demanded.
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
II - The Bamboo Tube
Franklin regarded the crow-like man with frosty-blue eyes. His mouth was a line.
"You passed this to that big-fisted lubber, didn't you?"
King Hancock put in a thought.
"Maybe this is some kind of treasure map! It might tell us where we can find more of that gold."
Pocketing his pistol, Blackbird reached down and lifted the redhead to his feet by main strength.
"Damn you!" he shouted. "You're goin' to answer some questions before this fine day is through!
What about this blueprint? What's it mean?"
"I don't know," Franklin vouchsafed. "I never saw it before in my life."
A man stepped forward then.
"Let me handle this, Skipper."
He drove the butt of his rifle into the flame-haired man's kidneys where it would cause excruciating pain. Franklin dropped in a groaning heap.
Other men came forward at Blackbird's signal. Blows rained! A feminine voice screeched. 2 men had to hold the girl down.
When the assailants stepped back, Tom Franklin resembled an old rag doll that had been spattered with red paint.
"Let's start with that radio message then," Blackbird demanded. "Who did you sent it to?"
Tom Franklin spit out blood and a tooth. The latter clicked against Blackbird's shoe.
The evil skipper gave the signal for his crew to resume their work.
"N-no!" Franklin pleaded. "No more! I-I sent that message to New York. To Doc Savage."
"Hell's Bells!" a man swore explosively. "Now we're in for it!"
"Shut up!" Blackbird spat. "That message had to be relayed through a Cape Town station. I stopped him before he could finish it. So they may not have sent it on."
He turned on the others.
"Two of you come with me. Hancock …!"
"Aye sir?" the dapper diamond smuggler said.
"You guard these two until we get back.
With two of his worthies in tow, Blackbird quitted the farmhouse.
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
II - The Bamboo Tube
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Sometime later, an operator in the Cape Town telegraph station was startled when 3 men burst into his office with drawn guns.
One of them -- a short raven-hued individual -- pressed the snout of his spiky pistol to the operator's nose.
"This won't go off if you do like I say," Blackbird Hinton advised.
"R-right," the operator stammered.
"Where are your message files?" Blackbird demanded. "I want to see copies of every message that went through this office in the last 24 hours."
"Over there."
With a shaking digit, the operator indicated a wooden box in which reposed a stack of yellow flimsies.
The 2 crewmen stood guard over the terrified operator while Blackbird ransacked the message copies.
"Damn the luck!" he cursed at length. "It went through to New York all right."
Blackbird considered.
"Maybe we can still head this thing off. Take care of that guy."
The radio operator fainted, however, thus making further violence on his person unnecessary.
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
III - Radio Trap
III -- Radio Trap
Colonel John "Renny" Renwick, M.S.C.E., D.S.C., C.M.H. -- as his name appeared on the roster of the International Society of Master Engineers -- was noted for several things. His worldwide reputation as one of the greatest living civil engineers was just one of them.
His huge fists and perpetual look of utter gloom (he was, for some reason, happiest when he looked the saddest) were two more of his trademarks.
But it was his status as an aide to the fabulous personage Doc Savage that was perhaps the most amazing thing about him.
Only Five individuals on the face of the Earth had that honor. And each of them was a recognized master in his chosen field. Too, each of them chose to put aside his own career when necessary to follow the Bronze Man in his work.
This meant that Renny Renwick was a lover of adventure because where Doc Savage went,
excitement was certain to be found. This also meant that Renny was not exactly deficient in what is commonly referred to as "gray matter".
Renny held evidence of his quick thinking in one big beet-colored hand as he stood in the shadow of the massive hydroelectric dam. It was a stiff roll of parchment which the giant engineer was in the process of unraveling. The parchment had nestled -- until recently -- in the bamboo cylinder given him by the oddly-garbed man with the flaming hair.
Renny had palmed this, substituting a strip of blueprint before he had gone into action with the earthmover. It was a simple precaution. But it worked.
When he regained consciousness, he discovered the bamboo tube to be missing. But the scroll was secure under his discarded steel helmet.
Renny examined the parchment scroll. It was minutely inscribed with a strange script. The big engineer's work had taken him all over the Glove and he was familiar with many languages. But the odd script baffled him.
