Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 029 - The Quest of Qui

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QUEST OF QUI
A Doc Savage Adventure, by Kenneth Robeson
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? Chapter I. THE DRAGON SHIP
? Chapter 2. THE DEVILS OF QUI
? Chapter 3. KILLERS ALL
? Chapter 4. THE KNIFE THAT THREW ITSELF
? Chapter 5. MYSTERIOUS CAMPAIGN
? Chapter 6. THE SECRET IN THE RIVER
? Chapter 7. WIND AND TERROR
? Chapter 8. PHANTOM ENEMY
? Chapter 9. TERROR IN THE NORTH
? Chapter 10. THE GOLDEN-HAIRED GIRL
? Chapter 11. DEATH FALL
? Chapter 12. A FIND AND A LOSS
? Chapter 13. "HE'D MAKE A SWELL VALET!"
? Chapter 14. QUI
? Chapter 15. MEN OF QUI
? Chapter 16. DEATH IN QUI
? Chapter 17. ULTIMATUM
? Chapter 18. THE DOUBLE-CROSSER
? Chapter 19. WAR CLOUDS
Chapter I. THE DRAGON SHIP
THERE WAS no wind, and the authorities later decided this accounted for what occurred, for had there
been a wind, many things would doubtlessly have been different.
Had there been a wind, a baffling mystery might never have come to the notice of the world, and to the
attention of Doc Savage. A number of men might have gone on living. And a scheme of consummate
horror would probably have been executed with success.
It was, however, dead calm on the Atlantic Ocean off the outer tip of Long Island. The calm had
persisted since dawn, and it was aggravating weather for sailboats, and at the same time very nice
weather for power boats.
The Sea Scream was a power boat, all eighty feet of her, mahogany, teak and brass, and she bowled
along at almost twenty knots. The Sea Scream was a yacht, and she had cost somewhat less than a
quarter of a million, which made her owner an important man, on the principle that any one who can pay
nearly a quarter of a million for a plaything is important.
But neither the Sea Scream nor her wealthy owner nor her guests were of special importance to the
world that day, as far as news was concerned. Millionaires and their yachts are a dime a dozen, as
concerns news, around Long Island Sound.
What happened to those on the Sea Scream was important. It was also amazing, so much so that citizens
in London, Paris, and elsewhere read about it in their newspapers that afternoon.
The Sea Scream was barely out of sight of land when the sailor at the wheel shaded his eyes, squinted,
then picked up a pair of binoculars and focused them.
"Something dead ahead, sir," he called.
The Sea Scream lunged on, bows knocking up spray. Owner, guests and crew glanced idly ahead, not
nearly so interested as they were going to be soon.
The helmsman used the binoculars again, staring very hard this time, after which a blankness came on his
face.
"I hope to swab a deck!" he grunted. "Captain, sir. Have a look."
The snappily uniformed captain took the binoculars and stared through them.
"Bless me!" he said, and hastily went to the owner.
"Want to have a glance at an unusual vessel?" he asked, and presented the glasses.
The owner looked. So did the guests, one a lady. They murmured, interested.
"Strange-looking thing," said the owner.
"Never saw one like it," offered a guest.
"I have," said the lady. "A picture, I mean. In my history books, when I was a girl."
More to be polite than anything else, for his job depended on that to an extent, the skipper asked, "What
would you call the craft, miss?"
"A Viking dragon ship," replied the woman.
THE MEN laughed, for the idea was, of course, a little preposterous, Viking dragon ships having gone
out of style shortly after the days of Eric the Red and other noted Norsemen.
But the woman was correct. The Sea Scream swept up to the strange craft.
Double-ended, perhaps sixty feet long, the vessel had some of the aspects of a giant, fat canoe. Bow and
stern reared up to support platforms, and amidships was deck planking, while along the rail, on the
outside were fastened round things of rusty steel, objects which certainly resembled shields such as were
carried by ancient warriors. There was a mast, and a sail draped around it, unfilled because there was no
wind. The sail seemed to be made of animal skins from which the hair had been removed.
There was not a soul in sight on the decks of the weird craft. One of the yacht guests had an idea.
"Bet it broke away from some water carnival," he laughed.
"Let's go aboard," suggested the lady.
"Of course," agreed the owner. "It should be interesting."
Interesting! So it was to be.
The Sea Scream captain shouted orders, and the yacht slowed her engines and nosed up alongside the
Viking dragon ship, the sea being so calm that there was no necessity for going aboard in the tender.
