Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 093 - The Awful Dynasty

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THE AWFUL DYNASTY

A Doc Savage Adventure By Kenneth Robeson

http://www.blackmask.com

? Chapter I. SIGN OF THE SCARAB

? Chapter II. DEATH STRIKES

? Chapter III. THE CURSE

? Chapter IV. MENACE IN BLUE

? Chapter V. THE PRINCESS

? Chapter VI. PINK-EYED RASCAL

? Chapter VII. DISAPPEARANCES

? Chapter VIII. DEATH FOR THREE!

? Chapter IX. PAT GETS A CLUE

? Chapter X. WARNING

? Chapter XI. DEATH COMES SEEKING

? Chapter XII. HELP NEEDED

? Chapter XIII. PYRAMID

? Chapter XIV. THE QUEEN’S CHAMBER

? Chapter XV. DESERT DEVIL

? Chapter XVI. THE DEVIL CALLED LOU

Scanned and Proofed

by Tom Stephens

Chapter I. SIGN OF THE SCARAB

IT just happened that a peculiar incident took place a moment or so before the great ocean liner sailed

from Southampton, and because of this no one observed the arrival of a remarkable man with bronze

features. The bronze man, via another gangway, slipped to his stateroom unnoticed. He remained there,

in seclusion, throughout the remainder of the voyage to New York. And so nobody realized that Doc

Savage was on the liner.

But what they did know—and talk about—was the presence of the two dark-skinned men with the

copper tube. The fellows looked like Egyptians. They had come hurrying up the gangplank at the very

last second, almost.

Preceding them, there had been various sorts of rackets. A police car, siren working, had drawn up to

the pier. It had been followed by another.

Between this and yet still two more police cars that followed had been the taxicab containing the two

Egyptians and four other men who looked like New York bodyguards for an old-time gangster.

The two Egyptians hurried from the cab with the long copper cylinder held between them. It did not

appear to be heavy, and yet each man clung to the thing as though distrustful of allowing the other full

possession of it. The four blocky-jawed bodyguards formed a cordon around them as they came on

shipboard.

Passengers gawked. Some who got too curious, and who shoved in close in order to get a better look,

were elbowed aside gruffly by the four men with blocky jaws.

The entourage with the long, shining copper cylinder moved swiftly through the ship, picked up a purser,

then headed directly for a large suite on A Deck. There seemed to be a whole lot of solemnity in bringing

the copper cylinder aboard. The two dark-skinned Egyptians and their four bodyguards might have been

pallbearers at a funeral, so glum were their expressions.

One of the onlookers was a young college student. He was quite an intelligent individual. He got close

enough to get a good look at the thing which the two Egyptians were carrying so carefully.

About three feet long, the cylinder was perhaps three inches in diameter. It gleamed with a red-gold

coppery hue. It appeared to be capped at both ends. And on the smooth, gleaming surface of the tube

was a scramble of funny-looking figures.

The college boy stared. He squinted his eyes to take in all he could of the thing before the men carrying it

disappeared down a corridor. Then, his alert young gaze bug-eyed, he grabbed his nearest companion

and let out a cry.

"Did you see what’s on that thing?" the student demanded.

"You mean them funny decorations?" asked the other passenger.

"They’re not decorations. It was writing!"

"Writing?"

"Hieroglyphics," explained the college boy. "It just happens I caught some of the characters on that

thing!" His voice rose excitedly.

"And so?" The other passenger was not yet impressed.

"That . . . that copper cylinder," the youth gulped, "has something to do with the Fourth Dynasty of

Cheops! Five or ten years ago, several archaeologists died trying to open a tomb containing, they

believed, relics of that dynasty. It’s awful!"

"Awful?" There was a puzzled frown now upon the second passenger’s face.

"That dynasty—everything connected with it—is cursed. Men die who try to penetrate its mystery!"

The college boy moved away from the spot. He called back in a thin, tight voice, "Keep away from that

thing. It’s cursed!"

ADJOINING the corridor down which the Egyptians and their bodyguards had disappeared, was a

small inside space that was more or less a smoking room. It was through this space that the college youth

was moving when he let out the startled cry about something being cursed.

A man seated in a deep armchair reading a newspaper looked up. He got to his feet. Several people

standing about looked at him.

