Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 009 - The Czar of Fear

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THE CZAR OF FEAR
A Doc Savage Adventure by Kenneth Robeson
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? Chapter 1. GREEN BELL
? Chapter II. VISITORS
? Chapter III. THE COMEBACK
? Chapter IV. THE MURDER WITNESSES
? Chapter V. PERIL'S PATH
? Chapter VI. FEAR'S DOMAIN
? Chapter VII. CLEMENTS SETS A TRAP
? Chapter VIII. VOICE FROM THE EARTH
? Chapter IX. PLANS
? Chapter X. THE MURDER SNARE
? Chapter XI. DESTROYED CLEWS
? Chapter XII. THE BODY IN THE VINES
? Chapter XIII. PIPED COMMANDS
? Chapter XIV. THE SUSPICION PLANT
? Chapter XV. THE GREEN TRAP
? Chapter XVI. THE MAN WHO VANISHED
? Chapter XVII. THE TOUCH THAT YELLOWED
? Chapter XVIII. LULL
? Chapter XIX. DEATH UNDERGROUND
Chapter 1. GREEN BELL
THE MIDGET radio squawked away noisily beside a cardboard sign which read: "Our Special To-day
-- Roast Beef Plate Lunch, Twenty-five Cents."
The man on the lunch-room stool sat sidewise, so he could watch the door. His eyes were staring; pale
fright rode his face. He wolfed his sandwich as if it had no taste, and gulped at his fourth mug of scalding
coffee. He was tall, lighthaired, twentyish.
One of the two women beside him was also tall and light-haired, and in her twenties. She was some
degrees more than pretty -- hers was a striking beauty. A mudfreckled raincoat and a waterlogged felt
hat seemed to enhance her charm.
Her eyes were dark-blue pools of fear.
The other woman was a pleasant-faced grandmother type. Around sixty was probably her age. She had
a stout, efficient look. Her cheeks were ruddy as apples, and pleasant little wrinkles crow-tracked from
her eyes.
Her jaw had a grim set, as if she expected trouble, and was steeled to meet it. She was not eating, and
she was watching the door more intently than the man.
The young man and the girl were obviously brother and sister. The elderly woman was no relative, but
they called her Aunt Nora.
"You had better eat, Aunt Nora," said the girl. Her voice was liquid, quiet, with a faint quaver that went
with the terror in her eyes. "It is more than an hour's drive to New York. And we may be very busy for
several hours, trying to find Doc Savage."
"Eat!" Aunt Nora snorted. "How can I, Alice? The way you and Jim are acting takes a body's appetite
away. Bless your Aunt Nora, honey! You children are acting like two rabbits about to be caught!"
The girl forced a faint smile, reached over impulsively, and gripped the older woman's arm.
"You're a brick, Aunt Nora," she said gratefully. "You are just as scared as we are. But you have control
enough not to show it."
"Humphk1" Sniffing, Aunt Nora grabbed her sandwich. Squaring both elbows on the white counter, she
began to eat.
Rain purred on the lunch-room roof. It crawled like pale jelly down the windows. It fogged the street of
the little New Jersey town. The gutters flowed water the color of lead.
The little radio made steady noise. It was picking up canned music from Prosper City, a manufacturing
town in the Allegheny Mountains. Aunt Nora had tuned it to the Prosper City station when they first
entered the lunch room.
"Good little set," she said, nodding at the instrument. "Prosper City is quite a ways off, and the set brings
in -- "
She stood up suddenly, splayed both hands tightly to her cheeks, and screamed.
The young man whipped off his stool and spun to face the radio. His face was distorted; his eyes bulged.
His sister also leaped erect, crying out shrilly. Her coffee cup, knocked to the concrete floor, broke with
a hollow crackle.
EVEN THE noise of the breaking cup was not enough to drown the strange sound which had come
abruptly from the radio.
It was a tolling, like the slow note of a big, listless bell. Mixed with the reverberations was an unearthly
dirge of moaning and wailing. The din might have been the frenzied crying of some harpy horde of the
ether, shepherded by the moribund clangor of the hideous bell.
