The Land of Terror ds-2

by Kenneth Robeson

  The Land of Terror

  ( Doc Savage - 2 )

  Kenneth Robeson

  Kenneth Robeson

  The Land of Terror

  Chapter 1. THE SMOKING DEATH

  THERE were no chemists working for the Mammoth Manufacturing Company who could foretell future events. So, as they watched white-haired, distinguished Jerome Coffern don hat and topcoat after the usual Friday conference, none knew they were never to see the famous chemist alive again.

  Not one dreamed a gruesome right hand and a right forearm was all of Jerome Coffern’s body that would ever be found.

  Jerome Coffern was chief chemist for the Mammoth concern. He was also considered one of the most learned industrial scientists in the world.

  The Mammoth Manufacturing Company paid Jerome Coffern a larger salary than was received by the president of the corporation. It was Jerome Coffern’s great brain which gave the Mammoth concern the jump on all its competitors.

  Jerome Coffern plucked back a sleeve to eye a watch on his right wrist. This watch was later to identify the grisly right hand and forearm as Coffern’s.

  "I wonder how many of you gentlemen have heard of Clark Savage?" he inquired.

  Surprise kept the other chemists silent a moment. Then one spoke up.

  "I recall that a man by the name of Clark Savage recently did some remarkable work along lines of ultimate organic analysis," he said. "His findings were so advanced in part as to be somewhat bewildering. Some points about chemistry generally accepted as facts were proven wrong by Clark Savage."

  Jerome Coffern nodded delightedly, rubbing his rather bony hands.

  "That is correct," he declared. "I am proud to point to myself as one of the few chemists to realize Doc Savage’s findings are possibly the most important of our generation."

  At this juncture, another chemist gave an appreciable start.

  "Doc Savage!" he ejaculated. "Say, isn’t that the man who some weeks ago turned over to the surgical profession a new and vastly improved method of performing delicate brain operations?"

  "That is the same Doc Savage." Jerome Coffern’s none-too-ample chest seemed about to burst with pride.

  "Whew!" exploded another man. "It is highly unusual for one man to be among the world’s greatest experts in two lines so widely different as chemistry and surgery."

  Jerome Coffern chuckled. "You would be more astounded were you to know Doc Savage fully. The man is a mental marvel. He has contributed new discoveries to more than surgery and chemistry. Electricity, archaeology, geology and other lines have received the benefit of his marvelous brain. He has a most amazing method of working."

  Pausing, Jerome Coffern gazed steadily at the assembled men. He wanted them to understand he was not exaggerating.

  "As I say, Doc Savage has a most amazing method of working," he continued. "At intervals, Savage vanishes. No one knows where he goes. He simply disappears as completely as though he had left the earth. And when he returns, he nearly always has one or more new and incredible scientific discoveries to give to the world.

  "It is obvious Doc Savage has a wonderful laboratory at some secret spot where he can work in solitude. Nobody can even guess where it is. But any scientific man would give half a lifetime to inspect that laboratory, so remarkable must it be."

  The eminent chemist smiled from ear to ear. "And I will add more. You will, perhaps, find it hard to believe. I have said Doc Savage is a mental marvel. Well, he is also a muscular marvel as well. He has a body as amazing as his brain.

  "His strength and agility are incredible. Why, for Doc Savage it is child’s play to twist horseshoes, bend silver half-dollars between thumb and forefinger and tear a New York telephone directory in half.

  "Were Doc Savage to become a professional athlete, there is no doubt in my mind but that he would be the wonder of all time. But he will not employ his astounding strength to earn money, because he is one of those very rare persons — a genuinely modest man. Publicity and world-wide fame do not interest him at all."

  Jerome Coffern halted abruptly, realizing his enthusiasm was getting away with his dignity. He reddened.

  "I could not resist the temptation to tell you of this remarkable man," he said proudly. "Doc Savage studied under me many years ago. He quickly learned all I knew. Now his knowledge is vastly beyond mine."

  He tugged back his right sleeve to display the watch.

