Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 069 - The Green Death

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THE GREEN DEATH
A Doc Savage Adventure By Kenneth Robeson
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? Chapter I. JUNGLE DOOM
? Chapter II. THE CURSE FULFILLED
? Chapter III. A RAID
? Chapter IV. MONK FINDS TROUBLE
? Chapter V. GANGSTERS ATTACK
? Chapter VI. A STOWAWAY
? Chapter VII. A DESERTION
? Chapter VIII. FALSE TRAIL
? Chapter IX. A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD
? Chapter X. DISASTER STRIKES
? Chapter XI. TOMB OF THE DEAD
? Chapter XII. MONK TUMBLES
? Chapter XIII. RAIDERS ATTACK
? Chapter XIV. A PRINCESS COMMANDS
? Chapter XV. INTO THE ARMS OF DEATH
? Chapter XVI. BETWEEN TWO FIRES
? Chapter XVII. CRIMSON WATERS
? Chapter XVIII. CLOUDS THAT PASS
? Chapter XIX. A DIRIGIBLE FALLS
? Chapter XX. THE REAL GREEN DEATH
Scanned and proofed
by Tom Stephens
Chapter I. JUNGLE DOOM
DEATH was abroad in the jungle. The moist hot air was ominous, as the sun beat in vain on matted trees
and vines, unable to pierce the gloom beneath.
Through that gloom a man raced.
He was a very tall, very thin man, with a peculiar sallow complexion that now was literally streaming with
perspiration. His eyes, behind the glasses he wore, were worried. Occasionally he would dart a quick
glance over his shoulder, then he would plunge on, even though he knew escape was impossible.
The attack had come just at dawn. All the natives who had made up his party had either been killed or
had fled, panic-stricken, in that first attack.
There had been soft puft sounds, and death had arrived in the form of poisoned arrows.
The tall, thin man had snatched a gun and fired recklessly toward the foes he could not see; then he, too,
had run. There had been nothing else to do.
That had been hours ago. The sun was high now. And hour after hour he had kept up a steady jogging
pace, never seeming to tire. But he had not shaken off pursuit. Only minutes ago a single poisoned arrow
had sped past his head. He had seen nothing, heard nothing; but death was trailing him.
Despite the worry in his eyes, the tall man did not appear afraid; rather, he seemed irritated, as if he had
been interrupted while performing an important task. Suddenly, he paused. A shot had sounded from
ahead.
A peculiar, almost unbelieving look came to the man’s eyes. That shot would indicate that other white
men were near——and that was impossible. He was hundreds of miles from the closest village. There
could be no help, yet there had been a shot.
He increased his speed quickly, running easily, winding and twisting through the big trees, dodging
underbrush, racing through wild country that never before had been explored. A gun was in the holster at
his hip, but he ignored that. Only two shots were left in that gun. And two shots could mean nothing,
when he never had been given even a glimpse of those who pursued him.
Then the tall man’s speed slowed. His face became puzzled and questioning, nostrils twitching uneasily.
Premonition of danger, of unseen, terrible danger, made the short hairs rise on his neck, sent icy thrills
down his spine despite the heat.
All sound had ceased. The jungle was still——a strange, frightening stillness. Not a bird stirred; not a
monkey chattered in the trees.
THE heavy, moisture-laden air carried a faint odor, an unusual, though not unpleasant odor, such as
might have been caused by a field of flowers. But there were no flowers.
Only for a moment did the tall, thin man hesitate. Then his pale lips tightened. Unconsciously he freed the
gun in its holster. His nerves were tighter than ever before. Ever since dawn he had run with the feeling
that unseen eyes were staring at his back; that every move he made was being watched.
That feeling was gone now. It was as if those who pursued him had quit the chase, had fallen back from a
danger far more vivid and real than any their intended victim might prepare for them. The very absence of
that feeling of being watched made peril more real.
Sunlight suddenly flashed ahead, blinding in its brilliance after the gloom of the jungle. There was a
cleared area directly in front. The cleared area was semicircular in shape. Beyond it were more trees,
then high cliffs.