The lunch room proprietor got off his stool behind the cash register. He was startled, but more by the
terrified actions of his three customers than by the hideous uproar from the radio. However, the
bewildered stare he directed at the set showed he had never heard this sound before.
The fanfare in the radio ended as unexpectedly as it had arisen. The lunch-room owner smiled, evidently
from relief at the thought that he would not have to pay a repair bill. The three customers stood in a sort
of white-faced, frozen immobility.
Rain strings washed moistly on the roof and swept the street like the semi-transparent straws of a great
broom.
Aunt Nora was first to break the rigid silence.
"Prosper City is around three hundred miles from here," she said hoarsely. "It's not likely the Green Bell
was tolling for us -- that time!"
"I suppose -- not," blond Alice shuddered violently. "But that sound was the Green Bell, and it always
means death!"
Jim made his voice harsh to hide a quaver. "Let's get out of here!"
They paid a puzzled, curious proprietor for their lunch, and also for the broken cup. He watched them
leave, then shrugged, winked at his cook, and tapped his forehead. He had decided his three late
customers had been slightly touched with insanity.
A somewhat ancient touring car stood at the curb, forlorn in the rain. The side curtains were up, but the
windows were cracked, some entirely gone, and the car interior was almost as damp as the drizzling
dusk.
"Got plenty of gas, son?" Aunt Nora asked with gruff kindness.
Jim roved his fear-ridden eyes alertly. "Sure. You remember we had her filled at the last town. The gauge
isn't working, but the tank should be nearly full."
Starter gears gritted worn teeth. Sobbing, the motor pulled the old car away in the streaming gloom, in
the direction of New York.
A few seconds after the elderly machine had gone, a blot stirred under the trees which lined the village
street. In the dripping murk, it seemed to possess neither substance nor form.
Down the street, a lighted window made pale luminance across the walk. The moving black blotch
entered this glow. It suddenly became a thing of grisly reality.
There was, however, little of a human being about its appearance.
It was tall, tubular, and black. It might have been a flexible cylinder of black rubber standing on end, had
an observer chanced to glimpse it in the fitful light.
On the front of the thing, standing out lividly, was the likeness of a bell. The design was done in a vile
green.
Close against the sepia form hung a tin pail of ten gallons capacity. It was full to the brim with gasoline.
Gripped in the same indistinguishable black tentacles which held the pail was a long rubber siphon hose
of the type used to draw fuel from automobile tanks.
The dusk and the rain sucked the eerie figure into a wet black maw.
A moment later, a moist slosh denoted the bucket being emptied. Smell of gasoline seeped along the
street, arising from the gutters where the stuff was flowing away.
Silence now enwrapped the small town, broken only by the sound of the rain and the occasional moan of
a car down the main street, which was traversed by one of the main highways leading to New York.
THE ANCIENT touring car was laboring along at perhaps forty miles an hour. Jim drove, hunched far
over the wheel, wan face close to a small arc the swiping windshield wiper kept clear of water.
The two women huddled in the rear, raincoats drawn tight against the spray which sheeted through the
broken side curtains.
"I guess -- that belling -- couldn't have been meant for us," the girl, Alice, said jerkily.
"I wouldn't be too sure of that!" Jim called back sharply. Aunt Nora leaned forward, jaw out, arms
akimbo. "Jim Cash, you know something you haven't been telling us women!" she said, almost screaming
to get her voice above the roar of car and rain. "I can see it in your actions! You know more about the
Green Bell than you let on -- what the thing is, or something! You can't fool me! You do know!"
Jim Cash replied nothing.
Aunt Nora snapped: "Answer me, boy!"
"You're a good guesser, Aunt Nora," Jim managed a gray smile.
"What is it?" Aunt Nora bounced forward anxiously. "What do you know?"
"I'm not going to tell you."
"Why?"
"For the good and simple reason that it would mark you for death! Alice, too! The Green Bell would kill
you so you couldn't tell what you know!"
"Rubbish!" Aunt Nora tried to sound as if she meant it. "They would have no way of telling
"Yes, they would, aunty. It looks like they know everything."
Aunt Nora whitened. The tendons stood out on her plump hands.
"Listen, sonny -- is the Green Bell aware that you know what you do?"
