Chapter X

58

STRANGE FISH

The stranger became indignant.

“I'm William Randolph Hazel,” he said angrily. “Now will you kindly tell me whether my niece is here?”

This, Doc thought, must be Uncle Bill Hazel, the family black sheep.

DOC SAVAGE was wondering if Paris Stevens, who stood in the darkened room at his elbow, had been startled into silence. Or wasn't this man her uncle? He was, evidently, because she gripped Doc's arm. “It is Uncle Bill!” she gasped.

Doc was silent. Just what should they do now.

Paris solved the problem by walking out into the night.

“Hello, Bill,” she said.

“H'yah,” the man said. “What are you going to do with your errant Uncle, run him off?”

“Come on inside,” Paris said.

They came into the house. Paris turned on the lights. Uncle Bill Hazel stared at Paris. Then he whistled his astonishment softly.

“Hey, you can't grow up on me like that. It makes me feel old,” he said. “Where's the pigtails, freckles and knobby knees you had when I left?”

He was a big man. Wide. He was like his picture, and yet he wasn't. The picture hadn't contained his personality. The man was hearty, blunt, slangy. He had an aggressive, predatory look when his face was in repose, but it vanished when he grinned. Grinning, he was a likeable cuss.

Paris introduced Doc Savage, Monk and Ham. Bill Hazel was impressed.

He told Paris, “So you know it's big−time, and you got big−time men to help you. That's sensible.”

Paris frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”

“The fish.”

“The belonesox?”

“That's right.” Uncle Bill Hazel looked relieved. “So you got it! I'm damned glad—”

He stopped. Johnny Toms had appeared silently in the door. Johnny had strapped a big frontier single−action six−shooter and holster on his hip. It gave him a garish air, like a cowboy in a musical comedy.

“Hello, Johnny,” Uncle Bill Hazel said.

“Ugh,” Johnny Toms said. “Surprise.”