An unbelieving gasp came from the thin man. His eyes were wide behind the glasses he wore. A strange
sight presented itself to him on those cliffs, a sight that seemed unreal, as if he were visioning a scene from
some bygone age.
Long legs pounding, he burst from the jungle, started across the cleared area toward that scene. For just
an instant he felt strong, able to conquer anything he might meet. Then an expression almost of terror
swept over his features.
He knew he was lost; knew that he had left one danger only to encounter another, one that he could not
defeat. Fiercely he turned, tried to run back toward the comparative safety of the jungle. His knees
buckled under him, and a thin cry came from his lips.
Then he was very still; breathing stopped.
His body was twisted and contorted horribly. The skin no longer was sallow. It was green, a startling
shade of green. He appeared to have been mummified, as if he had been dead for many years.
Chapter II. THE CURSE FULFILLED
THE story first broke when three men staggered out of the jungle. The world was thrilled, horrified and
more than a little unbelieving. The men’s clothing was in tatters. Their faces and bodies were swollen and
red from numerous insect bites. They were hungry, almost starving, their ribs showing plainly. Their eyes
were wide and staring. Fear was written there, as well as suffering from the hardships they had
undergone.
Kind-hearted officials gave them food, fresh clothing and medical attention. And bit by bit the story came
out.
One, who said he was Hugo Parks, acted as spokesman. Parks was a small man, with a body now more
thin than ever. But his head was huge; it dwarfed the rest of his body, gave him a peculiar appearance. It
was easy to understand why his companions called him "Brains."
These three, Parks said, were the sole survivors of a party of twenty. They had entered Brazil from
Paraguay, he insisted, and had made their way to the dread Matto Grosso section of Brazil, the "Green
Hell" section.
Parks said they were explorers. Whatever the authorities thought, they kept to themselves.
After weeks of struggling, Parks recounted, they penetrated the Green Hell section farther than any other
white men had ever gone.
And they had found a fabulous, lost city!
Newspapers grabbed onto the story. It had the element of mystery they liked. And, from their files, they
told again of other explorers who had attempted to penetrate the district and whose fate never had been
definitely learned.
There was Colonel P. H. Fawcett, the noted British explorer, who, with his son, Jack, and a companion,
had vanished in 1925. They, too, had entered the wild Matto Grosso jungle. They had been searching for
a mythical "Atlantis," a lost city and a lost race. They had never been seen alive again. Some reports said
they had been killed by hostile Indians.
Then there was Paul Redfern, the American flier, also believed lost in the same district. More recently,
one year before, another American flier, "Scotty" Falcorn, had also disappeared in the Matto Grosso
jungle. He had been hunting for Redfern.
The lost city was there, Hugo Parks said. It was inhabited by a mysterious tribe of white Indians. And it
was guarded by a strange, horrible green death——a death that left the victim mummified, contorted in
agony!
BLASTS of publicity filled the newspapers. Almost fabulous offers for first-person accounts of their
experiences were cabled the three survivors.
They appeared strangely indifferent, almost suspiciously so, the Brazilian authorities thought. For there
were a couple of minor items the newspapers did not get.
One was that Parks carried a small, lead box. He refused to let anyone see what was in this box, except
that he took oath it was not treasure of any kind.
Another detail was a small bundle that another of the men carried. Upon examination, this proved to
contain only a part of a letter, a belt buckle and a watch. Parks refused to explain what this meant.
The third point was not so mysterious, but it was unusual. The day after their arrival from the jungle, a
New York bank cabled a letter of credit in Parks’s name. It came even before their story had reached
the outside world. It was for a very large sum of money.
After their first stories, the three men became uncommunicative. It seemed they did not want to answer
questions of any kind. They appeared more fearful than ever before. They hardly were civil to those who
had befriended them. They were pressed for explanations. And just before they left for the United States,
Parks sprung his bombshell.
