Chapter XI

62

STRANGE FISH

To make a long story short, Hazel said, he'd given the fish to an American transport command flier to bring to the United States and give to Paris Stevens. He had told the flier it was a gift for his niece Paris, and he'd discovered that the flier had seen a picture of Paris somewhere, so the aviator had been enthusiastic about it.

Since the Transport Command Pilot had brought the fish in, it had escaped scrutiny by the customs, and had avoided the red tape and censorship which ensnarled ordinary packages sent from Europe these days.

That was about the whole story. Bill Hazel himself had come to America. He'd had quite a bit of trouble doing that, because of his police record. He admitted frankly that he had used the underground which made a business of getting the more impatient European refugees into the United States.

If they doubted that he could get into America in a hurry via the underground, he wished to point out that shady doings had been his business for some time. He knew the ropes in Europe. He was in a position to know about such things as undergrounds.

And so here he was. He settled back, knitted his fingers together over his stomach and smirked at them.

“Have I convinced you?” he asked.

When no one said anything, he turned to Doc. “What about you, Mr. Savage? Any questions?”

“Two,” Doc said. “The first one: What is there about a fish that would tell where this arch−murderer, Helv, can be found.”

“I don't have the least idea,” said Uncle Bill Hazel. “I will explain that by saying that I didn't have time to find out. Helv's men were hot on my trail. They didn't give me time.”

“Maybe,” Doc said, “the fish doesn't mean anything.”

“Oh, yes it does,” Uncle Bill said. “I can assure you it does.”

He's telling the truth, Doc decided. Some of the other stuff may have been lies. It probably was. But about this he is telling the truth.

“You say you had two questions?” Hazel asked.

“Number two,” Doc told him, “is this: Who is the fat man?”

Uncle Bill Hazel looked interested. “What fat man?”

Doc Savage described the fat man who had first turned up in New York on Paris Stevens' trail. He had not seen the fat man himself, so he used the descriptions Paris and Johnny Toms had given him. The fat man's name, or one of the names he had used, was Ben Watt. That was the name he'd given Paris' colored maid in New York, when the fellow had been keeping a close watch on her apartment by pretending to be an interior decorator.

Bill Hazel listened, as intrigued as a bird who had heard a worm underground, until Doc finished.

Then he said, “Jove! By Jove! That fellow answers the description—oh, it couldn't be!”

“Be what?”