Surprising aspects of the Viking craft became evident on closer inspection. For one thing, the vessel
appeared very old, and it could be seen that the hull had been put together with thongs of hide Some of
the hide seemed new, as did the sail, but the shields along the rail were amazingly rusted.
The Viking ship had a smell, too, a very strong one. It was not a smell of death, hut rather that distinctive
aroma that arises where men live for a long time with no bathing facilities available.
"Take a line aboard," the Sea Scream captain ordered a sailor.
The sailor sprang aboard the dragon ship with the line, which he made fast around the mast. Then things
happened.
The sailor thrust both arms high over his head and screamed most horribly, after which his head slued
forward, hanging with a hideous slackness, and he fell to the deck.
Sticking in the man's back was a spear which had a thongwrapped haft no more than three feet long.
FANTASTIC FIGURES swarmed out of the dragon ship hold. They were men, but what men. They
wore helmets of burnished steel, each helmet adorned with a fearsome pair of horns. The faces under the
helmets might have been bearded visages of the very Norse freebooters of a day ten centuries past.
"Vikings!" the lady on the yacht gasped.
The whiskered horde on the dragon ship now boarded the Sea Scream. There was not a firearm among
them, but they gripped spears and swords which were sharp, and which they showed no scruples about
using.
The yacht captain tried to run to his cabin, where he had a gun, but a spear, ponderously cast, impaled
one of his legs and he upset on the deck and lay there making faces.
The bearded raiders from the Viking ship began to bawl hoarsely. Not a word they said was understood
by those on the yacht. But there were accompanying gestures which conveyed full meaning. The
yachtsmen were being ordered to change ships.
There was some more fighting first, after which the yachtsmen, whipped, obeyed. They were ordered
into a stuffy forward hold and the hatch slammed down on them.
The yachtsmen now heard sounds which were later the source of much newspaper conjecture - they
heard some kind of a cargo being moved from one craft to the other. They never were able to decide
what the cargo was, but some of them voiced the impression that it was something alive.
When the yachtsmen were finally released, it was because the bearded freebooters could not get the
yacht Sea Scream going. The whiskered ones made faces and bawled, and finally collared the engineer
of the yacht - he wore greasy coveralls which indicated his profession - and hauled him onto the yacht.
The frightened engineer put the engines in full speed ahead, and the yacht pulled away, leaving the former
occupants on the dragon ship.
The bearded pirates now threw the engineer overboard, and he swam to the dragon ship.
The Sea Scream made several wild circles, while the hairy thieves danced and howled on deck, and
apparently experimented with the modern steering apparatus.
It was during this that the golden-haired girl was glimpsed.
DESCRIPTIONS OF the fair companion of the bearded freebooters, as later given, varied greatly. The
lady off the yacht declared she was a she-tigress with the devil written all over her, and as homely as sin.
But most of the men turned in a favorable report on her charms. in fact, they agreed generally that she
was very personable, entirely too sweet a thing for such company as she was keeping.
The engineer, who had been taken aboard to start the yacht, made a startling revelation. He had seen the
girl at close range. She was a knock-out.
Furthermore, the young woman was an unwilling guest of the whiskered men. They were leading her
about by a long thong tied to one of her ankles.
At any rate, the Sea Scream was soon lost to sight of her frightened owner, who with his guests had been
left aboard the dragon ship. The yacht, all noted, was headed toward New York City.
About noon, a breeze came up. The yachtsmen sailed the dragon ship into a harbor near the tip of Long
Island, finding in doing so that the ship was extremely seaworthy.
The yachting victims of this twentieth century Viking raid promptly found themselves, once they
convinced their listeners they were not crazy or lying, objects of feverish interest, both to the Coast
Guard, and the newspapers. A swarm of photographers and reporters arrived. A news reel cameraman
came in a plane. He got shots of the dragon ship, and his plane flew them back to New York, where that
very night they were shown in the movie theaters.
The news reel shots of the Viking dragon ship got William Harper Littlejohn interested. William Harper
Littlejohn was a very erudite gentleman, but he occasionally attended the cinema for relaxation.
Johnny was archaeologist enough to recognize, even in the news reel shots, the undoubted genuiness of
the Viking dragon ship. He left the theater in haste.
He called Doc Savage. Doc was out of town. Johnny took a plane, the next morning, for the harbor
where the dragon ship lay.