For the man was very tall and so thin that most passengers had to stare up at him. He had a high

forehead, the aesthetic face of a thinker, and it was a bet, when he started to walk, whether his clothes

would fall off his long thin body. From his lapel dangled a ribbon to which was attached a monocle with a

thick lens.

He had overheard the student’s remark. And, as he listened, he overheard other remarks now being

made about the strange copper cylinder. He caught the words: "—curse of the Fourth Dynasty of

Cheops!"

The long thin man murmured to himself. "I’ll be superamalgamated!"

Then he followed a crowd of curious passengers as they pushed through the ship corridor in order to

stand and stare at the stateroom door through which the Egyptians had disappeared.

None could know that the tall man was William Harper Littlejohn, an eminent archaeologist and scholar.

And also one of the aids in the unusual organization headed by Doc Savage, the Man of Bronze.

"Johnny"—as William Harper Littlejohn was called by his most intimate friends—was also on shipboard

in somewhat the capacity of a bodyguard. His assignment at the moment was to see that Doc Savage

was not disturbed throughout the entire voyage to New York.

For the bronze man—from time to time—went into seclusion when he had his remarkable brain centered

upon a particular problem. In this case, it was a treatise on a new type of brain surgery that was going to

startle a good part of the world. It was Johnny’s job to see that no one disturbed Doc Savage.

This explained why Johnny had been seated in the small smoking room that gave a view of the corridor.

The bronze man’s stateroom was a few feet down that corridor. In the excitement of sailing, someone

was liable to try to enter it by mistake. Johnny was to see that they didn’t try.

The crowd passed the bronze man’s doorway now as they pressed down the corridor in search of the

men with the copper cylinder. They reached another group jammed about a closed door only a dozen

yards or so away from Doc Savage’s stateroom.

One curious fellow was stooped down trying to peer through the keyhole of the door. Another was on

his hands and knees trying to look through the crack formed by the bottom of the door and the sill.

They could see nothing.

Someone asked, "What was all the secrecy about that copper cylinder?"

Another passenger shrugged, replied, "You’re asking me! That’s what we’d all like to know."

No one, from the excited conversation, seemed to have an idea of what the Egyptians could have been

carrying so guardedly.

Johnny Littlejohn listened, and his interest deepened, and after a while his restless imagination got the

better of him and he decided that he would watch the curious-acting Egyptians and their four

bodyguards.

But the fellows remained in their cabins throughout the rest of that day.

It was about ten that night that they changed staterooms.

JOHNNY had been seated in the smoking room reading a magazine. Only twice had he been in to see

Doc Savage. And both times the bronze man had been so intently concentrating on his medical treatise

that he had not replied to Johnny’s remarks. So the archaeologist had left him alone.

Johnny was just thinking of retiring when he saw one of the blocky-jawed fellows come out of the

stateroom beyond the bronze man’s own and look up and down the corridor. Then the man hurried aft.

Shortly he returned with half a dozen ship’s officers. The three other bodyguards stepped out into the

passageway. They were followed by the two Egyptians carrying the mysterious copper cylinder.

Immediately a protective cordon was formed around the two dark-skinned men and their shining object,

and the group started hurriedly forward.

Curious, Johnny Littlejohn followed at a discreet distance. He reached a turn in the corridor, had just

started around it, when he noted that the group had paused at an inside suite doorway. Johnny drew

back.

He heard someone ask, "You’re certain there’s no outside deck entrance to this suite?"

"That’s right," came the officer’s reply.

"And no outside windows?"

"None whatsoever."

"All right, then. We’ll stay here."

Shortly, the officers moved off down the corridor. Johnny slipped along through the passageway until he

came to the doorway of the strange-acting men’s new suite. He listened quietly.

There were voices talking, but he could distinguish no words. Johnny frowned. What the devil was this

mystery all about, he wondered. He moved out on deck.

Though the moon was shining overhead, there was fog lying like a thick blanket over the surface of the

ocean. The liner was ripping through the tendrils of the damp, chill fog. And as Johnny stood there,

leaning against the ship’s rail, the stuff grew thicker. His clothes became damp. The few passengers who

had been walking on deck quickly disappeared. He was left alone.

