TEXT:  THE GOLDEN PERIL
  A Doc Savage Adventure By Kenneth Robeson
  
  Table of Contents
  THE GOLDEN PERIL.......................................................................................................................................1
  A Doc Savage Adventure By Kenneth Robeson.....................................................................................1
  Chapter I. THE AMBUSH.......................................................................................................................1
  Chapter II. A PLEA FOR HELP..............................................................................................................7
  Chapter III. DEATH STRIKES.............................................................................................................12
  Chapter IV. INTO A TRAP...................................................................................................................17
  Chapter V. A WARNING......................................................................................................................22
  Chapter VI. DEATH CALLS................................................................................................................26
  Chapter VII. A SPIDER STRIKES.......................................................................................................31
  Chapter VIII. A TRAP CLOSES...........................................................................................................36
  Chapter IX. THE SKIES EXPLODE.....................................................................................................40
  Chapter X. VIVA THE LEADER.........................................................................................................46
  Chapter XI. SEEING DOUBLE............................................................................................................51
  Chapter XII. THE TORTURE ROOM..................................................................................................56
  Chapter XIII. THE LEADER STRIKES...............................................................................................62
  Chapter XIV. A VOICE FROM THE SKY...........................................................................................67
  Chapter XV. SHOT DOWN..................................................................................................................72
  Chapter XVI. A NET CLOSES.............................................................................................................77
  Chapter XVII. A KNIFE FALLS...........................................................................................................82
  Chapter XVIII. THE ATTACK.............................................................................................................86
  Chapter XIX. A TRAIL OF GOLD.......................................................................................................93
  Chapter XX. WHEN PLANS MISFIRE................................................................................................97
  Chapter XXI. FRIENDS PART...........................................................................................................102
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  i
  
  THE GOLDEN PERIL
  A Doc Savage Adventure By Kenneth Robeson
  This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
  http://www.blackmask.com
  Chapter I. THE AMBUSH
  • 
  Chapter II. A PLEA FOR HELP
  • 
  Chapter III. DEATH STRIKES
  • 
  Chapter IV. INTO A TRAP
  • 
  Chapter V. A WARNING
  • 
  Chapter VI. DEATH CALLS
  • 
  Chapter VII. A SPIDER STRIKES
  • 
  Chapter VIII. A TRAP CLOSES
  • 
  Chapter IX. THE SKIES EXPLODE
  • 
  Chapter X. VIVA THE LEADER
  • 
  Chapter XI. SEEING DOUBLE
  • 
  Chapter XII. THE TORTURE ROOM
  • 
  Chapter XIII. THE LEADER STRIKES
  • 
  Chapter XIV. A VOICE FROM THE SKY
  • 
  Chapter XV. SHOT DOWN
  • 
  Chapter XVI. A NET CLOSES
  • 
  Chapter XVII. A KNIFE FALLS
  • 
  Chapter XVIII. THE ATTACK
  • 
  Chapter XIX. A TRAIL OF GOLD
  • 
  Chapter XX. WHEN PLANS MISFIRE
  • 
  Chapter XXI. FRIENDS PART
  • 
  Scanned and Proofed by Tom Stephens
  Chapter I. THE AMBUSH
  THE vultures knew a feast awaited them. They hung  almost motionless in the gray, ominous sky. Their beady
  eyes stared  greedily down into the deep canyon that lay beneath them.
  The canyon was gloomy as a grave. Its walls rose  sheer and straight for an interminable distance. Boulders
  and runty  trees lined its sides. A small stream droned a mournful dirge in the  center. Except for the dirge of
  that stream there was no sound.
  But death waited there!
  Only the vultures from above could have seen the  men−vultures below. They were huddled behind boulders.
  The half  darkness of the canyon combined with the khaki they wore to make them  almost invisible. Fully
  two−score men were there.
  They were of almost every race and nationality. But  they were alike in the greed that shone in their eyes�and
  in the modern  instruments of murder they carried.
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  A faint sound came from the far end of the canyon.  The dim figure of a man appeared in the distance, stood
  motionless for  a moment, then vanished.
  There was a sudden tenseness among the hidden men.  Weapons were moved cautiously.
  "Be quiet. Do not move until I give the command."
  The order was given softly, but there was a chill  note in the voice that brought instant obedience. The man
  who had  spoken was not large, but there was a look of utter ruthlessness on his  copper−tinted features and in
  his glacier−cold eyes. His shoulders were broad, his frame powerful. He wore the insignia of a  general.
  The aid at his side spoke in a whisper: "The trap  has been set well, my general."
  "Si. 
  Soon the jaws of that trap will close." The general’s Spanish was  guttural, as if he were speaking a language
  still partly unfamiliar to  him. "But care must be taken. Those we await have keen eyes." 
  Even as he spoke, more figures came into view at the  far end of the canyon. Their eyes searched the scene
  before them, then  one raised an arm in signal. A donkey train moved around a bend.
  Scouts were out ahead. Other tall men moved beside  the heavily loaded beasts of burden. Still others brought
  up the rear.
  A faint fire kindled in the general’s eyes, and his  lips made sucking sounds.
  "Soon that will be ours!" he breathed fiercely.
  THE men escorting the donkey train were unusual in  appearance. They were tall, with thick shoulders and
  powerful muscles.  Almost copper−colored, they wore a short mantle over their shoulders, a  network of
  leather which had projecting ends. They wore broad girdles,  of a dark blue and leggings fashioned like
  football shin guards.
  Those in the lead carried modern rifles. The others  were armed only with spears and short clubs bearing
  vicious,  razor−edged flakes of stone.
  Slowly, they advanced. A few were chanting a weird  song, utterly unaware of the terror and death that soon
  was to strike.
  "Another sun and we shall reach Blanco Grande," said  one.
  "Then we will have fulfilled another task for Doc  Savage," his companion replied. "It has been long since we
  last saw the  bronze man. I wish he would come again."