THE ARRIVAL of Johnny on the scene created a furor among the newspapermen, who needed new
angles for their stories, anyway, since absolutely no trace had been found of the yacht Sea Scream. The
Sea Scream had vanished as completely as if sunken.
Appearance of Johnny, to the newspapermen, meant Doc Savage was on the job, for every one knew
Johnny was associated with Doc. And Doc Savage, man of bronze, mental wizard, physical giant
extraordinary, was big news, all the more so because Doc shunned publicity most effectively.
Johnny did not even bother to deny that Doc was interested in the Viking dragon ship. He went ahead
and examined the craft. He used his monocle magnifier on the ponderous oars, almost too heavy for one
man to lift, and on various hammered copper cooking utensils. He scrutinized the plank fastenings. He
studied the stitching which held the skins composing the sail. Those watching him realized he was very
interested indeed. A news reel cameraman took pictures of his every move.
Finally, Johnny secured from his plane several ponderous and rare volumes on history which he had
brought along. He poured over these intently. He seemed to be learning things.
The news reel men asked him for a statement. They had asked numerous times, but on this occasion,
Johnny consented.
"Oracular cognoscence of certain recondite aspects. I will hypothesize," said Johnny, who never used a
small word where he could insert a big one.
The news reel man looked stunned by the verbal flow, but hastily got his camera and voice recorder
going.
Johnny fingered his monocle and began.
"Disquisitional recapitulation of imperspicuous symptomatology tends to an unequivocal belief," he
announced.
Twenty million movie-goers were destined to choke over those words. The news reel concern finally had
to run a summary by a commentator at the end, translating the erudite Johnny's remarks for the American
hoi polloi.
The gist of it was that Johnny was thoroughly convinced that the Viking dragon ship was genuine, and
that it had been built many centuries ago and repaired more recently. Furthermore, certain markings,
coats of arms, in effect, discernible on the craft proved it had belonged to the fleet of one certain ancient
Viking freebooter, "Tarnjen," by name.
Tarnjen, stated Johnny, had been the bad boy of his day, so bad indeed that he had been chased out of
Viking land with a number of ships and what loot he had amassed, which was probably considerable. A
year or two later, Tarnjen had returned with only one ship, a vastly humiliated soul. His other ships and
men had been taken by the Qui. Just who the Qui were, historians did not seem certain. Some history
tomes suggested that Qui was a name Tarnjen had given to some savage tribe on some remote
continent.
Whoever or whatever Qui was, they had taken most of Tarnjen's men and ships, all of his loot, and sent
him back, thoroughly broken. Qui, then, was a mystery.
Such was the gist of Johnny's recital.
This was the beginning of the mystery of Qui, a mystery from which amazing things came.
JOHNNY RETURNED to New York, but he was still interested; and since Doc Savage was still out of
town, overseeing the construction of a charity hospital somewhere, and since there was no excitement
brewing. Johnny had nothing to do but dabble with the mystery of Qui and the Viking dragon ship and
the vanished yacht, Sea Scream, which still had not been found.
The raid of the Vikings was unusual news. It went far and wide. Reports came in. A liner captain had
seen the dragon ship off Cape Cod, he reported. A fisherman claimed he had seen such a vessel in the
Nova Scotia fog.
Johnny digested those two reports. They intrigued him. It seemed the dragon ship had come down from
the north, had met the Sea Scream, and the freebooters had traded their craft for a more modern one
which did not depend on the wind.
The upshot of it was that, some days later, Johnny was alone in a plane flying along the Labrador coast.
Johnny had many accomplishments besides big words. Flying was one of them. Doc Savage had taught
him, and Doc had an amazing faculty of transferring some of his own skill to those whom he instructed.
It was late afternoon. A snow blanket was beneath Johnny's plane. To the right lay a jagged, rock-fanged
shore line. This was a wilderness, primeval, cold, unpopulated. A fishing village, passed hours ago, had
been the last sign of human habitation on the bleak Labrador coast.
Johnny peered overside often. He used binoculars. His ship cruised along a bare five hundred feet above
the white terrain.
An ice floe out at sea held his attention for a time, mainly because of its ominous aspect, and also
because there was a school of seals on its edge. Natural life always interested Johnny.
Johnny was not quite sure what he was looking for, so he kept an eye open for anything of interest. That
was why he went to investigate the smoke column.
The smoke was actually not a column. It was small, a gray yarn which whipped in the frigid Arctic gale.
