Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 104 - Birds of Death

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BIRDS OF DEATH
A Doc Savage Adventure By Kenneth Robeson
This page copyright © 2002 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? Chapter I. TO CATCH A CANARY
? Chapter II. MYSTERY AT MOLDENHAEUR
? Chapter III. THE HORRIBLE THING
? Chapter IV. DANGER FROM AFRICA
? Chapter V. FROM A DRUGSTORE
? Chapter VI. CALLOUSED FEET
? Chapter VII. MÊLÉE IN A MARSH
? Chapter VIII. THE PILOT
? Chapter IX. ATLANTIC CHASE
? Chapter X. THE STRANGE CANARY
? Chapter XI. DANGER AT DUSK
? Chapter XII. THE LIVING DEAD
? Chapter XIII. ALIVE AND NOT DEAD
? Chapter XIV. THE LOVER OF GOLDEN BIRDS
Scanned and Proofed
by Tom Stephens
Chapter I. TO CATCH A CANARY
THE afternoon sun sprayed gay cream-colored light on the tall buildings which surrounded the park in the
center of the city. But shadows lay across most of the park itself, taking the glare off the sidewalks and
darkening the trees.
The darkest shadows in the park were probably those in the low bushes beyond the lagoon.
In one of these bushes was the canary. It was a genuine, if ordinary, canary, as yellow as any canary. It
flew around a little.
Two men had watched the canary fly down from a window of one of the apartment houses. The two men
were now trying to catch the canary.
They were rather serious about it, because on catching the canary depended whether or not they would
kill a man.
One pointed. "There it goes, Abner. Right there," he said.
He was the small man, the well-dressed one, the important one. He had the suit by the Fifty-seventh
Street tailor, the custom-made shirt, the five-dollar cravat. He was the short man, the thin one.
Abner—the other man—said, "I’ll get around the other side of the bush, Mr. Manley. You wanna give
me the end of the net, huh? Maybe we can pen the dang thing up."
He was the big man, the one who was crudely dressed. Not cheaply attired. Crudely. The crudeness was
in the size of the checks in his suit, the raw, ungentle color of his shirt. No one would ever call his necktie
a cravat. It was common necktie, forty-nine cents on Broadway.
The dang thing referred to was the canary. They went about the business of catching it.
There was one other mistake no one would ever make about them, and that was: They were not friends,
they couldn’t be. And neither could they be business associates. The only possible status between them
was that of the man who gave orders, and the one who executed them. One was Brains, and the other
was Muscle. More nearly exact, one was Thug Muscle.
The net was half a dozen yards of the stuff called "mosquito bar" in the South, or mosquito netting. Mr.
Manley had thoughtfully provided himself with this. It was still in the paper sack, the way it had been
handed to him in the store where he bought it. He took the net out of the sack.
"Take the end, Abner," he commanded.
At the edge of the park, the towering apartment house showed a window-freckled wall.
From the apartment-house window out of which the canary had flown in escape a few minutes ago, a
man leaned. He waved his arms. He put his hands on edge against his mouth and shouted. What he
yelled was not understandable.
"Mr. Manley," said Abner.
"Yes?"
"A man is yelling out of the window."
"Who is it?" demanded Mr. Manley.
"I think it’s that servant, Julian."
"You sure it’s not Benjamin Boot, himself? Be sure about that. If it’s Boot looking out of that window
now, I want to know it."
"It’s the servant."
"Good. The servant is shouting to attract Benjamin Boot’s attention. Boot is probably in another room of
the apartment," said Mr. Manley. "Abner, let’s catch that canary."
They stretched out the mosquito netting. The afternoon breeze caught it and wafted it like a plume of
smoke. Six yards was eighteen feet of netting, and it was hard to manage.
The canary sat in the bush and twittered derisively at them.
High up in the apartment-house window, there was a change in figures leaning out. The servant, Julian,
withdrew. Another man appeared. He wore a dressing gown that was very yellow indeed, about the
color of the canary.
Abner said, "Benjamin Boot has come to the window, Mr. Manley."
"Good," said Mr. Manley. "Punch me, and draw my attention to him. Let’s make this a well-rounded job
of acting."
Abner punched Mr. Manley, pointed at the window. Mr. Manley looked up. The man in yellow robe
waved his arms like an airplane propeller. Mr. Manley pointed at the bush where the canary sat, and
waved back. The man in the yellow robe disappeared from the window.
"He’s coming down here," said Mr. Manley. "Hurry up and catch that damned canary. And
Abner—remember this is part of a murder, and the police do not think murders are funny."
