Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 130 - The Spook of Grandpa Eben

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THE SPOOK OF GRANDPA EBEN
A Doc Savage Adventure by Kenneth Robeson
This page copyright © 2003 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? Chapter I
? Chapter II
? Chapter III
? Chapter IV
? Chapter V
? Chapter VI
? Chapter VII
? Chapter VIII
? Chapter IX
? Chapter X
? Chapter XI
? Chapter XII
? Chapter XIII
? Chapter XIV
? Chapter XV
? Chapter XVI
Scanned and Proofed
by Tom Stephens
Chapter I
THE name on his birth certificate was Wilmore Riggs, so it was natural for everybody to call him Billy
Riggs. He was a pleasant young man; the name fitted. He was twenty-four years old.
He had inherited the small black Indian-head charm from his Grandfather Eben, whom he had never
seen, but whose rascally reputation had always secretly amused him. Grandfather Eben had been dead
thirty years or so, but Eben's awful reputation was still going full blast. Grandfather Eben was certainly the
skeleton in the Riggs' closet.
Billy Riggs had worn Grandfather Eben's Indian-head as a watch charm for a long time.
When he was a kid, attending grade school, Billy Riggs had read the fanciful story about Aladdin and the
lamp that Aladdin rubbed, and the genie that popped out to serve as Aladdin's servant. Later Billy had
seen the story presented, with Hollywood embellishment, in two motion pictures. He had been much
impressed when the Aladdin in the movies rubbed the lamp and the genie came out; the titanic
proportions of the genie had awed Billy Riggs.
It had never occurred to Billy Riggs that there could be any possible similarity between Grandpa Eben's
Indian-head and that magic lamp of Aladdin.
Because Billy Riggs had too much common sense to believe that such stuff was possible.
But it came to pass otherwise.
It came to pass otherwise on a Monday morning, 8 a.m. to be exact.
Mr. Harland Crown Copeland, piloted by a large Negro chauffeur in his limousine, pulled into the filling
station where Billy Riggs was employed. Harland Crown Copeland rolled down the rear window of the
limousine and gave young Billy Riggs a look of contempt and mean, unforgiving hatred.
“I will take four gallons of gas, jailbird,” Harland Crown Copeland said.
Harland Crown Copeland was president of the town's largest industry, Copeland Chemical Co., and a
generally hated man. He was practically without admirers, and certainly without friends. A summary of his
character would include most of the unpleasant words in the dictionary. He was selfish, ignoble, sneaky,
stingy, baleful, malignantly hateful, and diabolically vengeful. You could say everything about him except
that he was not important. He was about the most important man in town, but that was only because he
owned most of the town. He was a hound after a dollar. He thought a lot of his dollars. Take one of his
dollars, and he hated you worse than if you had chopped off one of his fingers.
Billy Riggs ran gasoline through a hose into the tank of Harland Crown Copeland's limousine. Billy's neck
was red with embarrassed rage.
Another car drove into the filling station at this point, and stopped on the other side of the pump island.
The driver of this car was Ezra Strong, a pleasant young man who was general manager of a small local
concern which was now engaged in manufacturing torpedo driving mechanisms. Ezra Strong waited
patiently, smiling at Billy Riggs.
“I'm surprised you're not back in the State penitentiary,” Harland Crown Copeland said to young Riggs.
Riggs flushed. “Mr. Copeland, you haven't any right to talk to me like that.”
“You're a born thief.” Harland Crown Copeland pointed at the gasoline gauge. It registered just a
fraction of a cent short of the exact amount. “You have swindled me out of a little of my gasoline,”
Copeland said. “In the course of a day, I imagine you rob enough people to make it worth while.”
BILLY RIGGS was sick with embarrassment, because Harland Crown Copeland was speaking loud
enough for Ezra Strong to hear. Ezra Strong had heard, and he was frowning.
“You'll be back in the penitentiary, Riggs,” said Harland Crown Copeland emphatically.
Billy Riggs was not a sheep. Enough was enough. He stepped grimly to the limousine window.
“Mr. Copeland, I never stole a nickel of that money which came up missing when I was working for
you,” he said. “I am convinced the money got into the wastebasket by mistake and was burned. But I
couldn't prove that. So you had me tried and sentenced to two years in the penitentiary. I served my
sentence. I paid my debt to society. Let me alone.”
“You haven't been cured of being a thief.”
“I never was a thief. Let me alone.”