Jim Cash squirmed, almost losing control of the car.
"I don't know!" he cried shrilly, wildly. "Maybe he does! I'm not sure! The suspense -- expecting death
any instant, and in the same breath wondering if I'm not safe enough -- has been getting me! It's driving
me crazy!"
Aunt Nora settled back on the wet cushions. "You're silly not to tell us, Jimmy. But that's just like a man,
trying to keep women out of trouble. It don't show good gumption, but I respect you for it. Anyway we'll
soon be talking to Doc Savage and you can get it off your chest."
JIM CASH muttered doubtfully: "You seem to have a lot of faith in this Doc Savage."
"I have!" Aunt Nora sounded vehement.
"But you admit you don't even know him."
Aunt Nora snorted like a race horse. "I don't have to know him! I've heard of him! That's enough."
"I've heard a little talk of him, too." Jim Cash admitted. "That's the only reason I let you and Alice talk me
into going to him."
"A little talk!" Aunt Nora sniffed. "If you would have kept your ears open you would have heard more
than a little talk about him! Doc Savage specializes in things like this. He makes a life work out of going
around getting other people out of trouble and punishing lads who need it."
Jim Cash began skeptically: "I don't think any man can -- "
"Doc Savage can! Take the word of an old woman who knows enough to discount half of what she
hears. Doc Savage is a man who was trained from the cradle for the one purpose in life of righting
wrongs. They say he's a physical marvel, probably the strongest man who ever lived. And moreover he's
studied until he knows just about everything worth knowing from electricity and astronomy to how to
bake a decent batch of biscuits."
"Maybe you've been putting too much stock in wild talk Aunt Nora?"
"Didn't I tell you I only believe half of what I ever hear?" Aunt Nora demanded.
Jim Cash smiled. The elderly lady's optimism seemed to cheer him.
"I hope Doc Savage is up to expectations," he said grimly. "Not only for our sake but for those other
poor devils back at Prosper City."
"You said a mouthful!" Aunt Nora agreed. "If Doc Savage isn't able to help us and Prosper City I hate to
think what'll happen!"
The touring car rooted on through the rain and gloom for nearly a mile. Then the engine gave a few
pneumatic coughs, died, coughed a few more times and silenced completely.
"You're out of gas!" Aunt Nora snapped.
Jim Cash shook his head. "But I just got gas. It must be water on the distributor
"Out of gas!" repeated Aunt Nora firmly. "I know how these old wrecks act!"
Easing into the drizzle Jim Cash got a measuring stick from under the seat walked to the rear and thrust it
into the tank. His gasp was startled.
"Empty! I don't understand how that could happen!"
"Maybe that filling station was a gyp!" called blond pretty Alice Cash. "They might not have put in any
gas."
"I guess that was it honey," Aunt Nora agreed. She opened a road map, peered at it by the glare of a
flashlight. "There's a little jumping-off place down the road about two miles. You'd better walk to it Jim."
Jim Cash hesitated. "I don't like to leave you two."
Aunt Nora opened a capacious leather hand bag. She produced two big, businesslike blue revolvers.
She gave one of them to Alice Cash, and the blond young woman handled it in a way that showed she
could use it.
"Anybody who monkeys with us won't find it healthy!" Aunt Nora said dryly. "You go on, Jim. We'll be
all right."
Relieved at sight of the weapons, Jim Cash slopped off through the rain. He walked on the left side of the
pavement, where he could see the lights of oncoming cars and evade them.
A few machines passed him, going in both directions. He did not attempt to flag them, knowing it would
be useless. Motorists who pick up strange pedestrians late at night are few and far between.
He descended a small bill. At the bottom, he crossed two bridges -- one over a stream, the other
spanning the line of an electric railroad.
He had barely crossed the second bridge when several flashlights gushed brilliant white upon him. In the
back glow of the flashes, he could discern the figures holding them.
Each was a tall cylinder of black. And upon every figure was the green likeness of a bell.
THERE WAS something hideous in the way the raven figures stood there, saying nothing, not moving.
The rain, streaking down their forms, gave them a shiny look.
Jim Cash stood as if blocked in ice. He had been pale before, now he became positively white.