  "He is busy, but he will visit us again some day. We  shall see him if we are patient," rejoined the first speaker.
  But he was wrong in at least part of his statement.  None of those with the donkey train ever were to see Doc
  Savage again.  At that moment, they were passing squarely between the khaki−clad men  concealed on either
  side of the trail.
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  The general would bark only one word, but that word  was to start a chain of circumstances that was to bring
  many deaths;  that was to reach out to New York, where Doc Savage had his  headquarters; that was to bring
  the bronze man’s aids into the fray;  that was to test to the utmost the skill of Doc Savage and his five  friends,
  experienced as they were in battling evil and injustice.
  "Fire!" roared the general.
  Instantly, the quiet of the canyon was shattered by  the murder−roar of guns. Khaki−clad men reared up from
  behind boulders  with automatic rifles. A rain of lead poured from those rifles into the  ranks of the guards
  with the donkey train.
  The guards were brave. The leaders brought up their  guns, tried to reply to the merciless hail of death. Then
  they went  down, almost cut in two by lead.
  The others hurled their spears and dived for the  temporary safety of the rocks. The heavily laden donkeys
  snorted, burst  into a panicky run. Khaki−clad figures leaped toward the trail and  barred their path.
  Shrill, pain−stricken cries came from the doomed  guards. One grunted with satisfaction as his spear drove
  through the  body of an attacker, only to die a moment later with a bullet through  his brain.
  Crimson stained the cold waters of the creek. It  became literally a river of blood. The crashing roar of
  high−powered  guns filled the canyon with thunderous echoes.
  "Let none escape! Kill them all!" roared the  general. The glacier−cold of his eyes had melted. The orbs were
  now red  with a killing lust.
  His men needed no urging. Relentlessly, their  bullets were hunting down fleeing figures. The guards were
  dropping on  all sides.
  "We are lost!" moaned one of these. It was he who  had first spoken on the trail.
  "Doc Savage should know," his companion said  throatily. There was a terrible wound in his chest.
  Red−flecked foam  was on his lips. Already, his eyes were glazing. "Y−you should try to  get word to him,
  Zum. I�I�" He became limp.
  HIS companion eased behind the rocks on his stomach.  His skin was almost the color of those boulders.
  Bullets whined over  him suddenly. Zum rolled over and lay still. The death blast moved  behind him, caught a
  guard who had risen to his knees to hurl a knife.
  Cautiously, Zum wiggled on a short distance. Again  he lay still. Then he moved ahead once more.
  Exultant cries of victory were coming from the sides  of the canyon. Khaki−clad men were rising to their feet.
  The steady  roar of guns had ceased. Now there was only an occasional shot from a  revolver held close to
  some wounded guard’s head.
  Zum neared a turn in the canyon. He leaped to his  feet. With the speed of a racing hare, he rounded that turn.
  An  automatic rifle burst into life. Hot lead played a tattoo on rocks.  Slugs ricocheted and howled. One nicked
  the running man’s right  shoulder just before he vanished from view.
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  "Get him! Don’t let him escape!" the general shouted  viciously.
  Khaki−clad figures raced in pursuit. When they  reached the bend in the canyon, Zum had disappeared. He
  was running  with all his speed. His mighty lungs were drawing in great gulps of  breath, his feet were
  pounding tirelessly.
  "He escaped," reported the man who had fired the  automatic rifle.
  "Fool!" The general’s face was livid. He swung a  fist, knocked the man to the ground. "You know what
  happens to men who  fail! You know what The Leader does!"
  The man on the ground groveled. His face became a  pasty color. His eyes rolled wildly. "The�the hand of
  death!" he half  screamed. "Don’t let it get me!"
  The general’s eyes were scornful. "You deserve to  die. Too much is at stake to permit errors. But this time I
  shall let  you live. I can stop that pig of a runner before he gets word to Doc  Savage."
  Bodies of the slain guards were lying on all sides.  Some were horribly mutilated by lead. Of all who had been
  alive only  five minutes before, only Zum still lived. The vultures were swooping  low.
  The general paid no attention to the bodies.  Callously, he stepped on them, as he walked toward the
  still−trembling,  frightened donkeys. His men, also, had leaped toward those donkeys.  With anxious, feverish
  hands they were tearing loose the covering on  the packs the donkeys carried.
  "Gold!" one breathed softly.
  "Much gold!" said a second.
  "Retie those packs!" snapped the general. His lips  were working with quick anger. "This is only a drop in the
  bucket  compared with what we will have later."
  UNWILLINGLY, the covers were restored. The  khaki−clad men looked at the packs with greedy, cunning
  eyes.
  "This must be taken to Blanco Grande. You shall be  its escort. Do not try to escape with it!" the general went
  on harshly.
  One of the men shivered slightly. Escape! That would  be impossible! Well he remembered the scarred, evil
  shape of the  mountainous country over which they had been flown to reach this point  of ambush. And they
  had dropped from those planes by parachute. There  was no way of returning except to walk. They could have
  walked to this  destination, but that would have meant loss of time. Other troops of  gold−hungry men would
  meet them when they left the mountains.
  The men had to do as they were ordered.
  "This will be a blow to Doc Savage," the general’s  aide said craftily. "Are you not afraid?"
  The general sneered. "Why be afraid of him?"
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  "But I have heard of many marvelous exploits of  his," said the aide. "He is dangerous to evil−doers. He has
  done almost  uncanny things."
  For a moment, a faint flicker of worry passed over  the general’s hard face. Then it was gone. "Do not worry,"
  he jeered.  "The Leader knows how to handle him. Besides, Doc Savage will know  nothing of this�until it is
  too late."
  "And when will that be?" There was a cunning, shrewd  look in the aide’s eyes.
  "When we have launched our plans. When the entire  world is rocked. When power such as men seldom
  dreamed of�" The general  broke off. One hand strayed to the heavy gun at one hip.