The liner’s deep-throated, mournful foghorn started its half-minute blasts. The sound shivered through the

throbbing ship, trailed off behind the fast-moving boat. In between each blast, there was heavy, deep

silence.

Johnny had been standing there perhaps half an hour, thinking of the two dark-skinned Egyptians and

their peculiar copper cylinder, when the woman walked past him. Or rather, floated past him. It was this

that caught his attention.

For the woman walked with short, smooth steps that carried her trim small form along as though it were

being moved on some sort of conveyor. Johnny had never seen anyone walk so smoothly, so effortlessly

as this beautiful creature.

And beautiful she was!

A stanchion light gave Johnny one brief glimpse of the woman’s face as she passed by. He caught a

right-side view of her classic profile.

There was a thing exotic and mysterious about her olive-skinned, fine features. Johnny had an impression

of dark somber eyes, of hair that was like ebony. She was not tall, but almost fragile in her delicate,

exquisite form.

One thing about her formed a word in the gaunt archaeologist’s thoughts. Egyptian! That was it! Perhaps

she was somehow connected with—

She had suddenly turned into the doorway through which Johnny had reached the outside deck. On a

sudden impulse, he followed.

And a moment later he was staring as he watched the small, gemlike woman from a concealed distance

down the long passageway.

She had paused before the room door of Doc Savage!

JOHNNY watched quietly. The woman’s black-gloved hand raised to tap on the door. But midway to

the panel, it suddenly paused. The woman seemed to hesitate. Her hand moved to her lips and she stood

there staring at the closed door.

And then, abruptly, she turned away and ran hurriedly down the passageway, away from Johnny

Littlejohn. The tall archaeologist let out a surprised yell. He leaped after the small woman.

But she had turned past a bulkhead. When he reached the point, she had disappeared. He stared around.

A cross-passage led to either the port or starboard side of the great liner. The woman could have gone

either way. Johnny went to the right.

And saw no sign of her.

He tried the other angle of the passage. And had no success.

All this happened on Tuesday night.

On Friday night the situation was unchanged. The ship was due in New York in a few hours. And yet

Johnny had not once seen the dainty Egyptian woman again. Neither had he seen the two men with the

mysterious copper cylinder.

Of course, at various times throughout the voyage, he had seen the blocky-jawed bodyguards moving in

and out of the suite. But never more than two of the bodyguards left the cabin at any one time. There

were always two left behind. Trays of food were taken from cabin boys at the doorway. No one, Johnny

had observed, was ever permitted inside.

The game of watching for the Egyptian woman and observing the actions of the bodyguards had helped

pass the time for Johnny. For Doc Savage was still in seclusion. He was in one of those intense moods of

concentration that took hold of him from time to time. Johnny had perhaps seen him only a dozen times

throughout the entire trip. And even then he had not disturbed Doc with details about the mysterious

cylinder and the beautiful, exotic Egyptian woman who had seemed afraid to knock on his stateroom

door.

The last night out was particularly dark and murky. There was no moon. At midnight, Johnny stood out

on deck in the darkness and thought about the gemlike little woman whom he had seen only once. There

was something mysterious about the way she had acted. He wondered who—

Down deck, off in the damp gloom, he thought he caught a startled little cry. Johnny quickly moved that

way. It could have been a woman’s frightened exclamation. Ahead, he was certain, he detected a step.

And yet he could see nothing in the darkness. There was only the steady, ominous sound of the sea

swishing past the ships side plates, and the deep throbbing of the engines. He listened, moving quietly

forward.

It was then that he saw the scarab.

At first, though, all that Johnny saw was the weird blue glow in the inky blackness. It was as his eyes

grew accustomed to the light that he saw the other thing. The thing with a round, fat body and legs. A

beetle. And a beetle, to the gaunt archaeologist, denoted the sign of the scarab.

The scarab Johnny saw was no more than an inch in diameter! It moved. Or rather, appeared to float

through the air in a jerky, waving sort of motion!

"I’ll be superamalgamated!" Johnny breathed. The archaeologist never used small words if he could avoid

it. The exclamation was one he frequently used when suddenly surprised.