"Green Bells!" he said thickly. "That radio -- the tolling was meant for us as a -- "
His own words seemed to snap the chill spell which held him. He exploded in action. His right hand dived
into his raincoat pocket like a frightened animal. He wrenched wildly at a pistol which he carried there.
Another eerie black form glided out of the murk behind Cash. It whipped convulsively upon him. Taken
by surprise, he was carried down.
The flashlights now went out, as if directed by some occult signal. The cavernous gloom which followed
was filled with swishings and slappings, as the ebony-cloaked, green-belled figures charged.
Cash's gun was dislodged, and went clank-clanking across the pavement.
His raincoat tore. He tried to scream. The yell was throttled, and ended in a sound which might have
been two rough rocks rubbing together.
The fight noises trailed off. Several moments of ominous quiet followed. Then the entire group moved
back to the bridge spanning the railroad.
They turned off and came to a high fence. There was another short, terrific fight while Cash was being put
over the fence. Then they descended to the railway tracks.
Once a light came on briefly. This disclosed the darksome figures in a compact wad, with Cash helpless
among them.
The railroad was electrified. The current, instead of being carried by an overhead line, was conducted by
a third rail which ran close alongside the track. Use of such third rails was common in the vicinity of New
York, where the presence of numerous switches and sidings made overhead wiring too intricate. The
charged rail was protected by a shedlike wooden shield.
A light came on. A wad of black cloth between Cash's jaws kept him from crying out.
He was thrown headlong at the electrified rail. With a frenzied contortion of his muscles, he managed to
avoid landing upon it.
The somber figures pounced upon him, and again hurled him at the rail. Again he saved himself. He was
fighting madly for his life. The shed protector over the rail helped him.
But one touch upon the strip of metal beneath, which bore a high voltage, would mean instant death.
The third time, Cash got an arm across the wooden shed and preserved his life. He tore the gag from his
jaws with a desperate grasp and emitted a piercing bleat for help!
The Green Bells swarmed upon him, silent, murderous. This time, they pitched him at the rail feet first.
One of his legs fell across the highpowered conductor.
There was a tiny hissing play of electric flame. Cash's body seemed to bounce up and down. It
convulsed, tying itself in a tight knot around the rail of death.
It stayed there, rigid and still. A wispy plume of brownish smoke curling upward might have been the
spirit departing from his body.
The Green Bells eased away in the rain-moist night like dread, voiceless ghouls from another existence.
Chapter II. VISITORS
THE TRIPLEX was New York's newest, gaudiest, and most expensive hotel. It catered to its guests
with every comfort and convenience.
Guests arriving by taxi, for instance, did not find it necessary to alight at the sidewalks and enter before
the stares of hoi polloi. There was an inclosed private drive for the cabs.
This drive was a semicircular tunnel done in bright metals and dark stone, after the modernistic fashion. In
it, a taxi was disgorging a passenger.
The newcomer was a tall snake of a man. The serpentine aspect was lent by the fact that his body was so
flexible as to seem boneless. His hair was carefully curled, and had an enameled shine. His eyes were
ratty; his mouth was a crack; his clothes were flashy enough to be in bad taste.
He paid the taxi with a bill peeled from a fat roll. Entering the lobby, trailed by a bell boy bearing two
bags, he leaned elbows on the desk.
"I'm Mr. Cooley," he said shortly. "I wired you for a reservation from Prosper City."
The man was conducted to his room. The bell boy was hardly out of hearing when he picked up the
telephone.
"Gimme Judborn Tugg's room," he requested. Then, when he had the connection: "That you, Tugg? . . .
This is Slick. What room you got? ... 0.K. I'll be right up."
The man rode an elevator up six floors, made his sinuous way down a corridor, and knocked at a door.
The panel opened, and he said familiarly: "Howzza boy, Tugg!"
Judborn Tugg looked somewhat as if he had found a wolf in front of his door -- a wolf with which he
must, of necessity, associate.
"Come in," he said haughtily.
Tugg was a small, prosperous-appearing mountain. His dark pin-stripe suit, if a bit loud, was well tailored
over his ample middle. His chins, big mouth and pale eyes rode on a cone of fat. A gold watch chain
bridged his midriff, and formed a support for several lodge emblems.