But it was the only trace of life the bony archaeologist and geologist had seen in hours. So he banked his
plane over in that direction.
The fire was in the lee of a cathedral-like spire of stone. Snowdrifts were all about. The beach was close,
a necklace of rocks, ice-crusted, which rimmed the shore line.
Johnny was close overhead before he saw the man.
The man lay on his back and the snow was red beside him. His arms made feeble, horrible motions,
movements that were not a supplication to the plane above, for the man seemed not to know that the ship
was moaning over him.
The man on the snow was obviously in a bad way. The red patch was certainly leakage from a wound.
No dogs, no sleeping roll, could be seen.
Johnny now made one of the biggest mistakes of his life. He landed his plane.
Chapter 2. THE DEVILS OF QUI
IT WAS a rocky region, but there were stretches free of boulders. The snow was deep, and obviously
covered with a hard crust. The wind - it was a fair breeze - was picking the loose flakes up and carrying
them along in small, detached clouds. Johnny looked at the plane thermometer and saw that it was very
close to zero - cold for this time of year, even this far north, since down in New York, it was early
summer.
Johnny landed by the simple expedient of cranking the streamlined landing gear up. He absent-mindedly
cranked it partially down before he thought and sat the plane down on its belly. The craft was designed
for that, but the nose had to be kept up throughout to protect the propeller. Johnny had not landed on
snow for a long time, and he miscalculated the distance the plane would slide, with the result that he
almost, but not quite, coasted into a nest of boulders.
The minute the plane stopped, the crust on the snow collapsed, letting the ship sink down to its wings,
and Johnny got out muttering big-worded imprecations. He foresaw some trouble in leaving the place.
Had he known exactly how much trouble he was going to have, the knowledge might conceivably have
turned his hair white.
Johnny walked to the wounded man.
One peculiarity about the man's face struck Johnny distinctly. It was a full, crude face equipped with a
horse's mouth, small bird eyes, and a nose of no consequence, but that was not what stood out distinctly.
Many men have ugly faces. Not so many, however have their forehead, nose and eye area
weather-beaten until the skin resembles the top of an old shoe, while the rest of their cheeks, jowls and
neck remain the pale-blue color of skim milk.
Johnny absently decided this man had worn a very heavy beard for a long time, and had only recently
shaved it off. Then Johnny began his examination.
The man had collapsed, and with good reason, for he had been shot three times. No, four. Johnny found
the fourth through the man's foot, where he had not bled much. The other bullets were in his body, and
they had bled plenty of scarlet blood.
The bullet victim's parka of fur, bearskin pants and big, pliable hightop moccasins looked extremely new,
and Johnny, curious, twisted back the hood until he could see the collar band. Nothing there. He looked
at the parka skirt. No Eskimo squaw had made these garments. They bore the label of a high-class
sporting goods house on New York's Madison Avenue.
There was nothing else on the wounded man's person to give the slightest indication of who he was or
what had befallen him.
Johnny ran back to the plane, saw it had sunken even deeper in the snow, expressed his opinion of that
happening with several glossologic gems, and got a first-aid kit out of it.
The bullet victim was talking quite calmly when Johnny skittered across the snow crust to him.
"The secret of Qui is twelve hundred years old, Kettler," he said. "You got the breaks when you found
the place the first time, but you'll never find it again without that goldenhaired girl."
IN A rational sounding, measured voice, the man talked to the one named Kettler, and he looked straight
at bony Johnny as he talked, as if he had mistaken Johnny for the person, Kettler. But it was not that.
The man was delirious, out of his head. He would talk for a while, then he would collapse. Johnny knew
how it went.
"Kettler, I tell you I didn't let her go deliberately," the man said earnestly. "She banged me on the head
with a rock. Look, you can see where she hit me."
He did not point, but Johnny looked, then blinked, for there was a fearsome bruise on the man's
forehead. But the wounded man was still talking.
"She ran away," the man said. "I don't know where she went. I think she went north, back toward Qui.
She ain't normal, that dame. But what else can you expect from Qui?"
The man stopped and breathed a little deeper than usual, and the result was a gurgling explosion that shot
a crimson spray through his teeth and over the surrounding snow. From the number of blood spots frozen
in the snow, that must have happened before. It was more than a minute before he went on.
"Kettler, you can't find Qui again without the golden-haired dame."
He had said that before.
"I couldn't help her scramming, Kettler," he said. "Don't shoot me."
He said that much too calmly.