BENJAMIN BOOT sprinted through the park with yellow robe flying. Under the robe he wore
buff-colored pajamas, and bedroom slippers of matching color clung to his pounding feet.
He arrived all out of breath at the scene of the canary catching.
"For gosh sakes, don’t hurt Elmo!" he exclaimed apprehensively.
Benjamin Boot was a tall young man with an excellent pair of legs, superb shoulders—in fact, a body that
was so perfectly fashioned that it was beautiful. His hands, however, were very large and knobby, and
his face extremely homely.
Elmo was the canary.
"Come, Elmo, come, come," said Benjamin Boot anxiously. "Say, I’m sure glad you fellows caught
Elmo."
Concern and delight mingled on Benjamin Boot’s homely face, and the result made the face something
with which to haunt a house. Young Boot’s face was not exactly ugly. Stupid was more the word. The
face was a dumb, illiterate, foolish, simple, shallow, dense, donkeylike, wooden one.
Mr. Manley smiled.
"Glad to be of service," he said heartily. "I just happened to notice the bird as I was passing by, and this
stranger"—he glanced at Abner—"was kind enough to assist me, weren’t you, Mr.—"
"Mr. Jones is the name," lied Abner.
"I am Mr. Manley," said Mr. Manley.
The owner of the canary extended a toadlike hand.
"I am Benjamin Boot," he said. "This is my canary, Elmo, and I sure love him. I wouldn’t part with Elmo
for anything. I couldn’t get along without him. That jackass of a manservant of mine, Julian, accidentally
let Elmo out of his cage. I’m everlastingly grateful to you fellows."
"It’s nothing," said Manley. "I’m glad to be of service. It was fortunate I had this mosquito netting along. I
was taking it home to my wife, who was going to make some butterfly nets. She collects butterflies."
Benjamin Boot eyed the netting.
"The net is all messed up," he said. "I’ll buy you some more."
"You needn’t mind."
Benjamin Boot thrust a hand in his robe pocket, then looked crestfallen. "Gosh, I haven’t any money with
me. I was going to offer you a reward."
"Oh, no, no, we couldn’t think of that," said Mr. Manley.
"Nah, we couldn’t," echoed Abner, rather reluctantly.
Benjamin Boot showed a great deal of concern.
"Mercy me, you gentlemen just have to let me do something for you to show my gratitude," he said.
"You don’t owe us a thing," insisted Manley.
"Oh, but I insist, I really do. Would you—ah—accept a drink and some cigars in my apartment?"
Mr. Manley melted somewhat. "Well, now," he said, hesitating, "I might do that. How about you, Mr.—"
"Jones," said Abner. "Yeah, I might stand a snifter of whiskey."
"Oh, my, I’m afraid I don’t have anything that strong," said Benjamin Boot, abashed.
"O. K., I’ll go along and take the cigars, then," said Abner hastily.
They moved toward the apartment house.
Benjamin Boot, showing exquisite delight over the recovery of Elmo, walked ahead, cooing to the canary
and petting the bird.
Mr. Manley and Abner dropped behind.
Abner whispered from the side of his mouth, "This guy is a pantywaist. Hell, he’s silly over the damned
bird!"
Mr. Manley nodded. "Fine, fine. Our plan of bribing Julian to release the canary was excellent. It is
getting us invited into Boot’s apartment."
Abner asked, "When we get this milk-toast in his apartment, what do we do?"
Mr. Manley eyed Abner appraisingly. "You have your knife, Abner?"
"Yeah."
"Do you think you can get it in Benjamin Boot’s back without too much fuss?"
"Just watch me!" Abner’s face became uneasy. "What about the servant, Julian?"
"I have a knife of my own for Julian," said Mr. Manley.
"It’s gonna be a pipe," said Abner. "Like takin’ two babies."
A Mr. Manley and an Abner who were highly satisfied with themselves got into an elevator in the
apartment building and were carried to the twenty-third floor, where they stepped out into a cream hall
that had only one door, the single door indicating that Benjamin Boot’s apartment was a large one.
Apartments occupying entire floors in this neighborhood cost around twelve thousand dollars a year.
Benjamin Boot unlocked the door, and stepped back for Mr. Manley to enter. They went inside.
Benjamin Boot stepped in after them. He hit Mr. Manley a blow on the jaw. He turned and hit Abner’s
jaw a blow. Neither punch seemed hard, but the recipients flew backward and actually bounced off the
walls.