"Slick" Cooley entered, closed the door, and said: "We don't have to worry any more about Jim Cash."
Judborn Tugg recoiled as if slapped. His head rotated on its foundation of fat as he glanced about
nervously.
Slick quickly folded his arms, both hands inside his coat, where he carried automatic pistols. "What's the
matter? Somebody here?"
"Oh, my, no! It would be too bad if there was! You should be more careful!" Tugg whipped out a silk
handkerchief, and blotted at his forehead. "It is just that I cannot get used to the cold way you fellows
have of handling things."
"What you mean is the Green Bell's way of handling things." Slick leered.
"Yes, yes; of course." Judborn Tugg ground his handkerchief in uneasy hands. "The Green Bell will be
glad to know young Cash is satisfactorily disposed of."
Slick took his hands away from his armpits, and straightened his coat. "I didn't get any time alone with
Cash, so I couldn't question him before he was tossed on that third rail."
"Your orders were not to question him," Judborn Tugg said smugly.
Slick sneered slightly. "You don't need to pretend to be so damned holy with me, Tugg. We understand
each other. We'd both like to know who the Green Bell is. Jim Cash knew. By questioning him, I might
have gotten the lowdown. But I didn't dare. There was too many guys around."
"Ahem!" Judborn Tugg cleared his throat and glanced about nervously.
"One of these days, we're gonna find out who the Green Bell is!" Slick said grimly. "When that happens,
we'll rub him out, see! And, presto, we've got the gravy."
Judborn Tugg shuddered violently.
"Oh, goodness, Slick!" he wailed. "Suppose the Green Bell -- suppose some one should overhear us!
Let us not talk about it!"
"0.K.," Slick leered. "What're me and you to do now?"
JUOBORN TUGG put his handkerchief away, and fiddled with the ornaments on his watch chain. "Have
you ever heard of a gentleman by the name of Doc Savage?"
"Kinda seems like I have." Slick smoothed his coat lapels.
"New York is not my stompin' ground, and this Savage bird hangs out here. I don't know much about
him. Kind of a trouble buster, ain't he?"
"Exactly! I understand he is a very fierce and competent fighting man, who has a group of five aids."
"A muscle man with a gang, eh?"
"In your vernacular, I believe that is how you express it. The Green Bell had me investigate Doc Savage.
I did not learn a great deal about him, except that he is a man who fights other people's battles."
"Yeah? And what about this guy?"
"The Green Bell has ordered me to hire Doc Savage. I am to obtain the services of the man and his five
aids for our organization."
Slick swore wildly. He stamped around the room, fists hard, mean face twisted with rage.
"I won't stand for it!" he gritted. "I was to have charge of the rough stuff in this business! I was to be third
in command -- takin' orders only from the Green Bell and you! Now the Green Bell is fixin' to ring this
Doc Savage in!"
Judborn Tugg patted the air with both hands.
"My dear Slick, you misunderstand," he soothed. "You are to retain your position. Doc Savage is to
work under you! The Green Bell made that very clear."
"He did, eh?" Slick scowled, but seemed mollified. "Well, that's different. But that Doc Savage has gotta
savvy that his orders come from me!"
"Of course. That will be made clear."
Slick lighted an expensive cigarette. "Supposin' Doc Savage considers himself a big shot, and don't want
to take my I orders."
"Any man will take commands, if the pay is sufficient," Judborn Tugg said, with the certainty of a man
who has money and knows its power.
But Slick was still uncertain. "What if Doc Savage ain't the kind of a guy who hires out for our kind of
work?"
"There, again, my statement about payment applies. Every man has his price. The Green Bell needs more
men, needs them badly. He does not want ordinary gunmen. Therefore, I am to approach Doc Savage."
"O.K. Where'll we find 'im?"
Judborn Tugg shrugged. "I do not know. We shall see if the telephone information girl can tell us."
He put in a call. The swiftness with which he was given Doc Savage's address seemed to daze him. He
blinked his pale eyes and hung up.
"Doc Savage must be rather well known!" he muttered. "The phone operator had his whereabouts on the
tip of her tongue. Come, Slick. We shall go see this man."