  "This timepiece was presented to me by Doc Savage at that time, as a token of gratitude," he smiled. "I am proud to say he is still my friend."

  Jerome Coffern gave his topcoat a final straightening tug.

  "I am on my way now to have dinner with Doc Savage," he smiled. "He is to meet me in front of the plant immediately. So I shall now bid you gentlemen good afternoon." The eminent chemist quitted the conference room.

  It was the last time his colleagues saw him alive.

  * * *

  THE plant of the Mammoth Manufacturing Company was located in New Jersey, only a short distance from the great new George Washington Bridge across the Hudson River into New York City.

  The brick buildings of the plant were modern and neat. Spacious grounds surrounded them. Shrubbery grew in profusion and was kept neatly trimmed. The walks were of concrete.

  Standing on the high steps in front of the building where the conference of chemists had been held, Jerome Coffern glanced about eagerly. He was anxious to get a glimpse of the man he considered the most remarkable in the world — his friend, Doc Savage.

  It was perhaps a hundred yards across a vista of landscaped shrubbery to the main highway.

  A car stood on the highway. It was a roadster, very large and powerful and efficient. The color was a reserved gray.

  Seated in the car was a figure an onlooker would have sworn was a statue sculptured from solid bronze!

  The effect of the metallic figure was amazing. The remarkably high forehead, the muscular and strong mouth, the lean, corded cheeks denoted a rare power of character. The bronze hair was a shade darker than the bronze skin. It lay straight and smooth.

  The large size of the roadster kept the bronze man from seeming the giant he was. Too, he was marvelously proportioned. The bulk of his great frame was lost in its perfect symmetry.

  Although he was a hundred yards from the bronze man, Jerome Coffern could almost make out the most striking feature of all about Doc Savage.

  For the bronze man was Doc Savage. And the most striking thing about him was his eyes. They were like pools of fine flake gold glistening in the sun. Their gaze possessed an almost hypnotic quality, a strange ability to literally give orders with their glance.

  Undeniably, here was a leader of men, as well as a leader in all he undertook. He was a man whose very being bespoke a knowledge of all things, and the capacity to dominate all obstacles.

  Jerome Coffern waved an arm at the bronze man.

  Doc Savage saw him and waved back.

  Jerome Coffern hurried forward. He walked with a boyish eagerness. The path he traversed took him through high, dense shrubbery. The bronze figure of Doc Savage was lost to sight.

  Suddenly two ratty men lunged from the shrubs.

  Before Jerome Coffern could cry an alarm, he was knocked unconscious.

  * * *

  THE blow which reduced the white-haired chemist to senselessness was delivered with a bludgeon of iron pipe about a foot long. The smash probably fractured distinguished Jerome Coffern’s skull. He fell heavily to the concrete walk, right arm outflung to one side.

  "Put the pipe on top of the body!" hissed one ratty man.

  "O. K., Squint!" muttered the other man.

  He placed the iron-pipe bludgeon on the chest of prone Jerome Coffer
n, thrusting one end inside the famous chemist’s waistcoat so it would stay there.

  The two rodentlike men now retreated a pace. They were excited. A trembling racked their bony, starved hands. Nervous swallowing chased the Adam’s apples up and down their stringy necks. The rough, unwashed skin of those necks gave them a turtle aspect.

  Squint dived an emaciated claw inside his shirt. The hand clutched convulsively and drew out a strange pistol. This was larger even than a big army automatic. It had two barrels, one the size of a pencil, the other a steel cylinder more than an inch in diameter. The barrels were placed one above the other.

  At prone Jerome Coffern’s chest, Squint aimed the weapon.

  "H-hurry up!" stuttered his companion. The man twitched uneasy glances over the adjacent shrubbery. No one was in sight.

  Squint pulled the trigger of the strange pistol. It made a report exactly like a sharp human cough.

  An air pistol!

  That accounted for the two barrels, one of which, the larger, was in reality the chamber which held the compressed air that fired the gun.