They had been warned, he said mysteriously, to do as little talking as possible. There was more to the
lost city than they had told. Savages had whispered a warning. A curse would follow them. No matter
how far or how fast they fled, death was to catch up with them. Parks shuddered as he spoke of that
menace.
It was the green death!
That was the part the world did not believe. In fact, some newspapers, angry because offers for more
details had been snubbed, hinted almost openly that the men were impostors, expressed doubt that they
had ever reached the Green Hell section.
Experienced jungle men in Brazil expressed no such doubts. The men knew too much about the country
they said they had visited. No one could know all they did without actually having been where they said
they were.
But it was while the publicity was dying down that the men vanished. They rented a private plane and
disappeared. A week later they passed through the customs at Miami. And the storm of newspaper
comment broke out in redoubled form.
For now it was learned that Parks was carrying the small lead box. And the customs men insisted that
this box be opened before Parks was permitted to enter the country with it.
The huge-headed man submitted with bad grace. Afterwards, the customs men wondered why. There
was no need for such secrecy. The box was empty. At least, the customs officials found nothing in it.
A DAY later the men were in New York City. Newspaper headlines read:
TRIO FLEEING DREAD CURSE
OF GREEN DEATH
The tenor of the stories was more than half-humorous. The three returning explorers had been openly
hostile to newspapermen, had refused to answer questions, and had eluded reporters as swiftly as
possible. The newspapermen were paying them back.
The more serious-minded publications referred to the reputed curse of King Tut’s tomb, which was
supposed to have claimed the life of many connected with its discovery and opening. Scientific writers
pointed out that there could be no basis in fact for such beliefs, but that they had long been cherished,
and that fear often killed when there was no other known cause.
The tabloids kidded the whole thing, deciding now that these men probably had been raving when they
first came out of the jungle, suffering from privation, and had told stories they knew would not stand
expert scrutiny, so were taking refuge in silence.
No answer came from Parks and his two companions. They sought and found a hideaway. But they
prepared to call at once upon Doc Savage.
The biggest one of the trio was selected to go. He was tall and thick-chested. His eyes were colorless,
showing no emotion whatever. Parks called him "Frick."
Frick powdered features that were deeply tanned from the tropics. It made him appear pale. That was
the only disguise he used. Then he drifted into the street, worked his way toward the towering skyscraper
where Doc Savage had his offices.
He didn’t have to ask directions——he had been in New York before. And everyone who had ever
visited the city had heard of Doc Savage.
At a bookstore, Frick paused. A new volume was on display. It was being strongly advertised.
"ATOMIC RESEARCH SIMPLIFIED," read the title. "By Clark Savage, Jr."
Beside a pile of books was a big sign. It read:
READ THE LATEST WORK OF
CLARK SAVAGE, JR.
THE WORLD’S MOST FAMOUS
SCIENTIST, EXPLORER
AND ADVENTURER.
Frick’s pale, colorless eyes did not change; but his mouth worked curiously. It was well known that Doc
Savage was a famous scientist. He understood medicine, hydrodynamics and meteorology equally well.
With his five aids, each an expert in a separate line, Doc had long been recognized throughout the world
as one of the most fearless foes of crime.
Frick turned a corner, approached a huge skyscraper. Then he halted suddenly, one hand clutched at his
heart. A strange expression flashed over his features, an expression in which wonderment was mingled
with fear.
ONLY for a moment did Frick hesitate. Then his husky form jerked erect, his breathing became more
normal. He sped into the office building.
"Eighty-sixth floor, and make it snappy!" he snarled at an elevator operator.
The operator looked at him curiously, then shrugged. He was accustomed to having strange-appearing
men rush in and demand to be taken immediately to the floor where Doc Savage had his offices.
As the door clanged open on the eighty-sixth floor, Frick appeared to be swaying. With difficulty, he
forced his way out into the corridor. His footsteps were uncertain as he moved slowly down until he
reached a door that bore the sign: "CLARK SAVAGE, JR."
There was no sign of a knob or bell on the door. Frick’s colorless eyes half closed. He slumped against
the door.