The two quitted the hotel room.
THE SKYSCRAPER before which Slick Cooley and Judborn Tugg eventually alighted was one of the
most resplendent in the city. It towered nearly a hundred stories.
"What a joint!" Slick muttered in awe. Doc Savage ain't no cheap skate if he hangs out here!"
"These surroundings show Savage is good at his business," Judborn Tugg replied stiffly. "That is the kind
of a man we want. You, Slick, will wait in the lobby."
"Why?" Slick demanded suspiciously. "How do I know but that you'll pay this Savage more money than
I'm gettin'?"
"Nothing of the sort, Slick. You will stay here in case Alice Cash and Aunt Nora should put in an
appearance. They were coming here to hire this Savage to do their fighting. They cannot pay Savage as
much as we can, but it would be better if they did not see him."
"Yeah," Slick agreed with bad grace. "I'll stick below, then."
An express elevator which ran noiselessly and with great speed, lifted Judborn Tugg to the eighty-sixth
floor. He strutted pompously down a richly decorated corridor.
Sighting a mirror, Tugg halted and carefully surveyed his appearance. He wanted to overawe this Doc
Savage. That was the way to handle these common thugs who hired themselves out for money.
Tugg lighted a dollar cigar. He had another just like it which he intended to offer Savage. The fine weeds
would be the final touch. Doc Savage would be bowled over by the grandeur of Judborn Tugg.
Tugg did not know it, but he was headed for one of the big shocks of his career.
He knocked on a door, puffed out his chest, and cocked his cigar in the air.
The door opened.
Judborn Tugg's chest collapsed, his cigar fell to the floor, and his eyes bulged out.
A mighty giant of bronze stood in the door. The effect of this metallic figure was amazing. Marvelously
symmetrical proportions absorbed the true size of the man. Viewed from a distance, and away from
anything to which his stature might have been compared, he would not have seemed as big.
The remarkably high forehead, the muscular and strong mouth, the lean and corded cheeks, denoted a
rare power of character. His bronze hair was a shade darker than his bronze skin, and it lay straight and
smooth as a skullcap of metal.
The thing which really took the wind out of Judborn Tugg, though, was the bronze man's eyes. They were
like pools of fine flake gold, alive with tiny glistenings. They possessed a strange, hypnotic quality. They
made Judborn Tugg want to pull his coat over his head, so that the innermost secrets of his brain would
not be searched out.
"Are -- are -- you Doc Savage?" stuttered Judborn Tugg.
The bronze giant nodded. The simple gesture caused great cables of muscle to writhe about his neck.
Tugg felt an impulse to shiver at the sight. This bronze man must possess incredible strength.
In a quiet, powerful voice, Doc Savage invited Tugg inside. Then he gave him a cigar, explaining quietly:
"I hope you'll excuse me, since I never smoke."
That cigar was the final shock to Judborn Tugg. It was a long, fine custom weed in an individual vacuum
container. Tugg happened to know that cigars such as this could not be obtained for less than ten dollars
each.
Judborn Tugg was a pricked balloon. Instead of overawing Doc Savage, he was himself practically
stunned.
SEVERAL MOMENTS were required before Judborn Tugg recovered sufficient aplomb to get down to
business.
"1 have heard you are an -- er -- a trouble buster," he said, in a small voice, very unlike his usual
overbearing tone.
"You might call it that," Doc Savage agreed politely. "More properly, my five companions and myself
have a purpose in life. That purpose is to go here and there, from one end of the world to the other,
looking for excitement and adventure, striving to help those in need of help, and punishing those who
deserve it."
Judborn Tugg did not know that it was a very rare occasion when Doc Savage gave out even this much
information about himself.
摘要：

THECZAROFFEARADocSavageAdventurebyKennethRobesonThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?Chapter1.GREENBELL?ChapterII.VISITORS?ChapterIII.THECOMEBACK?ChapterIV.THEMURDERWITNESSES?ChapterV.PERIL'SPATH?ChapterVI.FEAR'SDOMAIN?ChapterVII.CLEMENTSSETSATRAP?ChapterVIII.VOICEFROMTHEEA...

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