"Strangest dang writing I ever saw," he muttered.
Even his mutter was loud.
"Wonder what this thing means …"
All around him, the camp was pulling itself together. Renny shook off solicitous question regarding the state of his injured head with a growled "What happened?"
He was informed that the strangely-garbed redhead had been abducted by the raiders and that the unfortunate taxi-driver had died. There were no other casualties. "We called the authorities as soon as the smoke cleared" he was told.
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
III - Radio Trap
Renny nodded wordlessly, his eyes still on the baffling script. His face looked like the popular conception of Old Man Prohibition. Conversely, this meant that he was elated.
The business of the costumed man; his pursuers, and the parchment scroll inscribed with an unknown language meant excitement to the big-fisted engineer.
"Doc oughta know about this," he decided.
Suiting words to action, he headed for his office which was situated in a rude wooden structure. The door was closed but not locked. It was a stout door being hewn of hard native ironwood.
Without breaking stride, Renny struck the panel a mighty blow! It flew a full 10 feet across the office.
It was a peculiarity of Renny Renwick that he enjoyed knocking the panels out of doors. He often boasted that the door hadn't been constructed that could withstand his fists. In this case, the door was all of a piece and -- there being no panel to pop loose -- gave at its hinges.
There was a radio in his office used to communicate with the outside World. It was still there. But someone had taken a hammer to it. Vacuum tubes, coils, and other paraphernalia littered the small office.
A telephone (it was one of two at the site) had been ripped loose as well. One of the raiders had evidently found his way to the office in the course of the excitement.
A subordinate popped his head in the open door.
"I forgot to tell you that one of them sneaked in here."
He saw the remains.
"They got the radio, eh?"
Renny grunted. His dark eyes were narrow.
"The only other big set in the area is in Cape Town," the other offered. "Want an auto?"
"yeah," Renny rumbled, rolling up the parchment and slipping it into his belt. "I'll drive it myself."
The subordinate ran off to commandeer a machine.
Renny waited in his office. He paced like a caged lion clutching-and-unclutching his great fists nervously. They resembled blocks of bone-and-gristle encased in rhinoceros hid.
Once, he stopped and banged those monster fists together! They produced a sound not unlike 2
bricks being clapped together.
It was not often in recent times that Renny Renwick actually practiced his chosen profession. He preferred the companionship of Doc Savage to toiling at projects such as this hydroelectric dam.
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
III - Radio Trap
The high fees that he charged when he did work had made him a wealthy man. He could easily afford not to work. It just happened that this current undertaking was one in which he personally had a vested financial interest. And so the big engineer had come to South Africa to supervise the finishing touches to the project.
But several weeks of this had begun to wear on him. In short, he craved Action. The kind only association with Doc Savage provided.
The fact that he was now unable to contact his leader made him impatient.
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It was this preoccupation -- as well as the fact that there was no door to be opened -- which prevented Renny from hearing the skulker enter his office.
The intruder had the muzzle of a gun pressed against his spine -- where instantaneous death would result should the weapon discharge -- before the big-fisted engineer became cognizant that he was no longer alone.
A cool cultured voice told him: "You cannot be anyone other than Renny Renwick. And you won't be anything except dead if you hesitate to place your hands where they will do the least good."
Another man might have jumped at the sudden voice. But Renny did not seem alarmed.
He said "Holy cow!" (it was his pet expression) and raised his massive hands level with his head.
The latter looked ridiculously small as a result. Like the head of a missionary is supposed to look after it has been shrunken by headhunters. Renny's fists equaled his head in size.
That illusion did not give King Hancock pause for it was the dapper crook who had gotten the drop on the huge engineer. Hancock was a cook customer.
"Don't make a move," he ordered.
He was still attired in his long Prince Albert coat. A soft gray hat rested on his head.
"It's a good think I learned to think for myself," he remarked. "Otherwise who else would there be to pick up the Captain's marbles for him? When Blackbird pulled that piece of blueprint out of that bamboo stick he took from you, it occurred to me that a fast one might have been pulled. And I certainly can't let anyone make a fool out of my Captain now can I!"