  "It could not be that you desire too much  information, that you are a spy, could it, mi amigo?" he  queried
  softly.
  The aide took a step back. "No�no!" he cried. "I am  just naturally curious. That is all."
  "Curious!" A peculiar expression flared in the  general’s glacier−cold eyes. The gun came to his hand, lifted.
  "We do  not encourage curiosity in our ranks, mi amigo."
  The other jumped back, turned to run.
  Blam!
  The general’s gun spoke once. A section of the  other’s skull vanished. He was dead.
  "I think you were not a spy, and that you were just  curious," the general said. "However"�he whirled on the
  other  khaki−clad men�"let that be a warning. You will take my orders. You  will be paid in gold�as long as
  you obey those orders. You will be paid  in bullets if you become curious. In bullets by me, or paid by The
  Leader in another way."
  The khaki−clad men were silent. They had heard how  "The Leader" paid. Hard−bitten, vicious as they were,
  they showed fear.
  "Now take the gold in. I have a plane waiting for me  near here. I fly back to Blanco Grande. The man who
  escaped must be  stopped at all costs. No word goes to Doc Savage."
  ZUM didn’t know about the plane. He did know that no  one could catch him on foot. Through winding
  canyons and deep gorges he  ran at a steady, tireless pace. His feet ate up the miles.
  Zum’s heart was sad. Many of his friends had died in  that murderous ambush. Hope of seeing those
  murderers brought to  justice was one of the things that spurred him on. For he knew Doc  Savage would act.
  The gold that had been stolen had been on its way to  Doc Savage. The men who had been guarding it were
  Mayans. All the world  knew of Doc Savage and his men, and of their unceasing fight on evil.  Until now, few
  had known where the money came from that financed that  fight.
  It really was a legacy left Doc by his father. It  came from the Valley of the Vanished, where the bronze man
  had found  pure−blooded Mayans, long lost from the outside world.
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  When Doc had left the Valley of the Vanished, he had  arranged with King Chaac, chief of the Mayans, to
  listen in on a radio  on every seventh day. When his funds ran low, Doc would send a call for  gold. Mayans
  would take it to Blanco Grande, the capital of Hidalgo,  where the president, Carlos Avispa, would see that it
  was sent on to  Doc.
  Dusk was falling as Zum came in sight of Blanco  Grande. The mountains long since had been left behind.
  Zum’s pace had  slowed. He was weary. His face bore long lines of strain.
  But steadily he went on, entered the narrow streets  of the capital of Hidalgo. Zum had been there before with
  gold trains  for Doc. He knew where the radio towers were. He knew that in some way  it was possible to send
  messages from there that would reach Doc  Savage. He turned that way.
  Had he not been so weary, Zum might have noticed the  unusual activity in the ordinarily sleepy Central
  American city. Many  soldiers were about. They were fully armed and in small detachments,  moving with
  evident purpose.
  Zum did not notice. He had only one thought, only  one driving motive: He alone was alive to let Doc Savage
  know what had  occurred. He intended to fulfill that trust.
  A LONE operator was on duty in the shack beneath the  radio towers. He had difficulty in understanding what
  Zum was saying.  The Mayan was breathing hard, his words came in gasps. His Spanish was  not good.
  "Señor Clark Savage!" Zum blurted at last.
  The operator understood that. His eyes became wide.  He had heard of Doc Savage.
  "Gold stolen! Mayans killed!" Zum panted. "Send  message!"
  The operator stood as if paralyzed for a moment, his  brain trying to digest what he had heard.
  Blam!
  A pistol shot came loudly. Zum fell to the floor,  twitching. A short, heavy−set man with glacier−cold eyes
  and wearing a  general’s uniform stepped into the radio shack, gun in hand.
  "Don’t send that message!" he ordered crisply.
  "But�but�" The operator’s mouth dropped. "It�it’s to  Doc Savage, general. I�I’ve got to send it."
  His voice ended almost in a scream at what he saw in  the general’s face. He made a dive for the radio key.
  The gun came up. Once again it spoke. The operator  died, the radio key untouched.
  A faint grin cut the general’s face. He patted the  gun in his hand.
  "Unless Doc Savage is a clairvoyant, I do not think  he will ever receive that message," he said dryly. "And he
  couldn’t  hear those shots in New York."
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  Two men came in then at the general’s barked command  and gathered up the dead bodies and wiped up the
  blood. Some might  wonder what had happened to the radio operator that he should  disappear. But none
  would ever know just what had taken place. It would  remain a mystery.
  Chapter II. A PLEA FOR HELP
  FEW sounds penetrated to Doc Savage’s office on the  eighty−sixth floor of one of Manhattan’s skyscrapers.
  That office might  have been in a world by itself, far aloft, with view unhindered by  surrounding structures.
  But there was a curious, strained tension in  that office.
  "You’ve got to help, Mr. Savage. No one but you can  do so. For you to refuse may mean unreckoned
  tragedy."
  The speaker’s voice was urgent, pleading. A tall  man, he was dressed entirely in black except for a brilliant,
  white  shirt. His eyes and hair were black, but his thin, mobile face,  detracted from the somberness of his
  costume.
  "Already there have been riots, some indication of  what is afoot," he went on quickly. "I am sure the peace of
  the world  is at stake, perhaps the fate of the world as well. You must act!"
  His black eyes flashed entreatingly to the man  seated behind the only desk in the room.
  That man stirred slightly. He was a big man, but did  not show it. He was so well put together that the
  impression was not of  bigness, but of power. His face and hands were the color of golden  bronze�a bronze
  that exactly matched the color of his hair.
  But it was his eyes that held the attention of his  visitor. They were like pools of flake gold. They were
  penetrating,  with an almost hypnotic influence.
  "What definite information have you that such a plot  exists, Baron Vardon?" Doc Savage asked. His voice
  was low, but it had  a peculiar timbre, one that made it carry clearly and distinctly.