"Damn you, Kettler," he said. "You've shot me. You left me here to croak. I hope you never get a smell
of Qui again."
It was like listening to a story from fully conscious lips. But it was horrible, because of the dead quality of
the tone. The man was dying, but dying so slowly that he might go on thus for hours, for days if he got
proper treatment. He might not die, even.
"You won't find Qui, Kettler," said the man. "Don't like that, do you? Too bad, ain't it? Qui will go on like
it is for maybe another twelve hundred years. Sure it will, when you don't get back to do your killing.
Damn your killing, Kettler. I didn't like that part of the scheme."
Then, so suddenly that it surprised Johnny a little, the wounded man's mumbling became unintelligible. A
gout of scarlet had worked up in the fellow's throat, and it bubbled there, making the words inarticulate.
Johnny turned him over, and as one would drain out a drowning man, cleared the victim's bronchial
passages so more words could come.
"Newspapers full of stuff about that Viking ship," the man said. "Lot of guessing - nowhere near truth -
never connect it with Qui."
Johnny again tried to clear his throat, but it was no go, for the internal wounds must have opened. With
bandages and and opiate, Johnny went to work.
It was cold. He had some trouble keeping snow from blowing into the wounds while he bandaged them.
The wind in the rocks sounded like violins playing far away.
Out of the fiddling of the wind in the rocks, the moan of the airplane motor came so gradually that it was
quite loud before Johnny noticed it'
IT WAS a low-wing monoplane, fitted with pontoons for landing on water, and the pontoons in turn
equipped with ski like runners. The ship had two engines, fitted with shutter cowls, and their exhausts
must be carried through some cabinheating attachment, judging by their hissing quality. An all metal ship,
Johnny concluded.
The plane was coming down the wind, and Johnny, staring toward it, was bothered by snow which the
wind swept into his eyes. He stepped backward to get in the lee of a boulder only somewhat smaller than
a suburban garage, where there was some shelter. It chanced thus that he saw two grooves in the snow,
deep grooves, and more than a dozen feet apart. There was one point where they had not filled with
snow, although they must have been made hours ago. Johnny looked at them closely.
"I'll be superamalgamated," he murmured.
The grooves had been made by the landing gear of the plane above, or one amazingly like it. The
particular marks of the ski runners attached under the pontoons could be picked out.
The other plane moaned overhead. Its color was the aluminum alloy of its natural metal, and it looked
new. Men in the cabin - they numbered several - were all looking down,
The men all wore masks.
The instant he saw the masks, Johnny sprinted for his own plane. He had suddenly become in the
greatest of hurries. He was in a jam. He did not need the twang of a bullet off a near-by rock - a sound
he now heard - to tell him there was trouble.
Johnny reached his plane, which had broken through the soft crust. Its nose was almost against boulders.
He grabbed the tail and tried to turn the ship around by main strength. No go. He only broke through the
crust and floundered.
The aluminum ship had spun away, but now it came streaking back again, and men were cocked out of
its windows, using high-powered rifles. Johnny could see their shoulders jerk as the rifles recoiled. He
heard characteristic little patting noises of bullets into the snow about him.
Johnny crawled under the tail of his own ship, burrowing deep into the snow, got under the cabin,
scrambled up, and was inside. Bullets hitting the cabin sounded like firecrackers exploding. The cabin
was encased in a membrane of armor alloy which, due to the metallurgical genius of Doc Savage, was
light and proof against ordinary missiles.
The aluminum plane went over with a gusty whoop, so low that its air disturbance rocked Johnny's plane
a little, and sucked up a vortex of loose snow. Bullets came down like rain.
Johnny jacked the self-starters and got his engine going. His propeller was not only adjustable pitch, but
could be reversed. He reversed it, not sure that it would do any good, but not wanting to be pulled
forward into the rocks where the prop would club itself to pieces.
The aluminum ship was coming back. Johnny produced a weapon which resembled an oversized
automatic pistol, with a big drum of a magazine. This was a supermachine pistol perfected by Doc
Savage, and its chief wonder was not its incredible rapidity of fire, but the variety of bullets which it could
discharge.
Johnny searched through a case which held ammunition drums, all neatly designated with numerals. He
was hunting one which held bullets charged with a particular chemical that vaporized, even in air as cold
as this, and gave off a gas that, when drawn into a carburetor, rendered the mixture unexplosive. The
chemical was another of Doc Savage's gems.