An instant later, and he pulled himself erect. A man stood before him. Photo-electric cells had given
warning of Frick’s approach; had opened the door.
The man who stood there did not appear big. It was only when Frick pulled up that he realized the other
was even larger than he, but so perfectly put together that it was not apparent.
His features were bronze-colored; his hair, tight against his skull, was only a slightly lighter shade. There
was no expression on his face, but his eyes held Frick’s attention. They were strangely compelling eyes.
Gold flakes seemed to whirl in their depths.
"I——I seem to feel faint," Frick gulped. He slumped, tried again to straighten. His features changed.
Stark terror showed in every line. Again his hand clutched at his heart.
"It’s got——" His shriek broke off in mid-breath. He dropped to the floor.
A low, trilling sound seemed to fill the corridor. It seemed to come from everywhere, yet from no
particular spot. It was an unconscious sound Doc Savage made when he was surprised.
His visitor was very dead. An expression of ghastly pain and horror was frozen on his features. Those
features no longer were pale. They were green. The man’s entire body was green and queerly contorted.
The body itself was as stiff as if it had been petrified.
The strange curse of the Matto Grosso had been fulfilled, thousands of miles away.
Chapter III. A RAID
THE bronze man’s low, trilling sound had been heard. There were other sounds from inside the office.
They were strange noises.
First there was a queer squealing, grunting noise. Then came a chattering and whining. A moment later
came action. Two very peculiar objects raced into view, almost colliding with Doc.
The one in the lead might have been called a pig, but it was probably the homeliest pig outside a
"believe-it-or-not" exhibition. It had a very long snout, big ears and a skinny, hard body. Its extra thin
legs were carrying it along very fast.
Behind it trailed what undoubtedly was an ape of some type. It had exceptionally long arms, hanging well
below its knees and tiny eyes showed in a face covered with fur. Right now it appeared to be somewhat
angry.
"Give me that banana, you long-eared porcine monstrosity, or I’ll tear you pork chop from pork chop,"
came a bellow, apparently from the ape.
"You can’t have it! You can’t have it!" a voice squealed. The voice seemingly came from the pig.
There was a long banana tied firmly on the pig’s back. The ape stretched out one long arm for it, missed,
and redoubled its speed.
Roars of laughter came from inside the office. Another figure appeared, one that strongly resembled the
ape. The man was bigger about the middle, and there was no hair on his face, but those were the only
radical differences in appearance. His tiny eyes were set in deep pits of gristle. His arms hung well below
the knees.
Now his lips were moving noiselessly, and his face was creased with what he fondly hoped was a smile.
More words came from the running pig and ape.
"Stop it, Monk, you hairy relic of the stone age!" a voice roared behind him.
"Monk’s" lips moved again. He was quite proud of his gift of ventriloquism. It was he who was making
the animals appear to talk.
Then Monk, formally known as Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Blodgett Mayfair, one of the best chemists in
the world, brought his two hundred and sixty pounds to a sudden halt. He had seen Doc——and the
figure Doc was bending over.
"Ham!" he called. His voice was thin and piping, in strange contrast to his big frame.
There was movement behind him. "Ham’s" slender, immaculately dressed form came forward swiftly.
Monk and Ham delighted in rough jests; in fact, the pets were part of their idea of humor, but Ham knew
when Monk had stopped playing.
A thin whistle came from Ham. His face sobered, his eyes flashed shrewdly. As Brigadier General
Theodore Marley Brooks, Ham was known to have one of the keenest legal minds in the country.
Down the hall, Chemistry, the ape, had overtaken Habeas Corpus, the pig. He was holding the pig
almost lovingly under one arm, while with the other hairy fist he plucked the banana from Habeas’s back,
ate it with every indication of enjoyment.
None of the three behind them noticed. Monk’s tiny eyes were glowing. "Trouble? Any chance of a
fight?" he asked Doc. Even more than kidding Ham, the hairy chemist loved to battle.
Doc did not reply in words. He merely moved aside so the others could see the form of the fallen man
clearly.