  The black−clad man sat more erect in his chair. His  fingers toyed with his black felt hat.
  "As I explained, I am on the League of Nations  staff. We receive much information that is not made known to
  the  general public�information that comes to us from all our member States.  Recently, we have heard much
  of a mysterious man known only as The  Leader. Who or what he is, we do not know. But of his actions we
  know  much."
  Baron Vardon paused, frowned as if collecting his  thoughts. "We know that a skeleton organization of
  well−trained  fighting men is being organized in every country in the world. Already,  there have been a few
  outbreaks. You remember the recent ones in China,  Africa and South America. Those were merely tests of
  power. The big  coup is still to come. It awaits some signal. What this signal is, we  also do not know."
  "And just what do you wish me to do?" the bronze man  asked.
  "We are convinced that the headquarters of this  mysterious Leader is somewhere in Switzerland. As a League
  of Nations  representative, I am empowered to ask you to go to Europe, find that  man and block his plans."
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  Chapter II. A PLEA FOR HELP
  7
  
  "Seems like quite an undertaking to me," a third  voice put in unexpectedly.
  The speaker was sitting far back in one corner. A  thin, not very tall man, he was pulling absently at an ear
  that was  much too big. His complexion was sallow and unhealthy−looking. He  appeared a physical weakling.
  Only those who had tangled with Major Thomas J.  Roberts, better known as "Long Tom," knew what an
  error that was. Nor  did his appearance indicate that he really was one of the world’s most  famous electrical
  engineers.
  Doc’s fingers played a rapid tattoo on the top of  the desk. His flake gold eyes surveyed Baron Vardon.
  "A coup of such magnitude as you suggest would be  difficult," the bronze man said.
  "Practically impossible, I’d say," drawled Long Tom.  Still tugging at his ear, he came to his feet slowly and
  sauntered from  the room.
  "I assure you this is not only possible, but so,"  Baron Vardon said earnestly. "And whoever The Leader is, he
  rules by  fear. We have had reports he kills by a hand of death. Men who have  seen victims of the hand of
  death say bloody fingers and palm appear on  the neck. The features contort, horribly�"
  Doc lifted one hand suddenly. A faint red light had  appeared on a big panel at one side of the room.
  "Anyone know you came to New York, Baron Vardon?"  the bronze man asked quietly.
  His black−clad visitor started, his eyes receded in  his thin face. "N−no. But why?"
  "Several men are trying to break into this office,"  Doc responded softly.
  "But they can’t get in, can they? I’m safe, am I  not?" Baron Vardon’s voice was hoarse, his features twisted
  with quick  fear.
  "No, they cannot get in unless I wish them to," said  Doc. "But I believe we should see whom we are
  opposing. Just sit  quietly. I am going to release the doors." The bronze man moved a foot  on one spot on the
  floor.
  Five men were in the hallway. One was working on the  lock of a door which bore the sign: "Clark Savage,
  Jr." The others  carried businesslike automatics. Their faces were hard and  weather−beaten.
  "Speed it up! Get that door open!" one of them  barked. The lock−picker snarled in reply.
  Then an amazing thing happened!
  The door opened of its own accord. On either side of  it panels also slid open. A gap fully twenty feet wide
  was created in  the office wall.
  And inside, apparently rushing forward, appeared an  entire company of armed men. They carried submachine
  guns. Their faces  were horrible grimaces. They seemed to be leaping from behind  shell−torn trees and out of
  huge shell−holes.
  A yell of terror and horror came from the five  attackers in the hall. One threw up his gun, fired, then turned to
  run.  Three of his companions also started to take to their heels.
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  8
  
  "Halt!" The leader roared the order. His own eyes  were gazing wildly. He was making an apparent effort to
  keep his  courage. Then his eyes became normal.
  "Stop, you fools!" he bellowed. "It’s a trick! There  are no men there! See, they’re not moving forward at all!"
  The running gunmen stopped and looked back. Even as  they looked, the scene changed.
  The company of armed men faded. Gigantic seas took  their place. Huge waves with white−topped spray
  appeared. The beat of  surf came, low at first, then louder.
  But no water splashed on the office floor.
  The gunmen laughed, their nerves still jerking with  their release from fear. Now they could all see it had been
  a trick.  They did not know how they had been fooled; it was enough to know that  they were not really facing
  a company of armed men. With cautious steps  they moved into the room.
  And now the waves began to disappear. The office  itself came into view. At one side was seated a man
  dressed in black.  Behind a desk sat Doc Savage.
  "You wished to see me, gentlemen?" the bronze man  asked. 
  Four pistols came up as one. Four bullets tore  toward the bronze man. Doc Savage slumped. His head went
  down on his  desk. Then those weapons were turned toward Baron Vardon. Again a hail  of death poured out.
  "Run! Run for your lives!"
  The four gunmen turned with sudden fear. The cry had  come from behind them, where their leader stood. The
  men took one look  and then obeyed. They dived frantically backward.
  For the door and the panels on either side were  closing. Frantically, the gang chief threw his weight against
  one of  those panels, tried to hold it back. The panel moved on.
  Shrill screams of terror came from the four men  inside. Desperately, they threw themselves through the
  opening. The  shoe of one was caught. The heel was nipped off as neatly as if by a  sharp knife.
  "Let’s get out of here, that was too close," their  leader rasped. He was breathing heavily. "Another moment
  and we’d have  been trapped in there. And even if we did get Doc Savage, his men are  still alive. They would
  have killed us."
  DOC SAVAGE lifted his head, smiled at Baron Vardon.  "Professional soldiers of fortune from their
  appearance. Would you not  say so, Baron Vardon?"
  The baron’s face was a startling white in contrast  to his black clothes. Nervously, he pulled a handkerchief
  from a  pocket, wiped his brow.
  "I�I guess so," he breathed. "But�but, I still can’t  understand why we’re still alive."
