Chapter IV

22

STRANGE FISH

“The police after him very often?”

“Often enough,” the small man said seriously. “Chapman is a sinister sort. I want to emphasize that. Most reprehensible.”

Doc leaned back wearily, and suggested, “If there is a point, you might get at it.”

The small man leaned forward.

“About a week ago Chapman moved in on me,” he said. “He arrived without warning, and he had something afoot. I could tell he was engaged on a piece of business, and that it was something shady. He stayed at my house. He had visitors. He had them at night, and he admitted them through the back door, and he wouldn't let me see them. I think, however, that one was a tall man and one was a short man. I know such a description will have no value to you.

“But here is the situation: Something is afoot in South America. In Brazil. It is something very big and it is something that is going to touch you, Mr. Savage. I gathered—may I ask, do you own certain rubber−producing properties in Brazil?”

“Yes.”

“Evidently this devilment of Chapman's concerns such property. At any rate, the fellow was sure you would be called in to help in the matter—meaning, you would be called on to oppose Chapman in his devilment. I mean, they were scheming against someone who was sure to call on you for help. All this I gathered.”

He looked at Doc Savage uneasily, hopefully.

“So they concocted a trick for getting you to a different place where you would not receive the summons for help,” he continued. “They selected some young woman named Paris Stevens. They began to terrorize her.

They scared her into fleeing to Oklahoma, and they further terrorized her there so that she would send a wild appeal to you for aid.”

“What methods,” Doc asked, “did the terrorizing take in Oklahoma?”

“I don't know. Not pleasant, I fear. I heard them intimating that they were going to use a fellow named Porter.

Chapman hated Porter, I gathered. And he was going to make use of Porter some way in Oklahoma. The girl was to be so utterly frightened that she would call you, and you would go out there, and be away from New York when the call came to you for help.”

Doc said, “Porter was murdered in Oklahoma.”

The small man became loose in his chair, his eyes roundly open, his hands slack on his lap. “Murder!” he mumbled. “Oh, God!”

“Where is Chapman?”

The small man shuddered. “He's gone. He threatened you in a telephone call he made from here. Then he left in a great hurry.” He looked up. “Chapman was fleeing, wasn't he?”

“Was he?”