"One of the three from Matto Grosso!" Ham gasped. His eyes widened. "And Johnny is down in that
district somewhere!"
DOC SAVAGE came erect. His eyes, like twin pools of revolving gold flakes, were impossible to read.
His bronze features were without expression.
"Bring the body inside," he said quietly.
Monk grunted, heaved the mummified body up easily, carried it inside the office. Chemistry grunted also.
He lifted Habeas Corpus in as near an imitation of Monk’s actions as he could, and followed the chemist.
"But Johnny——" Ham repeated.
"Still no response from him," a new voice broke in. The speaker was a mountain of a man, full six feet
four inches tall. His face was severe, the mouth thin and grim, the features as a whole bearing a puritanical
look. His arms were enormous, his fists bony monstrosities. An open door behind him showed a
compact radio room, with many strange devices about the walls.
"You have tried every test again, Renny?" Doc Savage asked.
The giant nodded. "Renny," more properly known as Colonel John Renwick, an internationally-known
engineer, appeared worried.
"I tried him on the wave length of our own microwave set," he said slowly. "Then I thought he might be
receiving, but be unable to send, so I tried the ray vibrator. I got no response from that, either."
Doc’s gold-flecked eyes flashed slightly. The ray vibrator was an invention of his own, one through which
he sometimes kept in touch with his men when radio transmission would not work. If Johnny had heard
Renny’s calls, he would have hooked up a small, oscillating tube. The resultant waves could easily be
picked up on the sensitive devices in the radio room.
"That makes three weeks now," Monk put in. The others said nothing. Comment was superfluous.
"Johnny," William Harper Littlejohn to students of geology and archaeology the world over, was on a trip
of his own. He had been anxious to investigate some of the remarkable reports he had heard of the
Matto Grosso region. And his first radio messages had indicated his hopes of finding new things had been
realized.
Then those radio messages had stopped. Something must be wrong. Something had to be wrong.
"If we only knew just where——" Ham started. Then he frowned.
Doc inclined his head, but said nothing. Renny noticed the body where Monk had put it in an adjoining
room. He started, then his stern face paled slightly.
"The green death of the Matto Grosso," Renny muttered. "Do you suppose Johnny——" He choked.
"First, we will see if we can learn what the green death is," Doc Savage said. His calm voice brought
sudden confidence to his men. Johnny undoubtedly was in a spot of some kind or other, but these men of
his had an almost unbelievable reliance in the bronze man. They had seen him in action.
Doc wheeled the body back farther into his suite of offices. The room where he halted was as complete
an operating room as could be found in most modern hospitals.
Renny watched interestedly. He expected to see Doc perform an autopsy. Instead, the bronze man’s
actions were strange.
First, he took a long tube from a cabinet. The tube was horn-shaped at one end. The other end vanished
in a vacuum-appearing box. There was a bellows arrangement at one side.
Doc placed this over the body, worked the bellows. Once more, his trilling sound came, faint but
penetrating. An indicator moved on top of the vacuum-like box.
"What the——" began Renny. Then he paused.
Doc was removing the man’s shirt. His gold-flecked eyes were glinting strangely.
A bellow came from Renny. Doc Savage whirled. A door leading into the hall had opened slightly; a
man’s face was peering through.
The man gave a startled bleat. He turned, tried to run. He had no chance. The next instant Renny had
yanked the door open. One of his bony monstrosities of a fist popped out, caught the other by the collar.
As easily as if the man had been weightless, Renny yanked him back into the room.
THE man was of medium height, with black hair that looked as if it had been bleached by tropical heat.
He was trembling as though suffering a chill from malaria.
But his eyes were focused hard on the green body of the dead man.
"Frick!" he gasped. His voice was a mixture of awe and fear. "It——it really got him!"
"You know him? You another of those three guys who came out of the Matto Grosso jungle?" Renny
demanded. His lips were set in thin, puritanical lines.
The man nodded without speaking.
"Bring him into the main office," Doc said quietly.
The man seemed more than willing to get away from the sight of the body, for he almost ran ahead of
Renny. Doc followed more slowly.