  "It is too bad they discovered the doors closing so  soon," the bronze man went on, apparently unheeding the
  other’s remark.  "Another moment and they would have been caught, then they could have  been questioned at
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  9
  
  leisure."
  "But�but they had guns. They surely would have  killed us, had they remained," exclaimed Baron Vardon.
  "No," Doc Savage corrected. "I do not believe they  would. You see, they merely thought they saw us. When I
  pressed my foot  on a certain spot on this floor, I opened the doors, and bullet−proof  mirrors dropped. You
  have seen the childish tricks with mirrors used at  amusement parks, where a person would appear without a
  body. This was  on the same order. In addition, the mirrors were of a type which  permitted us to see through
  from this side, but prevented them from  seeing us."
  "And�and I�" Baron Vardon gulped. "I suppose they  saw something that frightened them at first. That was
  it."
  "Yes. Merely some motion pictures projected against  the mirrors, with a few added sound effects. Sometimes
  the sight of  those pictures suffice to frighten away intruders. These fellows were  of sterner stuff."
  Baron Vardon swallowed hard, and an admiring grin  appeared on his face.
  "It was wonderful," he said. Then his expression  changed, became serious. "But you see, this attack alone
  proves that we  are up against something desperate. It would have to be if hired gunmen  were sent all the way
  from Switzerland to kill you and, just because I  am asking your aid. You must help us!"
  "I think it might be interesting at that, Doc."
  Baron Vardon glanced up swiftly. Long Tom had  returned to the room. His thin, unhealthy−appearing face
  was blank of  all expression, but one big ear wiggled slightly as he looked at the  bronze man.
  Doc Savage’s flake gold eyes looked long and hard at  Baron Vardon. "We never refuse help where we may
  assist in any way to  correct injustice, or to prevent evil," he said quietly. "We will  undertake the task, Baron
  Vardon."
  Emotion twisted the baron’s mobile face. His  features came alive. He leaped to his feet, raced forward and
  grabbed  Doc’s hand, shook it hard.
  "I am delighted. I had hoped, of course, for your  help. But to hear you give me your promise makes my trip
  really worth  while. You will leave at once for Switzerland?"
  "We will start our search for The Leader as soon as  possible," the bronze man said.
  "Good! Get in touch with me at my hotel if I may  assist you in any way." The baron turned to leave, hesitated
  at the  door, his face becoming solemn. "But be careful. I have heard much of  this hand of death. I will not rest
  easily until I know you have  succeeded."
  The door closed behind Baron Vardon.
  "He’s O. K., Doc," Long Tom said. "I checked with  Geneva. He’s an accredited representative, and was sent
  here to contact  you. Funny, I had him figured out as a phony."
  The electrical wizard pulled one lobe of his  oversized ear thoughtfully. "When you tapped that code in Mayan
  for me  to check on him, I thought you believed him a fake, also," he added.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter II. A PLEA FOR HELP
  10
  
  "I do not care to embarrass guests," the bronze man  said. "Baron Vardon might have understood the code had
  it been in  English."
  Long Tom looked up sharply. "And by the way, Doc.  Isn’t it time to be hearing from Blanco Grande?
  Shouldn’t another gold  shipment be on its way?"
  "I expect such a message at any time. Probably we�" 
  The bronze man broke off suddenly. A scream of  dreadful agony, of pain and knowledge of death, penetrated
  the office  walls. It was a thin cry, high−pitched. It came from the hallway.
  LONG TOM moved fast. He appeared slow beside the  bronze man. Almost before the electrical engineer had
  unlimbered his  long legs, Doc Savage was out from behind his desk, had reached the  door. He moved with
  the smooth, unbelievable speed of a man in the  perfection of physical condition.
  The office door came open. Doc Savage leaped into  the hallway, knelt beside a body that lay there. A low,
  trilling sound  seemed to fill the air. It appeared to come from no one spot, yet from  everywhere. It was a
  strange, eerie thing.
  Long Tom hurtled over the bronze man. He understood  what that trilling sound was. It came unconsciously
  from the lips of  Doc Savage when he was either surprised or sounding a warning.
  The thin electrical wizard did not halt. Whatever  had happened to that limp figure on the floor, he knew Doc
  could take  care of it much better than he could.
  He glanced once at the elevator indicator, saw no  change was within six floors of them, then his thin legs
  darted like  pistons as he raced toward the end of the hallway and started down the  stairs.
  It was five minutes before Long Tom returned. His  unhealthy−appearing face wore a look of chagrin. He was
  breathing  heavily.
  "No one in sight," he said, his tone filled with  disappointment.
  Doc was still kneeling beside the fallen figure. The  bronze man had a physician’s kit beside him.
  "Adrenaline did not work. No restorative I had  succeeded," the bronze man said.
  Long Tom looked down. The fallen figure was that of  a boy. He wore a messenger’s outfit. His visored cap
  lay upside down on  the floor. Inside it was a yellow envelope.
  Then Long Tom’s eyes opened and he whistled  slightly. On the boy’s neck, growing more clear with each
  passing  instant, was the shape of a hand. It was a hand of blood�blood that  came from the boy!
  "The hand of death," Long Tom grated.
  Doc Savage rose to his feet slowly. His flake gold  eyes were sad. It was seldom that his astounding
  knowledge of medicine  failed to save a life.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter II. A PLEA FOR HELP
  11
  
  Carefully, he opened the envelope that had been in  the messenger boy’s cap. Again came that low, trilling
  sound.
  "What is it?" Long Tom asked swiftly.
  Silently, the bronze man handed him the message. It  read:
  GOLD HAS ARRIVED OKAY STOP WILL SHIP TO YOU  TO−MORROW 
  CARLOS AVISPA
  Chapter III. DEATH STRIKES
  DOC SAVAGE stood motionless, his eyes riveted on the  message in his hand. Abruptly he turned, strode into
  the office.