The natty diamond smuggler spied the stiff scroll shoved in the big engineer's belt. He reached for it, still keeping his gun (it was a tiny pearl-handled .22) nuzzling Renny's spine.
Renny Renwick stood 64" tall and weighed 250 pounds of solid knobby muscle. His arms and legs were remindful of long kegs of thew. His feet -- like his fists -- were disproportionately large. He was a loose, clumsy-looking individual. Such men are usually uncoordinated.
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
III - Radio Trap
It happed that when Renny was a youth, his father had hired a retired boxer to train him. The old fighter had done a remarkable job. It was not well known, but Renny Renwick was one of the most accomplished boxers in the World despite the fact that he had never fought professionally.
The reason that his father had put his son through that training was not to teach him to defend himself. Even as a youth, his fists had been awesome. But rather to instill speed and lightning reflexes.
The old pugilist had done an exemplary job there too.
He showed his skill now.
As King Hancock reached around Renny's huge bulk for the scroll, the engineer pivoted and lashed out with his fists. One knocked the diminutive automatic from the dapper crook's hand while the other
-- still raised -- levered down in a nail-driving fashion. King Hancock caved to the floor.
Renny scooped up the gun in one paw. He retrieved the parchment next.
"That'll teach you to go up against your betters," he told the prostrate crooks.
Hancock -- stunned but conscious -- raised himself a little and shook his head to clear it. The suddenness with which he ceased that activity indicated that the head-shaking was painful in the extreme.
Renny's automobile ground to a halt outside the office and a man slid from the driver's seat.
"Auto's here, Mr. Renwick," he called.
At those words, King Hancock bounced erect and nimbly avoided Renny's lunge. One leap put him in the open machine. He scrambled for the wheel.
"Holy cow! A jumping jack!" Renny roared.
He leaped himself but landed in the dirt where the car had been.
He got to his feet. He still had Hancock's pistol. He brought this level and fumbled with it for several seconds. It was a vest-pocket weapon. Consequently, his fist swallowed it.
The trigger guard proved to be too small to admit his finger. He threw it away and disgust and legged for another machine.
By the time his big hands were wrapped around the steering wheel of another car, the fleeing machine had gotten a good start in the apparent direction of Cape Town. Renny set off in pursuit anyway.
The giant engineer still had the parchment scroll with him. He rolled it tightly and stowed it between the cushions of his auto seat for safekeeping.
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
III - Radio Trap
The roads leading to Cape Town are no highways. They wind like black ribbons through vineyards and sheep farms … past Devil's Peak … and on toward the city. This meant that a car had to cover roughly 2 miles-or-more for ever mile of distance "as the crow flies".
It also meant that it was possible for a canny driver to keep a car traveling in front of him in sight as the roads twisted and turned almost in on themselves.
Having sighted the fleeing vehicle from a rise, Renny decided to pace the King Hancock car in the hopes that it would lead him eventually to the marauders who had killed the taxi driver and kidnapped the owner of the parchment scroll.
The trail led to downtown Cape Town. There, Renny was forced to close the gap between vehicles for fear of losing his quarry.
The Hancock machine -- possible lulled by the lack of visible pursuit during the long drive -- settled down to a reasonable speed. Renny matched that pace until the car came to a rest on Adderly Street near the railroad station.
Looking only slightly ruffled, dapper King Hancock trotted into a building. He did not look behind him.
Renny parked well behind. Cautiously he followed on foot. He recognized the building as the Cape Town radio station.
"Probably going to send a message to his chief," Renny concluded. "I got him now!"
He went in boldly. He found his way to the sending office.
He was set upon at once!
There were men on either side of the door. One made the mistake of coming at him with a liver-hued blackjack. He swung it.
Renny dodged the descending implement. He brought a big fist around in a backhand swing. It drove the air out of the blackjack wielder's lungs as it sank into his middle. Renny felt his knuckles contact the man's spine. The latter went down, a little green.
Off to one side, Blackbird Hinton yelled: "Pile on him! Don't just stand there! He might have a blasted gun!"
The men jumped. They were only two(2) of them. But they were big brawny fellows. One wrapped himself around Renny's waist and held on for dear life. The other -- picking himself off the floor --