  The missile from the air pistol struck the center of Jerome Coffern’s chest.

  Instantly a puff of grayish vapor arose. It was as though a small cloud of cigarette smoke had escaped from the chemist’s body at that point.

  No sound of an explosion accompanied the phenomena, however. There was only the dull impact of the air gun missile striking.

  The grayish vapor increased in volume. It had a vile, oily quality. Close to Jerome Coffern’s body, it was shot through and through with tiny, weird flashes. These were apparently of an electrical nature.

  It was as though a small, foul gray thundercloud were forming about the distinguished chemist’s dead body.

  About two minutes passed. The repulsive gray fog increased rapidly. It was now like a ball of ash-colored cotton twelve feet thick. From the ground upward about half way, the green and blue and white of the electric sparks played in fantastic fashion.

  The whole thing was eerie. It would have baffled a scientific brain.

  The balmy spring breeze, whipping along the narrow concrete path, wafted the vile gray cloud to one side.

  Both ratty men stared at the source of the cloud.

  "It’s w-w-workin’!" whined Squint. Stark awe had gripped him. He hardly had the courage to look a second time at the source of the gray vapor.

  For Jerome Coffern’s body was dissolving!

  * * *

  THE ghastly melting-away effect had started where the mysterious missile from the air pistol had struck.

  In all directions from the point of impact, the form of the great chemist was literally turning into the vile grayish vapor. Clothing, skin, flesh and bones — everything was going.

  Nor did the dissolution stop with the human body. The concrete walk immediately below was becoming ashen vapor as well. The trowel-smoothed upper surface of the walk was already gone, revealing the coarse gravel below. As by magic, that, too, was wafted away. Rich black earth could be seen.

  In the midst of the weird phenomenon glistened a bit of shiny metal. This resembled the crumpled tinfoil wrapper from a candy bar. It alone was not dissolving.

  "Let’s get outa here, Squint!" whined one of the ratty men. It was obvious from the man’s manner that he was getting his first glimpse of the terrible weapon in their possession.

  A substance with the power to dissolve all ordinary matter as readily as a red-hot rivet turns a drop of water into steam!

  "Aw, whatcha scared of?" sneered Squint. He pointed a skinny talon at the spot where the iron pipe bludgeon had reposed on Jerome Coffern’s chest. "Only thing around here that had our finger prints on it was that pipe. And it’s gone up in smoke."

  "I ain’t s-scared!" disclaimed the other, trying to snarl bravely. "Only we’re two saps to hang around here!"

  "Maybe you’re right at that," Squint agreed.

  With this, the two men fled. The alacrity with which Squint dived into the shrubbery showed he was every bit as anxious as his companion to quit the spot.

  Hardly had they gone when the vaporizing of Jerome Coffern’s body abruptly ceased. It was apparent that the hideous power of the weird dissolver substance had been exhausted. Only a small quantity could have been contained in the air-pistol cartridge. Yet its effect had been incredible.

  Of Jerome Coffern’s form, a right hand and forearm remained intact. This right arm had been outflung when the chemist fell after being knocked unconscious. The potency of the dissolver had been exhausted before it reached the hand and forearm. The two ratty men had fled before they noticed this.

  On that grisly right wrist was the expensive watch Doc Savage had given Jerome Coffern as a token of gratitude.

  The grayish vapor climbed upward in the air like smoke. And like smoke it slowly dispersed.

  * * *

  Chapter 2. BRONZE VENGEANCE

  DOC SAVAGE, seated in his large and powerful roadster, saw the cloud of grayish vapor lift above the landscaped shrubbery.

  Although it was sixty yards distant, his sharp eyes instantly noted an unusual quality about the vapor. It did not resemble smoke, except in a general way.

  But at the moment Doc was doing a problem of mathematics in his head, an intricate calculation concerning an advanced electrical research he was making.

  The problem would have taxed the ability of a trained accountant supplied with the latest adding machines, but Doc was able, because of the remarkable efficiency of his trained mind, to handle the numerous figures entirely within his head. He habitually performed amazing feats of calculus in this fashion.