  Long Tom, his mushroom complexion a blank, followed  him. Doc’s silence had indicated there was
  something peculiar about  that message. What it was the bronze man had seen, Long Tom didn’t  know. And
  he knew that he wouldn’t find out until Doc had proved  himself right or wrong.
  The bronze giant went quickly to the laboratory.  First, he treated the message and the envelope with his own
  development  of Flemming’s solution. He put it on an automatic drier and then dipped  it in a square container
  of dye.
  Long Tom knew Doc was using the most modern method  of developing fingerprints. Prints undetectable
  under ordinary methods  stood out like bold landmarks with this new treatment.
  Doc placed the paper under an ultra−violet lamp. The  body of the papers fluoresced with a brilliant,
  blue−green luminosity.  Only two fingerprints were on it. They stood out stark and black.
  "Those are mine," the bronze man clipped. "There is  no other print on either the envelope or the message.
  And the boy did  not have any gloves."
  "Then�" Long Tom began.
  "The message was switched." Doc said flatly.  "Whatever did happen to that gold shipment, someone is trying
  to  keep us from finding out."
  Long Tom opened his mouth to speak. He stopped. A  low whine and a swish of air told him that the private,
  high−speed elevator was soaring up from the basement garage.
  No one but Doc and his aids were supposed to know  the existence of that private lift. It could shoot upward,
  as if flung  by a catapult, and dropped like a plummet. It took both experience and  fortitude to ride in it at all.
  No one else was supposed to know of it�but attacks  on the bronze man and his aids came always from places
  least expected.  Neither Doc nor Long Tom said a word.
  They heard the automatic doors open. Then there was  a crash of glass; a heavy body fell on the floor. Low,
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter III. DEATH STRIKES
  12
  
  angry mutterings  reached their ears; then there was silence. The only sound that came  was a stealthy shuffling
  of footsteps.
  LONG TOM reached quickly into a desk drawer and took  out a weapon that looked like an oversized pistol.
  It was equipped with  a large ammo drum. It was one of Doc’s superfiring machine−pistols,  twice as fast and
  deadlier than a machine gun.
  Doc Savage did not move a muscle. His bronze face  was expressionless.
  Slowly, Long Tom approached the door to the  corridor. Then he stopped; his jaw dropped, and a look of
  supreme  disgust spread over his face.
  He saw the immense back of the closest thing to a  gorilla that could come in human form. Long, red−tufted
  arms dangled  almost to the floor. The huge human swayed from side to side. A nubbin  of a head was almost
  completely sunk in the huge shoulders. More red,  simian hair came out from the head and neck.
  A baffled, childlike muttering came from the huge  man as he backed up. In front of him, one hand raised
  behind him, the  other extended confidently with a vicious−looking sword, was an  immaculately clad and
  dapper figure. With a handkerchief peeking from  his breast pocket at just the proper angle, a spotless,
  pearl−gray hat  on his head, the man danced forward with the agility of a fencer.
  In spite of his slender, foppish attire, he gave  every indication that he was about to commit a highly
  pleasurable  murder.
  "I’ll tear that danged sword cane to pieces," the  hairy one complained, in a voice that would have better
  befitted an  immature youth, "then I’ll tear you apart, you animated writ of  hocus−pocus!"
  "Try it, you hairy vacuum!" Brigadier General  Theodore Marley Brooks advised the apelike one. "Destroy
  my choice  presents, will you? I’ll run this through your gullet and hang you up  on the wall!"
  "Cut it!" Long Tom’s voice rapped out. "Things are  happening."
  The apelike one turned around. It was odd to see a  face like his look so plaintive. It was probably one of the
  homeliest  faces in existence. His little eyes were nearly invisible, so deeply  were they sunk in their pits of
  gristle.
  This was Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Blodgett Mayfair,  probably one of the greatest living chemists in the
  world. He was a  Houdini of the test tubes. His friends knew him as "Monk." No other  name would have been
  fitting.
  "That danged shyster bought a statue of an ape and  had my name engraved on it," he complained. "Then he
  had the crust to  make me a present of it. I smashed it right here. And I’m going to  grind him into hamburger!"
  Then Monk saw the body of the messenger boy. His  expression changed. "Trouble," he exclaimed. "Do you
  suppose�"
  The dapper figure, better known as "Ham," sheathed  his sword cane with one quick motion. Together, they
  whirled and darted  into the office.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter III. DEATH STRIKES
  13
  
  Monk and Ham quarreled continually. No insult was  quite enough for one to heap on the other. But either
  would have gladly  given his life to save the other. And both would have died for Doc  Savage.
  Almost running, the two raced to the room where Doc  Savage stood waiting for them. Monk breathed an
  inaudible sigh of  relief at the sight of the bronze man.
  Ham was less demonstrative. One of the shrewdest  legal lights that ever came from Harvard, he was trained
  to hide his  feelings.
  Doc Savage smiled slightly. He had seen the tableau  in the hallway from where he had stood inside. An
  intricate system of  mirrors enabled him to watch almost every part of his domain from any  other point, while
  hidden microphones enabled him to listen to the  conversation.
  "I am afraid great danger may be threatening  Hidalgo," he said softly.
  A howl of rage and excitement burst from Monk. He  fairly danced up and down.
  "What are we waiting for? Let’s go!" he bellowed  plaintively.
  "Still thinking of that good−looking princess down  there?" Ham asked sarcastically.
  Monk blushed.
  "We all know that without Hidalgo we couldn’t carry  on the work we’ve sworn to do," Doc went on calmly.
  "And not only that,  but we owe a debt to both the citizens of the republic and the Mayans  to protect them
  from trouble."
  "Well, then�" Monk blinked.
  "I have accepted another task," Doc explained  quietly. 
  For an instant there was silence. Yet that silence  was indicative of the respect his aids held for their bronze
  chief.  Their looks were not questioning. They waited merely for orders.
  In crisp tones, Doc explained to Monk and Ham what  had happened, what Baron Vardon had told them.