The chauffeur was sitting very still with a wooden expression on his face, obviously not liking the way his
employer was acting. The chauffeur was a new man, hadn't had the job over two weeks, and Billy Riggs
wondered as a side thought how long the man would be able to stomach his job.
Harland Crown Copeland glared at Billy Riggs.
“I must remind Police Chief Flannigan to keep a close watch on you,” he said. “And I must remind your
employer that if he expects any Copeland Chemical Co. trade, he should not employ jailbirds.”
Young Riggs trembled with rage and sick helplessness. He happened, purely by chance, to clutch the
Indian-charm which was attached to his watch chain. He looked down at the charm.
“You see this?” he asked grimly, indicating the charm. “My Grandfather Eben owned it, and when he met
somebody who deserved what was coming to them, he used to rub it and make a wish. And whoever he
wished against would get their just desserts.”
Billy Riggs gave the charm a violent rub.
“Grandfather Eben's spook, wherever you are, give this old man what he's got coming to him!” Riggs
said violently.
Harland Crown Copeland laughed contemptuously.
“You're crazy,” he said, “as well as an inveterate thief.”
Then he spoke curtly to the chauffeur, and the limousine rolled away.
BILLY RIGGS stood there helplessly, realizing he had been a fool, and thinking: Now I'm going to lose
this job.
A pleasant voice—Ezra Strong's—spoke, saying, “That was telling off the old dollar ferret.”
“Hello, Mr. Strong,” Billy Riggs answered miserably. “Yes, but it was kind of silly, wasn't it? And what
good will it do me.”
“You think he'll get you fired?”
“I know darned well he will. Mr. Roberts, who owns this filling station, has already been ordered to fire
me and he refused. Copeland ordered the chemical company employees to stop buying their gasoline
here, and business has fallen off more than half. Mr. Roberts is a good guy, and he might stand by me,
but I can't see him go broke on my account. I'll have to quit.”
“Copeland is a mean old rascal, all right.”
“Brother, that guy in the 'Christmas Carol', Scrooge, couldn't hold a candle to him for meanness.”
“Don't feel badly, Riggs. Nobody in town but Copeland really thinks you took that money.”
“I feel awful, anyway,” Billy Riggs confessed.
“Old Copeland is so mean he's almost a comic opera character. But, unfortunately, he's flesh and blood,
and owns most of the property in town.”
“I know.”
“Brace up.”
“The hell of it is, now that I've been in the penitentiary, the army doesn't want me,” Billy Riggs said sadly.
“Getting turned down by the army because of that gives a man a pretty bad feeling, Mr. Strong.”
Ezra Strong nodded sympathetically. He was looking at the Indian-head charm which young Riggs was
wearing on his watch chain.
“You know, it would serve the old miser right if that curse you put on him sort of worried him.”
“Oh, that.” Billy Riggs looked at the charm uncomfortably. “That was a silly thing to do, wasn't it?”
“Maybe not. It was better than just giving him a cussing, wasn't it?”
“Perhaps. A cussing wouldn't have done me any good.” Billy Riggs fingered the charm ruefully. “It
wouldn't have given me as much satisfaction.”
Ezra Strong indicated the charm. “You say that belonged to your grandfather.”
“Yes. Grandfather Eben Riggs.”
“Did he live around here?”
Billy Riggs shook his head. “No. He was a roamer. Grandfather Eben is the skeleton in the family closet.”
“Quite a guy, eh?”
“He sure was. If there was any devilment around he didn't get into, I never heard about it. Of course, like
a lot of old-timers, his reputation has probably gotten bigger than he was.”
“What business was Grandfather Eben in?”
Billy Riggs grinned faintly. “Monkey business, mostly, from what I've been told. You see, I never knew
him. He died before my time. He died at the head of an army of two hundred adventurers who were
trying to kidnap the head Lama of Tibet. Got killed in the battle.”
“That kind of a bird, eh?”
“Grandfather Eben,” said Billy Riggs, “won and lost at least ten fortunes, and each one was more than a
million dollars. I know that for a fact.”
“He must have been lucky.”
“He was something. I always heard he attributed it to this charm.”
“Let's look at that charm,” Ezra Strong was interested.
BILLY RIGGS carefully unhooked the little ornament from his watch chain and passed it to Ezra Strong
for inspection. Strong turned it curiously in his fingers. It was a tiny carving of a human head done in some
shiny black material.