He stepped forward, his head bobbing up and down as he followed the mysterious actions of the fat

beetle surrounded by the uncanny blue glow. Johnny, with a start, saw something else—a thing that made

him swiftly leap forward with a startled outcry.

And immediately, powerful hands seized him from behind, closed about his skinny throat and dragged

him to the deck. Johnny gagged, kicked, smashed out with his fists. For a long thin fellow, he was

unusually strong and quick-moving.

But other hands joined those that had seized him, and he was quickly subdued. Something rapped his

skull. Even as consciousness flowed from the archaeologist’s limp body, he had the thought that he

should have spoken to Doc Savage.

He should have told Doc about the mysterious-acting Egyptians!

Chapter II. DEATH STRIKES

PERHAPS if someone had told John Black that the archaeologist known as William Harper Littlejohn

was connected with the Doc Savage organization, he would not have had anything to do with the thing in

the copper cylinder. But John Black was not informed that Johnny Littlejohn knew Doc Savage. John

Black was the man to whom the cylinder was delivered in New York.

John Black’s name hardly suited his description. For he was an albino.

He had skin the color of skim milk, hair as light as oat straw, and eyes that seemed to be a shade of pink.

He was a little stout man that made you think of a kewpie. But a very sanctimonious kewpie.

Because John Black had a habit of standing with his hands held in a holier-than-thou sort of gesture

across his round middle, and of smiling piously and of saying, "Bless you," quite frequently.

John Black looked at the shining copper cylinder resting on his desk, and then at the two dark-skinned

Egyptians who had just delivered it to him. His round, milky-white face beamed, and he sighed, "Ah,

bless you, my children. So this is the scroll from my most worthy cousin in Egypt?"

The two Egyptians bowed low from the waist. Behind them, their blocky faces immobile, stood the four

bodyguards.

"Yes, sahib," said one of the dark-skinned men. "We have delivered the scroll safely from most

respected cousin. We shall now return."

John Black looked at the two. "To Egypt?"

Both men nodded solemnly. "Yes, sahib—to Egypt."

John Black looked suddenly flustered. He reached toward his hip pocket, drew out his wallet, hesitated.

His round face looked worried.

"Well, bless me," he started. "I want to pay you, but you see . . . ah . . . that is—"

"The payment," said one of the somber-faced Egyptians, "has already been made. There is nothing owed

us."

The beaming smile returned to John Black’s features. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "Bless cousin Northrup. What

a fine, upstanding man he is!"

The sextet prepared to take their departure. Their mission was ended. But one of the bodyguards

paused, frowned, jerked a thick thumb at John Black. He addressed the two Egyptians.

"You’re positive about this bird, now? You ain’t made any mistake?"

John Black looked shocked. That anyone for the moment should doubt that he was John Black

"But," he cried, "I have proved to you that I am John Black!"

The two Egyptians nodded. One said: "Quite true, sahib. We have made quite certain. We shall go."

They bowed and went out, and as John Black closed the door behind them he let out a long, thankful

sigh. He sat down in a chair a moment and closed his eyes. His lips moved as though in prayer.

For the ordeal—before the cylinder from Egypt had been turned over to him—had been quite trying. He

had been forced to prove his identity beyond a doubt. He had produced also the cablegrams from his

cousin Northrup in Egypt. He had convinced the Egyptian messengers that he was the party who was to

receive the cylinder in New York.

Finally he got up out of the chair and returned to the table. He stood for a long time staring at the

three-foot-long cylinder of copper. Then, with trembling fingers, he unscrewed one of the ends.

Upending the tube, he carefully eased the contents out onto the wide table top. His pink-red eyes

widened as he stared at what was revealed.

The object looked like the paper roll for an electric player piano. Only this stuff wasn’t paper, but some

ageless, rare form of parchment. As he opened it up, strange characters and figures met his gaze. Some

of them looked like fat cows, and some like dogs, while others were like the kind of animals he had never

before seen in his life.

He unrolled the scroll farther and saw that the whole thing was interspersed with such crazy

hieroglyphics. And there was also writing, but it was like no kind of writing that had ever appeared in the

Twentieth Century—in any kind of language!

But the writing on the separate sheet of small white paper was in English.