  "I don’t like that guy’s looks," Long Tom gulped.  "Even if he is from the League of Nations, he looked
  phony to me. And  he went out of here just before this messenger boy came in."
  Bristles seemed to rise on the back of Monk’s neck.  The chemist even preferred fighting to annoying Ham.
  And that was  saying a lot.
  "Let’s go get him!" he howled. "Any guy that would  kill a kid like that�" He waved his arms and started for
  the door.  Doc’s low voice stopped him.
  "We must know more than we do now before we throw  suspicion on anyone," he admonished. "But I think
  we had all better  call on the baron. He may have seen someone in the hall as he left here  and can give us a
  clue to the murderer."
  Swiftly, the four went toward the corridor. As they  opened the door elevators stopped at the far end of the
  hallway. A  group of blue−clad policemen poured out.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter III. DEATH STRIKES
  14
  
  "We heard a guy had been killed!" bellowed one in a  captain’s uniform. "What is it all about?"
  Long Tom stepped forward, as if to explain. A bronze  hand shot out, jerked him back.
  "Look out! Duck for cover!" the bronze man cried.
  His warning came just in time. For strange things  were happening.
  TO Doc’s aids, the sudden arrival of an army of cops  had not seemed suspicious. They had forgotten that no
  such force would  be sent to investigate an ordinary murder. And they had forgotten,  also, that the murder of
  the messenger boy had not been reported. No  one knew of it except themselves�and the slayer.
  The bronze man had not forgotten. His crisp order  came just as the man in the captain’s uniform made a grab
  for an object  in a coat pocket. One hand went back, came forward with an overhand  motion. What he threw
  looked like a teargas bomb.
  Long Tom had already darted back inside the door.  Monk and Ham instinctively grabbed handkerchiefs to
  place over their  noses as they, too, jumped back.
  But the keen, flake gold eyes of Doc Savage had seen  something the others had missed.
  Protruding from the body of the thing speeding  through the air toward them were rows of tiny spikes. Those
  spikes made  the object look something like a prickly pear.
  Every one of those tiny spikes were a plunger.  Should any one of the scores of spikes on the side of that
  bomb touch  even the slightest projection, the plunger would set off a thermite  compound that would tear a
  score of men to tiny bits!
  And now that bomb was almost upon them, spinning and  turning. The fake cops were racing backward down
  the hallway, evil  grins of anticipation on their faces.
  Doc Savage stood feet apart, one hand in the air.  The thumb and middle finger were separated. It looked as if
  he were  trying to talk the deaf and dumb language. Then those two fingers  snapped onto the whistling bomb
  with a speed that defied detection.
  The fingers closed between the tiny plungers!
  But the body of the bomb was slippery; it had been  greased just to prevent any such miraculous catching. Doc
  couldn’t hold  it steady. Already, it was slipping. If he reached with his other hand  he would be sure to snap a
  spike, explode it in his fists.
  So the bronze man did the only other thing he could  do. He yelled a warning, hurled it from him, straight
  back where it had  come from.
  The phony cops had paused at the end of the hallway.  They had stood rooted to watch the culmination of their
  evil work. But  they didn’t stand there after Doc let out that yell.
  Scrambling, screaming, falling over each other in  their frantic desire to get away, they poured down the stairs.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter III. DEATH STRIKES
  15
  
  Then the thermite bomb landed. There was a blinding  flash, a searing heat and a detonation that knocked Doc
  and his three  aids flat on the ground.
  Masonry had been torn from the floor and from the  sides of the hallway. The entrance to the stairs was
  blocked. From far  down those stairs yells could still be heard, as the fake cops raced  for safety like they had
  never run before.
  Doc picked himself up and looked at his aids. They  were bruised a bit, but otherwise unhurt.
  "The real police will now be here shortly. Stay here  and explain to them," Doc instructed Long Tom. "Monk
  and Ham will come  with me."
  With swift strides, the bronze man led the way to  his private, high−speed elevator.
  THE HOTEL ROYALE, where Baron Vardon was stopping,  was one of the more pretentious of Manhattan’s
  hostelries. It ran more  to the ornate than suited the average visitor, but it was always filled.
  Monk and Ham automatically dropped back a few paces  and separated as they strode through the lobby. That
  was a matter of  habit, a practiced system. If trouble occurred, they were less  vulnerable, more ready for
  effective action than if they were packed  together.
  Monk and Ham scrutinized faces closely, mentally  catalogued types, ran experienced eyes up and down
  figures for  suspicious bulges in their clothing.
  Two men stood together at one side, hands thrust  into their pockets. One spoke out of a corner of his mouth
  to the  other. Both looked hard at Doc and his aids.
  At the desk, a seedy, long−haired man argued  violently with the hotel clerk. His shiny frock coat was green
  with  age. Under an arm, he held a battered violin case. In a foreign accent  that somehow sounded counterfeit,
  he loudly insisted that there must  be some mail for him.
  It seemed to Ham that the two shifty−eyed men in the  corner glanced at him and at the violin case. But Ham
  couldn’t be sure.  It might be his imagination.
  Doc had the baron’s suite number. He didn’t bother  with the clerk, but went straight to the elevator.
  "Twelve," he clipped. The lift rose.
  Baron Vardon’s suite was 1208. Doc Savage knocked  softly on the door. There was no reply. He knocked
  again. The door  yielded under the slight vibration.
  Monk’s bulgy muscles swelled under his coat. Ham  swung his sword cane swiftly. Doc opened the door wide.
  A dim table−lamp gave the only light. Curtains in  the room had been drawn. But that table−lamp was
  sufficient.
  Directly before them, on the floor, were a pair of  expensively shod feet. Above the feet came well−creased
  trousers and a  dinner jacket, then the face of Baron Vardon.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter III. DEATH STRIKES
  16
  
  The diplomat was twisted in an unnatural position on  his back. His lips were contorted into a grimace of
  horror.