“What's it made of?” Ezra Strong squinted at the thing. “What kind of black stone is this?”
“I don't know. I took it to a jeweler once, and he didn't know either. I understand Grandfather Eben
claimed it was a drop of the devil's blood that had frozen.”
“Frozen?”
“Well, the theory was that it is so much hotter in hell where the devil lives that this climate on earth was
relatively cold enough to freeze the drop of devil's blood as soon as it dropped out of the wound. Of
course that's tripe, but it's part of the story.”
Ezra Strong smiled. “Well, it's a good story.”
“Yeah, it is, at that.”
“Makes you feel better just to handle the thing and talk about it, eh?”
“I guess so.” Billy Riggs looked startled. “Hey, you're kidding me. I feel better since I've been talking, but
the reason for that is that you generally feel better after you talk your troubles over with somebody.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe to it. It's a fact.”
Ezra Strong weighed the charm. “This isn't an American Indian's head.”
“Oh, no. It's an Indian from India, a Hindu or something.”
“But handling it makes you feel better?”
“Aw, shucks, Mr. Strong. You're joshing me.”
Ezra Strong laughed. “Let's try a little experiment, Billy. Why don't you take the thing and rub it and wish
more bad luck on our mutual friend, Copeland. Or is that the way it's done?”
Billy Riggs nodded. “That's the idea. It's supposed to put a spook or a hoodoo or something after the
fellow you wish against.”
“Here, let's try it out.” Ezra Strong extended the charm. “Rub and put a hoodoo on Harland Crown
Copeland.”
Bill Riggs grinned feebly. “You're making fun of me, Mr. Strong.”
“No, honest. Try it.”
“It's silly.”
“No, it's not silly. It's a dose of psychology you can give yourself. Doing it will make you feel better, so
go ahead and do it.”
Billy Riggs' grin became more genuine. He liked Ezra Strong, although he did not know the man very
intimately. Strong was a young man who had a good reputation, made a respectable salary, and was
often on Chamber of Commerce committees for one thing or another. A substantial citizen, you would
call him. It was true that talking to Ezra had made Billy Riggs feel better, so he decided to take Ezra's
advice about the charm, although of course it was hooey. But as Ezra said, the psychology of it might
make him feel better. And goodness knew, he needed any bit of cheering up that he could gather.
“O. K.” Billy Riggs rubbed the charm vigorously. “This is the way I understand Grandfather Eben did it.”
He rubbed the charm some more, and in a grim tone, talked to the spook.
“Spook,” said Billy Riggs, “do your stuff. Private spook of Grandfather Eben, go to work on Harland
Crown Copeland and show him the error of his ways. Scare the dickens out of him. Make him clean up
those miserable tenement buildings he owns, make him give some money to charity, and make him buy a
flock of War Bonds.”
Ezra Strong laughed. “You didn't ask the spook to make old Copeland let up on you, Billy.”
Billy also laughed. “Oh, I can take it if Copeland can. The spook probably couldn't work that kind of a
miracle, anyway.”
“Spooks can surprise you.”
Ezra Strong got eight gallons of gasoline and drove on his way. Billy Riggs looked after him and grinned.
Ezra could sure cheer you up with his foolishness.
For of course the business about the charm was foolishness.
Chapter II
THE spook of Grandfather Eben did not lose much time getting to work on Harland Crown Copeland.
The limousine reached the chemical plant, and the chauffeur parked it in the reserved space.
Harland Crown Copeland alighted grandly. He spoke to the chauffeur. “George, polish the car. There
are three pairs of my shoes in the back. Polish those. Then get a rake and rake this whole parking lot,
and be sure you save all the paper and tinfoil. Paper and tinfoil are worth money.”
“Yassuh,” said George. This was enough work to keep two men busy all day.
“Then,” said Copeland, “you can buy your lunch. You understand that you buy your own lunch. Then go
over the cars of my employees in the parking lot and find one with a good tire that is the same size I use
on my limousine. Take that tire and put it on my limousine, then find the owner of the car and inform him
that I need the tire, and it is his duty to sell it to me.” Harland Crown Copeland adjusted his coat and
started for his office. “Tell him,” he called over his shoulder, “that I will pay him a dollar and a half
difference between the tires.”
“Yassuh,” said George. “And what do Ah do with mah spare time?”