BENJAMIN BOOT examined Mr. Manley and Abner for signs of consciousness. He distinguished
none.
"Julian!" he called.
The manservant appeared. He was a skinny man who perpetually looked as if he had an apple about half
swallowed.
"Julian," said Benjamin Boot, "here they are."
"Yes, sir," replied Julian.
"Now what do we do with them?"
"I don’t know, sir."
"Are they the pair who bribed you?"
"Yes, they are, sir."
"Which one," asked Benjamin Boot, "actually paid you the money?"
"This gentleman," said Julian, indicating Mr. Manley.
"I suggest you return the sum you accepted, Julian. Since you did not fulfill your contracted duty, you did
not earn the bribe. I shall myself reimburse you handsomely for doing the proper thing. Honesty always
pays, Julian."
"Yes, sir," said Julian. "Shall I tie them up?"
"Yes, tie them by all means. But first, let me examine the contents of their pockets."
Their pockets proved to have no contents except a little silver and paper money which in grand total was
not twenty dollars. A pair of knife scabbards, one on each man, was a different matter. Benjamin Boot
withdrew the long steel blades which these held and tested their edges admiringly with his thumb. He
flipped the blades away and they stuck in the hard oak paneling. It was rather expert flipping.
"Nothing to identify them," he remarked. "What an excellent pair of unidentified corpses they would
make!"
Julian, the manservant, looked frightened. "The police, sir, have so many ways of doing things," he said.
"It might be of danger to—ah—"
"I contemplate no violence, Julian."
"I am glad, sir." The servant was relieved.
They tied Mr. Manley and Abner. The manservant did the preliminary placing of the ropes, but Benjamin
Boot tied the actual knots. He did an excellent job.
Benjamin Boot walked to a window, stood there rubbing his jaw and contemplating the park. Behind
him, Elmo the canary twittered in his cage, to which he had been returned. Suddenly Benjamin Boot
whirled.
He said, "Julian, are you sure you don’t know why these men approached you with their silly scheme for
getting into my apartment?"
"I have no idea," insisted Julian.
"It’s a confounded mystery, then!" snapped Boot.
"Yes, sir."
"The dangerous part of it is," said Boot, "that the mystery involves Miss Moldenhaeur and her father, it
would seem."
"Yes, sir."
"I’ve got to get at the bottom of the thing, Julian. I didn’t sleep at all last night, wondering about it. I can’t
have that. I’ve got to have my sleep. To say nothing of the fact that I’m in love with Miss Moldenhaeur."
Julian ventured, "Begging your pardon, sir, but I do not think Miss Moldenhaeur is aware of your deep
affection. Perhaps if you made some slight move toward letting her know—"
Benjamin Boot shook his head vehemently. "Nothing doing. I told a young woman I loved her once. She
looked at my face, and didn’t stop laughing for a week."
"I’m sorry, sir," said Julian.
"I was sorry, too," said Boot. "I also ruined the laughter-filled young lady’s father in a business deal, and
the laughing damsel had to become a waitress in a greasy-spoon restaurant. I was sorry I did that, too. I
was sorry all around. I’m always the one who is sorry. I was a baby lying in my cradle when I started
being sorry about being born so homely."
"Yes, sir."
"Lay out my gray business suit, Julian. And see that I get dressed in a hurry."
Benjamin Boot walked through a living room with heliotrope wallpaper in delicate design and dainty
furniture, into a bedroom with tender pink-coral walls, a white wall, and a lovely old bedroom suite in
ancient ivory. There were flowers growing everywhere, several more canaries, and exquisite pictures on
the walls. The apartment was a thing of loveliness, arranged with a touch somehow more dainty than a
woman could have managed.
"Julian," said Boot, "did you ever hear of man named Doc Savage?"
"Yes, sir," replied the servant.
"What have you heard about him?"
"Mr. Savage composed a series of selections particularly adapted to the violin," Julian replied. "There is a
touch of genius to the work. They are going to become famous in future centuries."
Benjamin Boot was surprised.
"Oh, so he composes music, too! I had heard of him as a scientist. One of my mining companies is using
an invention of his for using very short ultraviolet rays to locate deposits of fluorescent minerals at night.
Such minerals as scheelite, which is seventy percent tungsten."
Julian hesitated. "I . . . ah . . . have heard of Doc Savage as a man of violence, too."
Benjamin Boot laughed.
"That," he said, "is why I am going to see Doc Savage about this confounded mystery. I think this affair
needs his peculiar brand of violence. And, take it from me, Julian, the violence of Doc Savage is in a
class by itself."
