Chapter V

25

STRANGE FISH

“I don't,” Monk said, “see where that means much. Or am I thick−headed?”

“A little sheep of a man was there. He gave the impression he had lived there quite a while. He didn't actually say so, but he gave that impression.”

“You think he was lying?”

“He was lying, all right,” Doc said. “He told me a glib story about a brother named Chapman who was up to some devilment in Brazil, didn't want us to investigate it, and so had rigged this thing to call us to Oklahoma where we would be out of the way.”

“Now I'm mixed up.”

Doc explained it again.

“Oh!” Monk said. “Trying to make us think Oklahoma was a wild goose chase so we'd rush off to Brazil, which would really be the goose chase?”

“That's my guess.”

“It,” Monk said, “sounds far−fetched.”

“Well, it's not,” Doc said. “Here is the clincher. He showed me a picture of brother Chapman. Taken five years ago, he said. But it just happens that I have been fooling with photography recently, and happened to know that the portrait paper on which the picture was printed has not been on the market more than three months. The paper is easily identifiable by its patent matte surface.”

Monk was puzzled. “Why didn't he say the picture had been made recently, so as not to get caught.”

“He may have overlooked that. Just told the first lie that came into his head.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I am watching the house now, to see what happens next.”

“Want us to do anything?”

“No. Except go ahead and find out all you can about Paris Stevens and this Indian, Johnny Toms,” Doc said.

“What have you found out so far?”

MONK became enthusiastic. “Say, I'm looking forward to meeting Paris Stevens. She combines looks and brains, from what I hear. More than the usual share of both.”

“Has your research,” Doc asked, “progressed beyond what the girl looks like?”

“Well, she hasn't much family left,” Monk said. “Her parents were lost when their yacht sank about fifteen years ago. No brothers or sisters. She has an Uncle named Alec Stevens who was an ace in the first World War, and got a hatful of medals. Another uncle—her mother's brother this time—is named Bill Hazel. Her mother's family name was Hazel. There was a scandal about Bill Hazel ten years or so ago, something about a Chapter V

26

STRANGE FISH

big hooking he handed somebody in the stock market. He skipped the country and hasn't been heard of since.

She has two cousins, Felix and Joe Stevens, and a second−cousin named Robert Hazel. Felix and Joe are fighter pilots, both aces, and Robert got a medal a few weeks ago.”

“That sounds like a family of action,” Doc suggested.

“You said it!” Monk declared happily. “I'm having some pictures of Paris sent up to me.”

“There might,” Doc said dryly, “be more to it than the girl. What about Johnny Toms?”

“The Indian? Oh, Ham's working on that.” Monk chuckled gleefully. “He don't know yet that I handed him the Indian and took this beautiful gal. When he finds out, he won't be happy.”

Doc asked sharply, “What are you trying to do, start another fuss over a girl?”

“Not me,” Monk said. He was too innocent.

“Well, don't,” Doc said. “I'll call you later. Someone is coming out of the house.”

“Okay,” Monk said hastily. He was plainly glad to get away from the subject.

The small sheep of a man had come from the house. He stood on the front porch for a while. Then he made an elaborate matter of examining the shrubbery in the yard. Casing the neighborhood.

Doc Savage's car was black, low−priced, one of thousands of similar cars in the city. There were at least four other cars like it parked within sight. He hoped the small man would not notice it. Apparently he didn't.

He went back into the house and came out with three other men.

They walked four blocks and went into a subway station. The downtown side.

It wasn't a busy neighborhood. Doc knew he hadn't the slightest chance of following them into the station without being observed. He was stumped. He had to take a chance.

HE drove toward the next subway station in the downtown direction. He put all the car had into it. He would need luck, because it was physically impossible to drive an automobile through the traffic and outrun a subway train. Not for any distance.

He slid in to the curbing, raced for the subway steps. He had a nickel ready when he reached the bottom, and went through the turnstile. There was no train in the station, and no nearby rumble. He had made it.

He went to the far end, the front end, of the platform to wait. It was his best bet, since none of the coaches would pass him as he waited there.

Shortly a train came thundering. He stood close to the platform edge, about where the door of the first coach would be when the train stopped.

If they're in the first coach, he thought, it'll be a mess. The doors slid open, and he went inside. They weren't there.