The message read:

John—

The inclosed might mean a great deal, or nothing. But until you are certain, guard it with your life. I

suggest that you look up a well-known authority on Egyptology who resides there in New York. The

man’s name is Lucius Pettibone. He will be able to decipher this thing and tell you its real value. But

remember, don’t consult anyone else.

—Northrup.

John Black reread the note from his cousin, and he looked up startled. His plump, pink hands came up

and pressed his face, and he cried, "Oh, dear me! Perhaps I should send it back!"

He quickly put the scroll back in the cylinder and then, because he seemed confused, he sat down and

looked at the copper tube for a long time.

It was Saturday morning, and the sun was shining brightly outside his home.

After a while, apparently having reached a decision, John Black went to the telephone stand and got the

red directory that listed every type of business and profession in New York.

He located the name of Lucius Ethelbert Pettibone, Egyptologist. The man lived on Eighth Street, near

the Village. John Black made an appointment for two o’clock that same afternoon. He was careful

enough to say nothing about the copper cylinder over the phone. He merely stated that he wanted advice

on something pertaining to Egypt.

Later, he wrapped the cylinder in old newspapers, and then he got out an old suitcase that was a good

yard long. He packed the cylinder in amongst soiled linen that he jammed into the suitcase. If anything did

happen, he could pretend he was taking his laundry to the Chinaman’s.

At 1:30 he phoned for a cab and went to see the Egyptologist.

LUCIUS ETHELBERT PETTIBONE was a strapping big fellow with worried eyes and a nervous

manner. Shaking hands with him was like taking hold of a piece of soap that has stood too long in water.

The moment John Black was seated in the Egyptologist’s office, Pettibone got up from behind his desk

again, moved toward a water cooler, poured himself a drink and then reached into his coat pocket for a

small bottle. There were white pills that looked like aspirin in the bottle.

Pettibone shook out two of the pills into his palm, gulped them down with a mouthful of water. He

looked at John Black and said worriedly, "Headache. You’ll pardon me? I have terrible headaches all the

time. Too much concentration. Too much work. I don’t know what I’m going to do."

His sentences ran together as though he were blurting out the words while being chased by a pack of

hungry wolves. It looked odd to see such a big man so nervous.

John Black had the copper cylinder resting across his knees, his hands folded in the pious gesture across

his fat stomach. Briefly now, he explained about the scroll he had received from his cousin in Egypt. He

finished with:

"They say you’re an authority on this sort of stuff. I want you to tell me if it is valuable. Bless you, I hope

you do say it is!"

Lucius Ethelbert Pettibone’s face twisted once or twice. His hands gripped the edge of the heavy desk.

Slowly, though, some of the nervousness seemed to leave him. He took the cylinder when it was passed

to him, opened it, removed the scroll and spread it out on his desk.

Suddenly, he jumped back, dropping the thing as though it were on fire. He quickly flung open a drawer

of his desk and brought out a bottle with an atomizer top. He started spraying an evil-smelling substance

around him and over the scroll spread out on the desk. He exclaimed:

"Germs! Germs all around us. Air is full of them. This thing probably contains millions of them. I’m afraid

of germs. That is, I don’t like them." He looked a little flustered. "Well, anyway, there’s nothing like being

careful!"

John Black gave the man a puzzled regard.

Pettibone put the atomizer away, got out a large magnifying glass and peered closely at the aged scroll.

He studied the thing for long moments. He said nothing.

John Black sat fidgeting, anxious to hear the verdict.

But Pettibone seemed to have gone into a sort of trance. He sat staring at the scroll, still saying nothing.

Only once did he speak, and then to read something aloud—as though to himself.

"Cheops in the realm of the Fourth Dynasty of Pharaoh—" Then the Egyptologist’s words trailed off into

a mumbled jargon. His lips moved, but he said nothing aloud.

Sweat popped out on John Black’s forehead. He fidgeted with his fat hands.

Finally, Lucius Ethelbert Pettibone looked up. He put down the magnifying glass and leaned back in his

desk chair. He said:

"This will take a little time. Could you come back, say, in about two hours?"

John Black decided that there was little he could do about the delay. These authorities, as a rule, were

touchy individuals. He agreed to the suggestion.