"Yes, sir."
"Also take good care of the two prisoners, Julian. In case they should escape, I feel almost sure I would
separate you from your ears."
"Yes, sir."
Chapter II. MYSTERY AT MOLDENHAEUR
BENJAMIN BOOT entered a skyscraper in the center of the city. He was exceedingly well dressed,
twirled a cane, and hummed thoughtfully. Seen from the rear, he gave the impression of a male movie
star, but viewed from the front his homely, stupid, asinine face so dominated his appearance that he
looked like a harmless half-wit out for the afternoon.
The skyscraper was the tallest in that part of the city. He went to the elevator starter.
"Doc Savage?" said the starter. "Go around that corner there, and take the private elevator."
"I have heard his headquarters are on the eighty-sixth floor?" said Boot. "Is that correct?"
"Take the elevator around the corner," said the starter.
Benjamin Boot took an elevator operated by push buttons. On the control there was only one button,
and that one was labeled, Doc Savage. He punched the button. The cage rose only a few floors—no
more than five—and stopped, the door opening.
Boot found himself in a brightly lighted room, undergoing an inspection from two men.
Boot took a look at the two men, and wondered if he could have accidentally gotten into an office which
booked animal acts for side shows.
One of the men examining him had a pet pig with enormous ears and long legs. The other man had a pet
baboon—some kind of an outside member of the monkey family, at least—which had a marked
resemblance to the fellow who owned the pig.
Boot warmed toward the homely man. The latter was one of the few individuals Boot had ever met who
was as homely as himself.
"Ah, good afternoon," said Boot.
The homely man stood up. "I’m Monk Mayfair." He nodded at his companion, who was already in
evening dress, tails. "This fashion plate is Ham Brooks. What can we do for you?"
"My name is Benjamin Boot," said Boot.
"The owner of the Boot Mines?" asked Ham Brooks, the dapper man.
Benjamin Boot nodded. "And some railroads, ships and ranches and things," he said. "I came here in the
hopes of seeing Doc Savage."
"You’re in the right place," Monk informed him. "This is the going-over station. We look you over, and
find out if your business is important enough to interrupt some experiments in electrochemistry that Doc is
conducting."
Boot frowned. "Just what position do you gentlemen occupy in relation to Mr. Savage?"
"We’re his right and left hands," Monk said.
Ham Brooks said, "That’s exaggerating, Mr. Boot. Mr. Savage has five assistants, of whom we happen
to be two."
"Brooks . . . Brooks," said Boot thoughtfully. "I have heard of a noted lawyer by that name. A Harvard
man. Quite famous. Any relation?"
"No relation," Ham said, smiling, "but I happen to be the lawyer of whom you are thinking, I imagine."
Benjamin Boot was impressed. If Doc Savage had an assistant the caliber of Ham Brooks—Brigadier
General Theodore Marley Brooks, his full title—the man himself must be extraordinary.
He said, "I want to see Mr. Savage about a mysterious thing that has happened. A business associate has
disappeared, and a young lady of whom I am . . . er . . . fond, who is also the associate’s daughter, has
become strangely terrified. On top of that, two men have just sought to kill me."
Ham examined Boot’s face thoughtfully. "That sounds urgent enough," he said.
DOC SAVAGE exceeded any of Benjamin Boot’s expectations. The name of Clark Savage, Jr., had
come vaguely to Boot’s attention several times in the past, but his actual knowledge of Doc Savage was
not extensive. He had heard that the man was a scientist, student, something of a mental wizard—and
had a unique hobby of righting wrongs and punishing evildoers in the far ends of the earth. Savage had a
name of being the man to go to when in trouble of such a nature that the police might be helpless for one
reason or another.
"Goodness!" said Benjamin Boot. "I didn’t expect a giant . . . er . . . I mean, how do you do, Mr.
Savage. My name is Boot—Benjamin Boot."
Doc Savage’s unusual features included remarkable flakegold eyes that were like tiny pools of the metal
always stirred by tiny winds. His size was huge, yet proportioned so that it was not apparent until one
came close. His skin was deeply bronzed, and his hair was straight, a bronze hue a little darker than his
skin. The total effect was almost that of a man made out of metal.
"Please be seated, Mr. Boot," he said.
Boot sat down. He held his hat in his hands. He said, rather embarrassed, "I—ah—your associates
passed me. I had heard of Mr. Brooks, the attorney. The other man—Mr. Monk Mayfair, I believe he
said his name was—was a stranger."