Who-o-o-m! The plane jumped a full twenty feet in the air. Its back broke in the middle. It fell in two
parts. Smoke and snow made a cloud all about it.
Johnny was out of the plane. He was not sure how that had happened. Too much flame, smoke, noise.
He was in snow up to his neck. Outflung arms supported him on the crust. The smoke fumes stung his
nostrils.
"Dynamite!" he mumbled.
The other plane boomed off. Wind pulled the smoke away. Parts of the plane, its contents, were
scattered about. The other ship stood on a wingtip, came about in a vertical bank, and started back.
Johnny hoisted himself out of the snow. Handfuls of snow jumped up around him. Bullets! He ran. He
saw a metal case to the left. It had spilled out of the ruined plane. He recognized it, whipped to it,
gathered it up with both arms, and sprinted.
A big rock lured him. Snow was encrusted near it. He went through, under. But the stones sheltered him.
Plane, guns, bullets, made a hell of a noise. Then the plane went on.
Johnny burrowed deeper. Snow among the boulders, he discovered, ranged from six to fifteen feet in
depth. It was soft, cold enough to be dry.
The metal box which Johnny carried was heavy. He used it to ram through the snow. That pleased him.
He could make fair progress.
He heard the plane come back, picked out the ratty sounds which rifle slugs made running around from
rock to rock in the snow drifts. Then came a great roar and the earth shimmied, as more dynamite was
dumped out of the other plane.
Johnny kept going. Conditions were perfect for what he was doing. He encountered a rock, and worked
around that. His flying suit was full of snow. So were his ears, nostrils. He stopped finally and listened.
The plane motor had dropped in volume of noise. At first, he thought it was far away. Then it blasted out.
A grating and rasping, quite distinct, came through the snow. The ship had landed.
They would have trouble finding him, Johnny decided grimly. Why were they trying to kill him? Because
he had found the wounded man, obviously. But what was behind their action? What were they up to?
And could he, Johnny, finally escape? He thought so. But just in case, there was a precaution he could
take.
Johnny worked himself from side to side in the snow, and made a small cave. There was not much light,
but he did not need much. He opened the box. Some snow fell in. He brushed it out carefully.
The box held a radio outfit which transmitted and received on an extremely short-wave length. Despite its
compactness, the apparatus had a range, under favorable conditions, of a good many hundreds of miles.
Johnny turned a switch. A generator, operated by a very sturdy, light storage battery, made some little
noise. He fumbled with the microphone and head-set.
He set the dials to the wave length employed by Doc Savage and his men in their communications.
Then he heard about the most unpleasant sound possible under the circumstances. Dogs barking! The
other men had landed their plane. They had unloaded dogs, probably sled dogs.
Johnny let out a long word expressive of disgust. The dogs would smell him out like a partridge under the
snow.
Chapter 3. KILLERS ALL
NO ONE had ever honestly believed Johnny did not have an agile mind, and he used it now. He thought
swiftly. His first conclusion was that it was just as well if these men seeking his life did not know about the
radio transmitter and receiver. They would be certain to destroy that link with civilization.
Johnny, in common with some other scholarly men, was a bit absent-minded, however. When he left the
radio set and burrowed away hurriedly under the snow, he overlooked something he might have done
had he thought of it.
Johnny forgot to turn the radio transmitter off.
Men were shouting. They sounded angry. Dogs were barking, and they sounded joyful, as if they had
been cooped up on the plane for some time.
Johnny found himself in snow which was particularly dark, decided that that meant the drift was deep and
he was near the bottom, and concluded to lie still. The dogs at least would not hear him then. He might
even get away entirely.
After he had stopped, Johnny heard a faint whine which puzzled him. It was almost two minutes before
he abruptly remembered he had forgotten to turn off the radio, and this must be the generator he was
hearing. It would run for hours. The generator, delivering high voltage, drew little current, and the special
storage battery had a high ampere-hour capacity.
During the next few seconds, Johnny entertained ideas of burrowing back and turning the radio off, but
put that out of his mind as being too risky. They might not hear it, anyway.
摘要：

QUESTOFQUIADocSavageAdventure,byKennethRobesonThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?ChapterI.THEDRAGONSHIP?Chapter2.THEDEVILSOFQUI?Chapter3.KILLERSALL?Chapter4.THEKNIFETHATTHREWITSELF?Chapter5.MYSTERIOUSCAMPAIGN?Chapter6.THESECRETINTHERIVER?Chapter7.WINDANDTERROR?Chapter8.PH...

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