Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 117 - They Died Twice

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THEY DIED TWICE
A Doc Savage Adventure By Kenneth Robeson
This page copyright © 2002 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? Chapter I
? Chapter II. THE HORRIFIED MAN
? Chapter III. THE BAD RENATICUS
? Chapter IV. PLOT, PLOT, PLOT
? Chapter V. A TWISTING TRAIL
? Chapter VI. WATCHDOG
? Chapter VII. A SKELETON SO HIDEOUS
? Chapter VIII. SECRET STEVENS
? Chapter IX. PLAN
? Chapter X. THE GUIDE
? Chapter XI. THE XOCHI
? Chapter XII. BLUE NOSE
? Chapter XIII. SILENCE LIKE A DEVIL
? Chapter XIV. BLUE FOR DEATH
? Chapter XV. LOST CLAN
? Chapter XVI. MEMORY, THE FRIEND
? Chapter XVII. DEATH WARNING
? Chapter XVIII. DONKEY SAM
Scanned and Proofed
by Tom Stephens
Chapter I
COLONEL JOHN RENWICK disappeared on a Tuesday. He was gone for seven days.
That Tuesday evening, Colonel Renwick was to make an important speech. So his non-appearance on
the lecture platform created surprise. As a matter of fact the speech would have meant many thousands
of dollars in Renwick's pocket. The verbal outpouring was to be on “The Interdiffusion of Molybdenum
by the Renwick Process,” and its delivery was scheduled for the Regal Room of the Park-Ritz Hotel,
where the cheapest room, even in depression times, was seven dollars a night. The Renwick process for
molybdenum was actually going to cause another of those revolutions in the steel business. He had
invented it himself.
Above all, Renwick was not a man to let thousands of dollars slip out of his pockets by not appearing on
the lecture platform. He hated to talk in public, but he didn't hate it that badly.
“Monk” Mayfair, who was Renwick's friend, made a comment.
“A half-million-dollar stage fright,” he said.
“There isn't any such thing,” said “Ham” Brooks, also a friend. “Not with Renny.”
“Sure,” Monk agreed. “What do you suppose happened?”
“It couldn't be a woman.”
“Not unless Cleopatra has come back,” Monk said.
This casual crack about Cleopatra had an uncanny relativity about it that, much later, made their hair
stand on end. As a matter of fact, Colonel John “Renny” Renwick was not susceptible to feminine
charms. He was not proof against them, but he was not susceptible.
For seven days, no word.
Renny Renwick did not report in.
This was something particularly alarming, because it was a thing-the reporting in-that he never failed to
do. All of the Savage associates did it.
Renny Renwick was a member of the group of five men who, for love of excitement and other reasons,
had associated themselves with Clark Savage, Jr., better known as Doc Savage, or the Man of Bronze,
and also as an individual of mystery and legendary abilities, according to the newspapers.
Doc Savage had been trained from childhood by scientists to follow the unusual career of righting wrongs
and punishing evildoers. For some time he had pursued this career with enthusiasm and success. Renny
had become associated with Doc Savage. So had Ham Brooks, Monk Mayfair, and three others-Johnny
Littlejohn, Long Tom Roberts, and a girl named Patricia Savage. Patricia was a cousin of Doc Savage,
and not actually a member of their organization. But she liked excitement and had managed more and
more to wedge herself into their group.
WHEN the daily reports stopped coming from Renny, they launched a search. It was a thorough hunt.
Doc Savage, in addition to his own group, had connections with agencies which made a business of
getting information and finding people. Doc had established one of the best agencies himself, and it was
extremely effective.
(Those who have read the adventures of Doc Savage in the past are probably familiar with this agency,
which is a detective agency without having that name. Its formation was connected with the unusual
treatment which Doc gives to criminals whom he catches. These crooks are sent to a secret institution in
upstate New York, a place called the “College,” where they undergo intricate brain operations that wipe
out all memory of past, leaving, however, the normal functions of the brain intact. These “patients” are
then taught useful trades and turned back into the world with a hate of crime and no memory of their own
past. Because Doc has been extremely active, there are many of these “graduates,” and they have spread
to the corners of the earth. Doc has organized many of them into an efficient agency for getting
information which he may desire. It is particularly effective because the “graduates” have been taught
unswerving loyalty to the Man of Bronze, as well as to the principles of right and justice.)
No trace of Renny was found. Not the slightest.
“Shall we tell Doc about this?” Monk demanded.