Doc Savage said, "Monk Mayfair is probably the most skilled industrial chemist in the world."
Two things about the remark astonished Benjamin Boot. First, the idea of a fellow as dumb-looking as
Monk being a famous chemist. And secondly, the rather amazing quality of control and vitality in the
bronze man’s voice.
"I’ll try not to waste your time," said Boot. "Is it all right if I start my story?"
"Proceed."
"I am Benjamin Boot, and I am a rather wealthy man, owning a number of enterprises. I am not saying I
am wealthy because I am proud of it. In fact, the contrary. I happen to be wealthy because I was born
into this world such a homely, stupid-looking fellow that there was nothing for me to do but devote my
time to making money. Girls would never have anything to do with me, and I have few men friends,
because they invariably make cracks about my looks, and I do not like that. So I’m a lonely man, and a
rich one. I love beautiful things. I spend much time in my greenhouses with my flowers, or in my aviaries
with my birds, or listening to fine music and admiring fine paintings."
Doc Savage nodded. His flake-gold eyes had traveled over Benjamin Boot completely, from head to
foot, with such a thorough intentness that Boot felt as if his mind had been read.
Boot said, "I have a business associate named Winton Moldenhaeur."
"The industrialist?"
"Yes."
"Head of the Moldenhaeur Chemical Enterprises?"
"Yes."
"Proceed," Doc Savage said.
"He has disappeared—or something has happened to him," said Boot. "We had a deal on. I was to meet
him four days ago. He didn’t keep the appointment. I couldn’t locate him. No one connected with him
seemed to know what had become of him."
"What about his family?"
"I went to see his daughter, Liona," explained Boot. "I saw at once that the young woman was terrified. I
asked her where her father was. She said she didn’t know. I saw all during her conversation that she was
beside herself with fear, or some such emotion."
"Did she explain why she was frightened, or did you ask?"
"I asked. She said she wasn’t. That was not the truth."
"Then what?"
"I suggested that we notify the Missing Persons bureau of the police department that her father was gone.
She burst into tears. All her terror seemed to be brought out by my suggestion that we call the police.
She practically ran me off the place."
Benjamin Boot was silent for a moment, frowning.
"I love Liona Moldenhaeur," he said. "I have never told her so. I probably never shall. I would not want
her to laugh at me. It would hurt me deeply. But I left there—left her home—wanting to help her more
than I ever wanted to help anyone else."
"And then?"
"And then two men tried to bribe my servant, get into my apartment, and kill me," said Boot. "I have the
two men prisoners. My servant is watching them."
Doc Savage asked, "Did you tell Miss Moldenhaeur anything else?"
Boot shook his head.
Then, "Oh, yes, I did," he said. "I told her I was going to help her whether she wanted it or not. I
remember that now."
"That might have a bearing on what happened to you," the bronze man said. "By the way, Mr. Boot, just
what do you want me to do?"
"Investigate this. If Miss Moldenhaeur is in trouble, help her. Help her father."
"That sounds like the job of a private detective."
"That’s why I came to you."
"You seem to misunderstand," Doc Savage said patiently. "I am not a private detective, nor are my
associates. We are simply a group banded together by love of excitement, more than anything else, to do
things which we think need doing."
"I’ll pay—"
"We do not accept pay."
"I’ll pay any reasonable sum to any reasonable charity you suggest," said Benjamin Boot.
"I am sorry."
Benjamin Boot started up. "You mean you won’t help me?"
"I am sorry, no."
Boot purpled. "But why?" he yelled.
"I see no necessity of explaining motives. Good evening, Mr. Boot."
Benjamin Boot yelled, "This is a hell of a note!" and stamped out.
DOC SAVAGE swung to the box-shaped office intercommunicator on the inlaid table in the reception
room where he had been talking to Benjamin Boot. He flipped the switch on the box, said, "Monk."
"Yeah?" said Monk Mayfair’s small, rather squeaky voice.
"That fellow Boot," Doc said.
"Yes?"
摘要：

BIRDSOFDEATHADocSavageAdventureByKennethRobesonThispagecopyright©2002BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?ChapterI.TOCATCHACANARY?ChapterII.MYSTERYATMOLDENHAEUR?ChapterIII.THEHORRIBLETHING?ChapterIV.DANGERFROMAFRICA?ChapterV.FROMADRUGSTORE?ChapterVI.CALLOUSEDFEET?ChapterVII.MÊLÉEINAMARSH?Chapter...

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