  Hence it was that Doc did not investigate the cloud of ash-hued fog at once. He finished his mental problem. Then he stood erect in the roadster.

  His keen eyes had discerned the play of tiny electric sparks in the lower part of the cloud! That jerked his attention off everything else. Such a thing was astounding.

  The rumble of machinery in the nearby manufacturing plant of the Mammoth concern blotted out whatever conversation or sounds which might have arisen in the neighborhood of the weird fog.

  Doc hesitated. He expected his old friend, Jerome Coffern, to appear momentarily. There was no sign of the eminent chemist, however.

  Doc quitted the roadster. His movements had a flowing smoothness, like great springs uncoiling in oil.

  The grounds of the manufacturing plant were surrounded by a stout woven wire fence. This was more than eight feet high and topped off with several rows of needle-sharp barbs. Its purpose was to keep out intruders. A gate near by was shut, secured by a chain and padlock. No doubt Jerome Coffern had carried a key to this.

  Doc Savage approached the fence, running lightly.

  Then a startling thing happened.

  It was a thing that gave instant insight into Doc Savage’s physical powers. It showed the incredible strength and agility of the bronze giant.

  For Doc Savage had simply jumped the fence. The height exceeded by more than two feet the world record for the high jump. Yet Doc went over it with far more ease than an average man would take a knee-high obstacle. The very facility with which he did it showed he was capable of a far higher jump than that.

  His landing beyond the fence was light as that of a cat. His straight, fine bronze hair was not even disturbed.

  He went toward the strange gray cloud. Coming to a row of high shrubs, his bronze form seemed literally to flow through the leaves and branches. Not a leaf fluttered; not a branch shook.

  It was a wonderful quality of woodcraft, and Doc did it instinctively, as naturally as a great jungle cat. It came easier to him than shoving through the bushes noisily, this trick he had acquired from the very jungle itself.

  Suddenly he stopped.

  Before him a pit gaped in the concrete walk. The black, rich earth below the walk was visible.

  On this black earth reposed a crumpled bit of metal that resembled wadded tinfoil.

  Beside the pit
lay a grisly hand and forearm. About the gruesome wrist was an expensive watch.

  * * *

  DOC studied the watch. Strange lights came into his amazing golden eyes.

  Of a sudden, a weird sound permeated the surrounding air. It was a trilling, mellow, subdued sound, reminiscent of the song of some strange jungle bird, or the dulcet note of a wind filtering through a leafless forest. Having no tune, it was nevertheless melodious. Not awesome, it still had a quality to excite, to inspire.

  This sound was part of Doc — a small, unconscious thing which accompanied his moments of utter concentration. It would come from his lips when a plan of action was being evolved, or in the midst of some struggle, or when some beleaguered friend of Doc’s, alone and attacked, had almost given up hope of life. And with the filtering through of that sound would come renewed hope.

  The strange trilling had the weird essence of seeming to emanate from everywhere instead of from a particular spot. Even one looking directly at Doc’s lips would not realize from whence it arose.

  The weird sound was coming now because Doc recognized the watch on that pitiful fragment of an arm.

  It was the token he had presented to Jerome Coffern. The eminent scientist had always worn it. He knew this grisly relic was a part of Jerome Coffern’s body!

  Doc’s unique brain moved with flashing speed. Some fantastic substance had dissolved the body of the famous chemist!

  The bit of crumpled metal that resembled tinfoil had obviously escaped the ghastly effects of the dissolver material.

  Doc picked this up. He saw instantly it was a capsulelike container which had split open, apparently from the shock of striking Jerome Coffern’s body.

  It was the air-gun missile which had carried the dissolving substance. The metal was of some type so rare that Doc Savage did not recognize it offhand. He dropped it in a pocket to be analyzed later.

  Doc’s great bronze form pivoted quickly. His golden eyes seemed to give the surrounding shrubbery the briefest of inspections, but not even the misplaced position of a grass blade escaped their notice.