Long Tom Roberts, who was the electrical wizard of their group, shook his head slowly. “I hate to do
that,” he said. “Doc is working on a plane locator gadget for the government, and orders are not to
disturb him.”
They argued about that. There was no question of the importance of the experimental work Doc was
doing. Overdoing, the others were beginning to think. Doc Savage had made repeated efforts to get into
active combat service, but had been refused on the ground that he was more valuable at what he was
doing. “You don't stick your brains out for the enemy to shoot at,” they told him in Washington. “You are
one of what we would call the brains of this country. On the fighting front, you would be only one man
with a gun or an airplane. This way, you are fifty or a hundred thousand men, as far as effectiveness is
concerned.”
They left Doc alone, knowing he would drop everything if he suspected Renny was in danger. There was
complete loyalty between Doc Savage and his associates.
Johnny Littlejohn, the archaeologist and geologist, made a statement.
“A subdolous durbar might deoppilate the labyrinthine aspects,” he said.
They looked at him.
No one said a word for a moment.
Monk then said, “Words like them at a time like this ought to get you a kick in the ribs.”
Johnny looked uncomfortable. It was a habit of his never to use a word anyone could understand
whenever he could think of one they couldn't. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“Did you have something on your mind beside the dictionary?” Monk asked him.
Johnny nodded. “I was wondering if anyone had noticed Renny in the company of any strangers before
this happened?”
They considered this point. Long Tom Roberts, who looked as if he was going to furnish an undertaker
with business next week, but who could whip wild cats, started violently.
“Hey, did anyone notice the little girl-man?” he asked.
“Girl-man?” Monk said. “What the hell?”
Johnny said, “I don't mean that the little fellow was prissy. It was just that he was small and rather fat,
and had a face which reminded me of one of those little girls who play in the motion pictures. I've
forgotten which one.”
“How old a girl?” Monk asked.
“Oh, very young. Nine or ten years. There was something babyishly immature about the man, is what I
mean.”
“You saw Renny with this fellow?”
“Yes. That is, Renny remarked that the little fellow was following him around and making a nuisance of
himself. Renny was working on this molybdenum thing he had perfected, and he didn't want to be
bothered.”
“Anybody know anything about the little fellow?”
No one did.
But then, the seven days had passed, and Renny Renwick came back.
And it was obvious something strange had happened.
RENNY RENWICK had lost thirty pounds. He was a big man, very big-six feet four, two hundred
sixty-so that loss of thirty pounds should not make him look as cadaverous as he did. Obviously, he had
lost more than weight.
Just what Renny had lost was the thing that began to puzzle them.
He was scared, or dulled with horror, or stupefied from some awful discovery, or something. They began
to wonder what.
First, though, he was uncommunicative. Silent. Desperately silent.
When he returned he merely walked into headquarters-the latter was situated on the eighty-sixth floor of
a midtown skyscraper-and sat in a chair. Collapsed in the chair was a better word. He said, “Hello.
Anything been going on?”
They stared at him in surprise and growing amazement. His face had no expression at all. It was a face
normally gloomy in expression, but now it was blank. Blank, they began to decide, because he was
holding it that way by great force of will.
“What happened, Renny?” Monk demanded.
“Nothing,” Renny said vaguely.
A poor lie.
Later, he began to tremble. The trembling was a kind of uncontrollable thing that began in his hands and
crept up to his arms, and then went all through him. He was quite pale. He looked weak and hungry.
“Where you been?” Monk asked.
“Oh, different places,” Renny said, and looked sick, as if the illness was in his soul.
“Hungry?” Ham asked.
Renny shook his head vaguely. “No,” he said.
“When did you eat last?”
Renny said, “Last Tues-” and did not finish.
“Last Tuesday was the day you disappeared!” Ham exploded. “Mean to say you haven't eaten since
then?”
Renny stared blankly, then shook his head with care. “I didn't mean-that,” he said. “I ate-regularly.”
For some reason or other, this was a lie, too. It was plain that he had made up his mind to tell them no
truth whatever.
They studied Renny. He did not look in the least, sitting there, like Colonel John Renny Renwick, the civil
and mechanical engineer whose accomplishments were known all over the world, and whose textbooks
were so advanced that they gave headaches to engineering instructors in the highest technological
colleges.
He was emaciated. His eyes were sunken and there were dark hollows under them. His skin had an old
cardboard quality-cardboard that had been rained upon. His clothes were disheveled, slept in, untidy.