But when he returned, he was almost a nervous wreck. The strain of waiting to hear the verdict was

terrific. He sat down, watched Pettibone stare again at the scroll for long moments. He demanded:

"Well?"

Pettibone finally spoke.

"This one," he said, "is just like all the others. A hopeless mix-up. Utter fools must have written it."

John Black leaped to his feet, trembling. "Then you mean—"

"The scroll," announced Lucius Ethelbert Pettibone, "is worthless!"

LATER, John Black took his ancient scroll and his copper cylinder and went home, after paying the

Egyptologist a ten-dollar fee for his services. He was thoroughly disgusted.

He decided to ship the blasted thing back to his cousin in Egypt. But this was before he had read the

evening newspapers.

It was a custom for John Black to read the evening papers thoroughly each night before retiring. He lived

alone, except for a manservant who kept mostly to himself. The servant was a deaf-mute, and therefore

not a very talkative companion. But he was a good workman, thrifty, and thus John Black kept him

around his home constantly. In fact, Jo—as the deaf-mute was called—had a bedroom across the hall

from John Black’s own.

Jo had gone to bed when John Black came upon the item in the newspaper. It read:

MILLIONAIRE OIL KING

TO FINANCE PLAYGROUND

The article below the heading on Page 3 went on to state that a local millionaire was going to sponsor the

largest playground ever built for the children of New York City. His act was commended. There was a

lot of ballyhoo about the wealthy man.

John Black had read halfway through the article when his small pink eyes became suddenly thoughtful.

He quickly got the telephone book and looked up the phone number of another famous New York

millionaire.

A. B. Chickerelli had been an immigrant boy who had made good in a large way. He was head of the

largest banking chain in New York. He was a member of the Stock Exchange. He owned yachts and

race horses. He was president of Regal Foods, Inc.

John Black, after fifteen minutes of clever persuasion, got A. B. Chickerelli on the phone at his

Fifth-Avenue home. John Black spent another fifteen minutes giving himself a build-up.

He mentioned the fact that he was elder at a certain church, on the board of trustees at another, the

author of various treatises on religion. He convinced A. B. Chickerelli that he was a very good-living,

pious man.

And so, he wanted to know, would it be possible for him—John Black—to make an appointment for the

next day? There was something of utmost importance, a little matter that might mean a fortune to A. B.

Chickerelli.

The millionaire was finally convinced of the sincerity of John Black’s proposition. Chickerelli was not a

person to pass up an opportunity to make a dollar. He granted an appointment at his Wall Street office

for ten the following morning.

John Black hung up, giving a satisfied long sigh. He returned to the table where he had carelessly thrown

down the copper cylinder upon returning from the Egyptologist’s. He picked up the tube fondly, as

though it were something again very precious. He took it upstairs with him to his bedroom and laid it on a

chair near the bed.

Then he undressed, got on his knees beside the bed and said his prayers. He climbed beneath the sheets

with the satisfied feeling of a man who has taken advantage of a precarious opportunity.

The time was approximately 10:30.

It must have been close to midnight when John Black was awakened by the guttural, terrified scream

from the bedroom across the hall.

THE first thing John Black thought of was Jo—his deaf-mute servant. And so he tumbled out of bed and

raced across the hall. Even as he crossed the hallway he heard a loud thump from Jo’s room, as though

something had fallen heavily. He flung open the servant’s door and started into the room. And drew up

with a startled gasp.

Light from a street lamp outside the house shone into the bedroom. It cast a diffused, dim glow over the

heavy carpeting of the bedroom. Sprawled out, partially revealed by the light, was the heavily built

deaf-mute. The servant lay unmoving.

Stunned for the moment, John Black moved cautiously across the room. A bit of light angling between

the window curtains touched Jo’s mouth and half of his face. What John Black saw held him petrified

with dread.

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THEAWFULDYNASTYADocSavageAdventureByKennethRobesonThispagecopyright©2002BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?ChapterI.SIGNOFTHESCARAB?ChapterII.DEATHSTRIKES?ChapterIII.THECURSE?ChapterIV.MENACEINBLUE?ChapterV.THEPRINCESS?ChapterVI.PINK-EYEDRASCAL?ChapterVII.DISAPPEARANCES?ChapterVIII.DEATHFORTHR...

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