Chapter VI

33

STRANGE FISH

“Well, I'll be damned! Things ain't too good here.”

“What has happened?”

“Well, we caught the fat man,” the other said. “You'd think that would help settle things. It didn't. He won't talk.”

“What have you done to make him talk?”

“I threatened him. I beat him good with words. Then I beat him some with my fists. No dice. Maybe you better work on him.”

“Where is he?”

“Over the hill here.” He looked uncomfortable. “To tell the truth, I'm hiding him from the Sheriff. The Sheriff might think it was kidnapping, I was afraid. I'm glad you came. By God, I'm glad. You want to look at the fat man?”

Doc Savage said he wanted to look at the fat man. Monk and Ham confessed to the same desire.

THEY walked. Monk asked, “Toms, how did you happen to meet us?” Their guide said he'd just done the obvious thing. They would come by plane, wouldn't they? He'd heard Doc Savage usually traveled by plane.

Most important people did, these days. This was the only good landing area in the neighborhood. He'd just done the natural thing, and met them. However, he'd thought they would be here earlier. He'd been awful tired waiting. He'd almost, a time or two, given them up.

“Where is the fat man?” Ham asked.

“In a cabin over the hill,” their guide said.

Doc Savage walked silently. His mind wasn't easy. Something bothered him. He didn't know what it was, not for a while. It was a vague sort of a sensation, but unpleasant. It was as baffling as the feeling you have before a cold; knowing something is wrong, but not being sure what. Only this wasn't a physical discomfort. It was in his mind.

He began to get it. To understand. It came to him slowly. It turned into an uneasiness, and this increased.

Before long, he was frightened. Scared, but he didn't know why.

He didn't try to put the feeling out of his mind. He knew better. It wasn't wise to ignore such a thing. His subconscious—or wherever it was you stored your common sense—was trying to warn him. That must be it.

He was quite sure that it was a warning. A man who operates a thundering machine in a factory becomes so steeped in the operation of the machine that he can sense subtle changes in the machine before anything in the way of actual trouble develops. A stranger might not dream anything was wrong. But the operator knows. It was like that with Doc and excitement, danger. Something was wrong now.

He got it finally. But he got it so darned slowly that he was ashamed, shocked at his stupidity.

This man, this fellow who said he was Johnny Toms, wasn't an Oklahoman.