“Look, Renny,” said Monk kindly, “if you have any friends in the world, we are they. Now tell us what
happened to you.”
Renny sat there in complete terror.
“Nothing,” he said.
Monk got the others to one side. “We won't tell Doc about this yet,” he said. “But we'll keep close tab
on Renny. Something has sure gone wrong with him.”
THAT afternoon, Renny went to the Museum of Art. He started out walking, or, rather, blindly pushing
his way through the crowds on the street. It struck Monk and the others, who were trailing him, that his
mind was so upset that it did not occur to him to get on a bus, subway or streetcar. It was obvious from
the moment he started out that he had a definite destination, which proved to be the art museum.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art is not devoted entirely to paintings, as its name might imply. It contains
the art of the centuries, back through all the days of mankind, wherever man has created beauty or skill
that lives.
Renny Renwick went to the section devoted to old Spanish art. He did not seem to know what he was
seeking, and asked questions of a guide. He received instructions and walked on.
Monk and the others were careful not to let Renny see them. They cornered the guide. “What did that
fellow want to know?” Monk asked.
“The fellow with the big fists, you mean?” asked the guide.
“Right.”
“He wanted to know if we had anything on Renaticus, of the Spanish fifteenth century.”
“Have you?”
“Yes. A statue of Renaticus. I told him where it was. He thanked me.”
“Who,” asked Monk, “is or was Renaticus?”
“Blessed if I know,” said the guide. “Some big shot back about the days of Columbus, I think. I don't
know much about him. Never heard of him before, in fact.”
Ham Brooks said, “Come on. Let's see what Renny wants with an old Spaniard named Renaticus.”
Monk thought of something and snorted. “Renaticus,” he said. “And Renny. Wonder if Renaticus was an
ancestor of Renny, or something?”
They overhauled Renny in time to witness a rather remarkable performance. When they first saw him in
front of the statue, Renny was merely standing there, staring at it. His attitude was one of tension, with his
arms down at his side and his body tilted forward slightly in a stiff manner.
They gazed at the statue of Renaticus with interest.
Renaticus, or his statue, was very large. There was a kind of iron-fisted formidability about Renaticus in
statue form that indicated he must have been an individual of strong qualities in real life.
“Jeepers!” Monk gasped.
Ham had seen it, too. All of them had. The unexpected quality of the statue of Renaticus.
But there was no time for comment because Renny Renwick suddenly seized the brass stanchion which
supported a velvet rope that was there to keep spectators from getting too close to the statues. Renny
tore this stanchion out by its roots and used the pipe to beat the statue of Renaticus to fragments.
Renny howled as he destroyed. He bellowed in a mad rage and wielded his club with frenzied violence.
He picked up fragments of the statue and hurled them against the floor and the walls. He seized half of
Renaticus' head and smashed it to the floor, then jumped on the fragments.
He broke off one of the big statue's hands and beat at it with the pipe as if he was killing a snake.
Renny's screaming-part of it profanity-and the noise he was making, brought museum attendants running.
They saw what probably struck them as a madman destroying museum property. They closed in.
Renny fought them off. He apparently had no animosity against the attendants, but did not want any
interference until he had finished with destroying the statue. When he had smashed head, arms, legs, feet,
and one shoulder off the statue, he beat his pipe against Renaticus' solid stomach until the pipe was
shapeless.
Then, realization of what he was doing seemed to come to Renny. He turned and ran.
Monk said, “Long Tom, Johnny-keep track of him! Don't let these fellows get him. But keep track of
him.”
Monk clamped his hat on his head and made for another door.
“Where you going?” Ham demanded.
“Don't you think we had better tell Doc about this?” Monk asked.
Ham said, “That statue looked exactly like Renny.”
“That's what I mean,” Monk said.
Chapter II. THE HORRIFIED MAN
NOT all famous men look like great men at first glance, but in a little while, when you get to know them,
the quality that makes them great always comes out. Greatness does not hide its light under a basket.
Doc Savage was stronger in this aspect than the usual celebrity, for two reasons. First, nature had given
him a combination of bronze hair, bronze skin-suns had helped darken the latter-and a remarkable pair of
flake-gold eyes, the gold of which seemed always in motion, as if stirred by tiny winds. Second, the
scientists who had trained him from childhood had given him a body so unusual that it was instantly
evident he was far above the average.