Harland Crown Copeland pretended not to hear the question, since he was not sure whether it was
sarcasm, or whether George was just dumb. He preferred not to have a fuss with George because the
fellow was a good chauffeur and seemed satisfied with the miserable salary he was receiving. With all the
well-paid defense jobs now to be had, chauffeurs who would work for peanuts were scarce.
“Oops!” gasped Harland Crown Copeland. “Get out of my way, damn you!”
He had the impression that he'd run into something.
But there was nothing there.
Preserving his dignity, Harland Crown Copeland now glanced at his arms, and at his feet, for he thought
that he had run into a piece of fine wire, or a cord, or something that had yanked him to a halt. But there
was no wire or cord.
He started forward again.
Thump! He stopped.
“What the devil!” he muttered.
A GOOD many unpleasant things had happened to Harland Crown Copeland in his lifetime. A man with
his miserable disposition and grasping traits was bound to be insulted frequently. But he understood the
reasons for the insults, and actually took a kind of vicious pleasure in receiving them, because he
invariably had taken something, usually in the form of dollars, from the individual who dished out the
insults. He figured that he had the best of the bargain every time.
It took very little to bring out the ugliness in Harland Crown Copeland. The ugliness came out now. He
delivered a vicious kick at the air—seemingly there was nothing else—in front of him. He howled,
grabbed his bruised foot, and danced in pain.
“Damn you!” he shouted. “You're fired! I won't have practical jokes on my property!”
There was no answer. Harland Crown Copeland's rage increased in proportion to the growth of the
foolish feeling he had because he was shouting at nothing at all.
“Get that thing away!” He gave a violent shove.
He put both hands out in front of him, and pushed. He pushed until his feet skidded. Pushed against
nothing.
The idiocy, the impossibility, the tacit goofiness of what he was doing struck Harland Crown Copeland.
He stopped pushing. He retreated a few paces. He pulled down his sleeves and adjusted his hat.
“You're fired! You hear me!” He spoke loudly and wrathfully.
Discharging employees who opposed him in the slightest degree, whether intentionally or not, was his
favorite method of taking revenge. He supposed someone was perpetrating an unusual joke, although he
couldn't understand exactly how it was being done. But he was certainly going to fire whoever was
responsible. He would not only discharge the culprit, but he would see that the person didn't get another
job in town.
“You're discharged!” he roared.
Then he wheeled and walked in a different direction.
He took about ten paces and—thump!
This time, Harland Crown Copeland didn't push, kick or curse. He reached out very cautiously and felt
of the—apparently—empty air in front of him. He explored with his fingers.
He nearly screamed.
He jerked his hands back as if they had touched something hideous.
He could feel it, but he couldn't see it! And the feel was awful. It was soft, sort of bristling soft, like stiff
fur. And it was strange to the touch, not particularly cold or clammy, but just strange without his being
able to tell exactly what made it strange. But the worst thing of all was his conviction that it was alive.
“You're fired!” he screamed. “Get off my property!” He whirled wildly, howling at the chauffeur.
“George! Come here! Help! Bring a monkey wrench! Kill this thing! Come here!”
George came galloping with a wrench. “What's yoah trouble, boss?”
“Kill this thing!”
“What thing?”
“This! Here it is!” Harland Crown Copeland lunged at the spot where he had encountered the
phenomenon—and it wasn't there. He felt around with his hands. But there was nothing.
“I doan' see what yo' want hit,” said George, hefting the wrench.
HARLAND CROWN COPELAND had difficulty controlling himself. For the first time in his adult life he
had encountered something he did not understand, and worse, something which he did not have the least
idea how to best.
“There was something here.”
“Ah doan' see nothin',” said George.
“Well, it was here.”
“Ah doan' see it.”
“Damn you, don't call me a liar!” The old moneybags was slightly incoherent.
“Nossuh.” George looked around. “What was it?”
“Something in my way.”
“Ain't nothin'.”
“There was. And don't tell me there wasn't.”
“Nossuh.”
“Strike around with that monkey wrench.”
“Strike at what?”
“Just hit around in the air. You may be able to kill the damned thing.”
George rolled his eyes. He didn't strike a blow. “Was this heah thing alive?”
“Of course it was. Go ahead and strike at it. Beat its brains out.”
George didn't make a move. “Ah ain't swattin' no spook. Might be bad luck.”
Harland Crown Copeland now seized hold of himself, because he'd had time to realize that he was
behaving like a crazy man. A crazy man! The idea was sickening, and sobered him instantly. It
overpowered even the horror of what he had just encountered; in what appeared to be nothing but thin
air.