"Now if you will explain?" Doc prompted.
Renny stood with his big fists planted on his hips. He looked very tough. Monk and Ham gathered about
curiously. Even Chemistry and Habeas Corpus stopped their romping.
The man gulped; when he spoke, his voice was thick, his words hardly understandable.
"I——I’m afraid," he muttered. "It——it got Frick! It’ll get me."
"Nothing will get you while you are here. Tell us what you fear. Possibly we can help you," Doc Savage
said.
"There were three of us. Now there are two," the man said weakly.
"Yes?"
With an effort, the other pulled himself together. His trembling quieted. "My name is Thorne," he said.
"With Frick, the one who’s dead in there, and Hugo Parks, I was one of the three who escaped the
Brazilian jungle alive. You have read our story in the newspapers. Part of it wasn’t believed. But we
knew it was true, knew a curse would follow us. We knew we needed your help. That is why Frick
came here. That is why I followed."
Doc nodded. He did not speak.
Thorne wet his lips, his fists clenched. "We saw fantastic things in that jungle, Mr. Savage. We went in
there looking for gold. You have heard——everyone has heard——of the fabled treasure of the Incas,
supposed to be hidden in the Green Hell district. We didn’t find it. But we did find——" His voice trailed
off. Once again his face paled.
"You found what?" Renny demanded harshly.
"Death——horrible death!" Thorne’s voice was scarcely a whisper. "The green death!" His eyes became
wide and staring; his trembling was uncontrolled.
Doc Savage stepped forward, caught the other by the shoulder and shook him hard. Sanity returned to
the man’s eyes.
"We found a city of unspeakable beauty," the man grated. "People live there, but no one can enter. It is
guarded by this green death. Y-you will start to approach and you will suddenly fall. Your body turns
green and mummified——just as Frick’s did. Medicine men of other tribes told us that death would
follow us. It has."
The man paused, shuddered. His voice rose shrilly. "We saw another white man die, too. He was not of
our party. And when we went to look for his body, it was gone. But I’ll prove to you——" He halted
dramatically, reached inside the shirt he wore. Then he froze.
A woman’s scream sounded in the corridor outside. At the same moment lights flashed on a panel, there
was the muted sound of an alarm bell.
MONK and Ham acted as one person. Without hesitation, they leaped toward the door that led into the
corridor. They did not touch either knob or button, but the door opened before them. Photo-electric cells
took care of that.
Renny dived toward the operating room where Frick’s body had been left. Renny was fast; he moved
like a ten-second man. Yet before the big engineer reached the first door, a bronze shadow flitted past
him.
Doc Savage’s speed was deceptive. Even when he was traveling swiftest, he did not appear to be
exerting himself, so smoothly did his muscles work.
Blam! Blam!
Two shots sounded sharply from the corridor. There were startled exclamations from Monk and Ham.
They skidded to a halt right at the door, leaned out carefully. Then Monk bellowed shrilly and pounded
outside, Ham at his heels.
The man who called himself Thorne grinned peculiarly. Strangely, all fear seemed to leave him suddenly.
His movements were calm and deliberate. Neither Doc nor his aids noticed him. Doc already had
reached the operating room. A moment later Renny pounded in.
The bronze man halted, his face expressionless as always, but his flake-gold eyes narrowed slightly.
Renny’s severe expression relaxed a trifle. The body was still on the operating table. Nothing appeared
disturbed.
"But the alarm sounded. I know somebody must have tried to get in here," the engineer argued.
"The shirt," Doc said quietly.
摘要：

THEGREENDEATHADocSavageAdventureByKennethRobesonThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?ChapterI.JUNGLEDOOM?ChapterII.THECURSEFULFILLED?ChapterIII.ARAID?ChapterIV.MONKFINDSTROUBLE?ChapterV.GANGSTERSATTACK?ChapterVI.ASTOWAWAY?ChapterVII.ADESERTION?ChapterVIII.FALSETRAIL?Chapter...

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