Doc Savage was working in his laboratory, but stopped and came out into the reception room to listen to
the story about Renny Renwick.
“We didn't want to bother you about what might have been nothing,” Monk explained. “But now it seems
to be something.”
Monk then told the story of Renny's seven days of vanishment, and of the statue of Renaticus.
Doc Savage listened without interruption. Doc was a physical giant, but a quiet one, and seemed never
knowingly to dominate a group or a situation. Yet there was such power in him, physically and in
personality, that he seemed able to command any situation without effort. His close associates knew that
this, like his other abilities, was a carefully mastered achievement. Not only scientists had contributed to
his development; there had been philosophers, thinkers of all kinds, even deep mental students of India
and Tibet.
Doc asked, “Did you investigate this Renaticus?”
Monk said, “Ham stayed behind to do that. He should be reporting in soon.”
They waited for Ham. He came in accompanied by Chemistry, his pet chimpanzee, an eccentric and
unpredictable animal which he had collected in South America. Monk did not care for Chemistry,
because the animal bore a distressing resemblance to Monk himself. That, Monk knew for a fact, was
why Ham had collected the pet.
“Renaticus,” Ham said, “was a Spaniard who lived at the time of Columbus. He was quite a fellow in
Spain in that day, a sort of a noble around the court of Ferdinand and Isabella. He took a big part in the
conquest of the Granada Moors, which was going on about that time. He was also a bitter enemy of
Alonso de Quintanilla, who was Columbus' friend, and influenced the queen's confessor, Fray Hernando
de Talavera, to report on Columbus' project to find a new route to the Indies as impractical. That's all I
know about him. He was a prominent opponent of Columbus in his day.”
Monk said, “But what about his fists?”
Ham shook his head. “Renaticus bore a startling resemblance to Renny. That's all I can say.”
Doc Savage was silent for a while-so long that Monk glanced at him uneasily and said, “What are we
going to do? You've only got to see Renny to realize that something very, very serious has happened to
him.”
“Renny will not talk to you about it?” Doc asked.
“He won't tell us a thing.”
“Where is he now?”
“Long Tom and Johnny are trailing him. They report in now and then.”
Doc said, “The next time they report tell them to seize Renny and bring him to headquarters, so that we
can get to the bottom of this thing.”
LONG TOM ROBERTS and Johnny Littlejohn got their orders to fetch in Renny Renwick about an
hour later. Long Tom was a short-tempered fellow, and the others were sometimes afraid of him. He was
not someone on whom you perpetrated a practical joke unless you could lick him, which not many could
do. Johnny Littlejohn, on the other hand, was a kind of physical freak. Monk always described him the
way you describe dachshunds-two men long and half a man tall. If there was anything wrong about this
description it was the thickness part. Johnny was hardly half a man thick. He was indeed thinner than it
seemed any man could be and still live.
Johnny turned from the telephone and asked, “Catachetical ubiquitariness is-”
“Why don't you learn bug language and get it over with!” snapped Long Tom. “What do they want us to
do?”
Johnny frowned. “Bring him in,” he said.
Long Tom had been watching Renny's apartment window with a pair of binoculars. “It's about time,” he
said. “It looks to me as if he was packing a suitcase and getting ready to leave.”
“What did he put in the suitcase?” Johnny asked.
“You do know small words, don't you. Well, he put in corduroy pants, laced boots, a hunting knife,
some flannel shirts, a Mackinaw coat, and some heavy socks.”
“Woods-country clothing.”
“That's right.”
They crossed the street, entered Renny's apartment building. They did not knock on the door, having a
suspicion that would not get results. They hit the door together, burst it open, and went in.
Renny whirled in wild-it was hard to believe Renny could be that worried-terror. He dropped a pair of
moccasins.
“Where you going?” Long Tom asked casually.
For a few seconds it did not seem that Renny was going to make an answer. Then he shrugged cautiously
and said, in a manner that showed he was pitifully desperate for them to believe him, “Oh, I thought I
would go out of town for a little vacation. I'm feeling a little rotten.”
“I'm surprised you admit it,” said Long Tom. “You look like something that had been done to the
Japanese navy.”
Johnny asked, “Where were you going, Renny?”
“To Lake Kakisa,” Renny said.
“Where's that?”
“Oh, up north in the woods.”
Long Tom said, “It's so far in the north woods that it's in the Mackenzie, which is next door to the north
pole, practically speaking. What's the idea of going so far?”
Renny, white, tense, trembling, said, “I want to get away from things.”