“George.”
“Yassuh.”
“Don't you tell a soul about this, you hear. If you breathe a word of it, you are discharged.”
“Yassuh. What'd you call me for?”
“It was a joke.”
“Joke? You doan' look like no joke.”
“Well, it was a joke. And don't you tell anybody.”
George nodded vehemently. “Yassuh.”
“Go back and start polishing the car.”
“Yassuh. You suppose dat was Grandpa Eben's spook gettin' after you?”
“Grandfather Eben's spook? Oh, you mean that silly stuff the thieving Riggs boy said.”
“Yassuh.”
“Ridiculous. Go start polishing the car.”
“Yassuh.”
Harland Crown Copeland walked toward his office, and George moved back to the car. George,
however, could be heard emitting a loud chuckle. And a remark which George made also reached
Harland Crown Copeland's ears.
“He sure soun' funny, tryin' tuh fire Grandpa Eben's spook,” was what George said.
HARLAND CROWN COPELAND reached his office without encountering any more spectral
difficulties. But he was shaken. He flopped in his swivel chair, and wished he had a drink of whiskey for a
bracer. He was too stingy to keep any liquor for himself, but he knew his head clerk kept a bottle to
revive an occasional stenographer who fainted, quite possibly from overwork.
He rang for the underpaid, timid old maid who served as his secretary.
“Sarah, get me the whiskey bottle from Grimm's desk.”
Sarah was disturbed, and not by her employer's agitation. She seemed hardly to notice that anything
unusual had happened to Harland Crown Copeland.
“There are two men—”
“Get me the whiskey! Do you want me to fire you!”
“Oh, no, sir.” Sarah scuttled away, returning shortly with the liquor bottle. “There are two men to see—”
“Tell them to go away!” Harland Crown Copeland snapped. “I don't want to talk to anybody. Get out
yourself. Get out!”
“Yes, sir.”
Not more than thirty seconds after the timid and flustered Sarah left the office, the door banged open,
letting in two men. The new arrivals stalked in without a by your leave.
“So that's the secretary you pay so poorly,” said the shorter of the newcomers. “You ought to be
ashamed of such slavery.”
“Get out!”
The two newcomers calmly pulled up chairs and sat down.
One of them, the short one who had just spoken, was a remarkable fellow who bore a pleasant but
striking likeness to an ape about five feet two inches tall. He had reddish hair, which looked as if it had
been transplanted from a Fuller brush, and wore a tweed suit which was as loud as a Fourth of July. The
amiable grin on his homely face seemed to be a permanent fixture there.
This remarkable-looking fellow had been followed into the office by a remarkable-looking hog, or pig.
The shote had legs as long as those of a rabbit, and a pair of ears which should have been wings.
The second man, in appearance, was most of the things the first man was not. He was lean, dapper,
wasp-waisted, dressed in a business suit that would have delighted a tailor. He had a large mobile mouth,
the kind of a mouth which orators usually have. He carried a black cane.
The second man was trailed into the office by a small animal which was either a chimpanzee or a dwarf
ape. But whatever the animal was, it was remarkable because of the resemblance it bore to the first man,
the short one with the reddish hair and the grin.
Harland Crown Copeland looked at the two newcomers and their two animals.
“Get out!”
“Eh?”
“Get out!”
“Not us,” said the homely one.
“I'll throw you out!”
The homely stranger examined the irate moneybags critically. “You'll need about six more like you to
throw me out, and even then I wouldn't bet on it. Anyway, you haven't the right.”
“Right!” Harland Crown Copeland screamed. “This is my factory, damn you!”
“Calm down.”
“Calm down!” Harland Crown Copeland screamed. “Two clowns and a blasted zoo walk into my
office—and you tell me to calm down! In my own office! Get out!”
THE two strangers glanced at each other, obviously enjoying the situation.
Then the dapper one, who had the orator's mouth, stood up and extracted a bunch of credentials from
摘要：

THESPOOKOFGRANDPAEBENADocSavageAdventurebyKennethRobesonThispagecopyright©2003BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?ChapterI?ChapterII?ChapterIII?ChapterIV?ChapterV?ChapterVI?ChapterVII?ChapterVIII?ChapterIX?ChapterX?ChapterXI?ChapterXII?ChapterXIII?ChapterXIV?ChapterXV?ChapterXVIScannedandProofe...

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