“Well, you're not,” Long Tom assured him. “Doc said to bring you into headquarters, and that's what
we're going to do.”
Johnny yelled, “Watch out! Grab him! He's going to fight!”
LATER, Johnny carefully guided Renny Renwick into the midtown headquarters of Doc Savage. “Long
Tom stopped downstairs to get a beefsteak for his eye,” Johnny explained. “He will be up.”
“You had a fight?” Monk asked.
“A tauromachian gladiatorialistic,” Johnny said.
Monk examined the two of them. “It must have been every bit as big as the words,” he decided.
Doc Savage addressed Renny Renwick. Doc had a voice which contained controlled power to such an
extent that it was a slightly unnatural-sounding voice. “Renny, they have given me a rough idea of the way
you have been acting,” Doc said. “We feel that something unpleasant has happened to you, and we want
to help you. Furthermore, we consider it our duty as your friends to help you, so there is not much use in
your arguing about it.”
Renny said nothing. He clamped his lips together.
Doc waited awhile.
“Get the truth serum,” the bronze man said finally.
Renny fought them then, as much fight as there was left in him, which, considering the circumstances, and
that he had been licked once within the hour, was considerable. There was ten full minutes of it, part of it
getting as far as the elevator and threatening to get down to the street. Finally, they got him doped with
the truth serum.
The serum was a type lately improved by Doc Savage, and while it fell far short of what the bronze man
considered the ultimate perfection which would be attained for this, or similar serums, it was efficient.
Renny seemed to become sleepy and yet not asleep. When he was questioned, the answers came in a
clear voice. The clarity of the voice with which the victim spoke was the main improvement in this type.
Other serums made the victim so groggy that much of what was said was not intelligible.
The story came out:
There was the little fat man with the little-girl face. His name was Jones, Albert Jones.
Albert Jones was a rather harmless little squirt, Renny had thought at first. He lived in a house somewhere
in the suburbs, a private home which he occupied alone.
Exactly where Albert Jones' home was located, Renny still did not know.
“He had an invention in which he wanted to interest you, Doc,” Renny said.
“Why didn't he approach me, instead of you, if he wanted to interest me in it?” Doc asked.
“Albert said that he was overawed by your reputation. He was afraid to. He is a timid man, he
explained.”
“So he approached you about the invention?” Doc asked.
“Yes,” Renny said. “He did.”
“What did you do?”
“I laughed at him.”
“Why?”
“The thing seemed silly.”
Renny was proving to be a very good subject under the truth serum, but that was probably because,
down in his heart, he had wanted to tell them what had happened. Such a subject, one with a basic
motive of righteous desire, would naturally be much more responsive to the stuff.
Getting the story proved to be a matter of interminable short questions and short answers which gave a
direct response to the questions, but no other information.
Albert Jones, it developed, had invented an astounding thing.
THE invention of Albert Jones, stated in its simplest form, was a mechanical-electrical-chemical device,
extremely complicated, which brought back the memories dormant in the human mind.
“Dormant memories,” Doc interrupted. “What do you mean by that?”
“Like instincts,” Renny replied.
Doc said, “The dictionary defines instinct as something implanted by nature, an outward impulse,
unconscious, involuntary or unreasoning, as the result of an inherited tendency.”
Renny said, “That is what he meant.”
“There is not much scientific proof of anything like a dormant memory,” Doc said.
“Albert Jones can prove there is.”
“You were skeptical?”
“Yes.”
“And he proved to your satisfaction that there was such a thing as a dormant memory?”
“Just what is a dormant memory?”
“Something you inherited from your ancestors.”
“From your father, you mean?”
“From your ancestors. A father is an ancestor. So is a mother. Both sides of the family, Albert Jones
said. But the dormant memories from the male side are the most prevalent.”
Doc Savage said, “In other words, memories are passed down from generation to generation the same
as instincts, but they lie back in the human mind, unknown and unnoticed?”
摘要：

THEYDIEDTWICEADocSavageAdventureByKennethRobesonThispagecopyright©2002BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?ChapterI?ChapterII.THEHORRIFIEDMAN?ChapterIII.THEBADRENATICUS?ChapterIV.PLOT,PLOT,PLOT?ChapterV.ATWISTINGTRAIL?ChapterVI.WATCHDOG?ChapterVII.ASKELETONSOHIDEOUS?ChapterVIII.SECRETSTEVENS?Cha...

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