  But it was the neck that held the attention of the  three who had walked into the room.
  Upon that neck was the red outline of a hand. It  seemed to be growing brighter every instant.
  "The hand of death!" Ham gasped. "It has struck  again!"
  Chapter IV. INTO A TRAP
  DOC stepped quickly past the body on the floor,  leaped to a door at one side of the room. He flung it open
  and found  only an empty bathroom. He looked at the room’s one large window,  pulled back the shades.
  Outside was a narrow airshaft court, scarcely twenty  feet square. Another door gave onto the bedroom of the
  suite.  Apparently no one was there.
  Monk waddled about the room like some huge  anthropoid, sniffing on a trail. The hairy man’s eyes lighted on
  a  great wardrobe trunk in one corner of the room. It was a bigger trunk  than he had ever seen before. He
  moved toward it.
  And the trunk erupted!
  From a horizontal slit near the top of the trunk, a  long, thin muzzle was jabbed. It swept the entire room.
  Br−r−r−r−r−r−r!
  The machine gun roared in a staccato crescendo of  death; .45 caliber slugs sliced through the room like a
  solid metal knife, just above waist height.
  That terrific blast should have killed everyone in  the room. It didn’t. The killer within the trunk thought at
  first he  was dreaming. That dream slowly turned into an awful nightmare.
  Growling, long arms outstretched, Monk walked  straight into the hail of lead like an avenging Juggernaut.
  Fingers  that could bend a silver dollar double gripped the edges of the trunk.  The muzzle of the gun swung
  squarely toward his stomach.
  With a bellow of rage, Monk tore the top of the  trunk open. A mean, ratty face was there. But there was a
  horror and  disbelief on it, now. The killer forgot all about his Tommy gun. Here  was a man who absorbed
  Tommy slugs as casually as he would take a  shower!
  The killer screamed, leaped from his little  fortress. Red eyes darted back and forth. Doc and Ham were
  between him  and the door. Monk took one step forward, a look on his face that would  have made a tiger
  shrink.
  The thug’s voice ended in a gurgle. He ran blindly,  crashed into a window. The sill struck him just above the
  knees. Before  he could stop he had soared on out into space. A cry that was scarcely  human came from his
  lips. That cry ended abruptly as he hit the bottom  of the airshaft, twelve stories below.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter IV. INTO A TRAP
  17
  
  There was a moment of silence. Then a low, grating  voice broke in.
  "I will shoot for the head, my friends," it said. "I  know you wear union suits of chain metal that will defy
  machine−gun  slugs. But the bones in your head are not that strong."
  The three men whirled. There in the doorway crouched  the musical−appearing fellow who had been shouting
  for his mail in the  lobby downstairs.
  There was no artistic expression on his face now.  The wig of long hair was pushed askew on his forehead. A
  mirthless grin  was on his face. A businesslike machine gun had emerged from the violin  case.
  That gun swung up, head high; a grimy finger  tightened on the trigger.
  And then Doc Savage moved. He moved like chain  lightning. Like a bronze flash he dived across the room.
  His arms swept  out.
  The bronze man had been too far away to try and nail  the gunner. He didn’t try. His arms scooped up Ham
  and Monk, lifted  each as if they were little children. In the same fraction of an  instant he swung, head low,
  head away from the killer.
  Br−r−r−r−r−r−r!
  Slugs bounced off Doc’s back as he covered the  length of the room in two quick leaps. Crouched, holding his
  aids so  their heads were out of the direct line of fire, he was safe for the  moment from the deadly bullets.
  But the room was small. It was an easy matter for  the killer to maneuver into a better firing position.
  And he did. But it didn’t do him any good.
  Without slackening his stride, his two aids held  firmly, Doc Savage leaped through the window. On the
  concrete, far  below them, lay the crushed body of the first killer.
  THE homely face of Monk wore an expression of  blissful unconcern as he felt himself catapulted into the
  airshaft.  Ham, likewise looked as if he were thinking about some abstruse point  of law that he might argue
  before the Supreme Court. Both of Doc’s  hands were occupied holding Monk and Ham. He doubled up like a
  contortionist in the air. His teeth closed on a tiny button on his  vest. Then his head snapped erect. There was a
  swish, a sudden  tugging, and their plunging drop was checked to a gentle fall.
  Monk looked up above them critically. It was the  first time he had seen this experiment. He had often thought
  of the  possibilities of a special parachute built for an airshaft. There was  no reason, he had figured, why one
  of the proper size and shape  couldn’t be just as effective in a short drop as the plunger in a pump.  There was
  little space for the fugitive air to escape.
  But Monk had only thought about such a  parachute. It had remained for Doc Savage to construct one.
  They drifted gently to the bottom. The gangster up  above could have shot them during the last few seconds of
  the fall. But  when he first looked out the window, he was too amazed to move. By the  time he poked his gun
  over the sill, there was nothing but an expanse  of silk for a target.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter IV. INTO A TRAP
  18
  
  Doc and his aids on arriving at the bottom dived  through a doorway into the cellar of the hotel.
  "That parachute was good, but I don’t think you gave  it a real test, Doc," Monk argued as they reached the
  street.
  "What do you mean?" Ham asked suspiciously.
  "Why your head is so full of hot air, we could ‘a’  floated down, just hanging on to you," Monk chuckled
  gleefully.
  Ham whirled, waved his sword cane angrily. "We  shouldn’t have taken you, anyway!" he yelped. "An ape
  like you should  have been made to climb down!"
  Monk chuckled. Things were back to normal. He became  serious. "That seems to wash up Long Tom’s
  theory that the baron was in  on this," he grunted. "That is, unless he was double−crossed."
  "We still must do what the baron asked," Doc Savage  said quietly. "I gave my promise. You and Ham go to
  the hangar. Fuel  the plane for a three thousand mile non−stop flight. I need several  things from the office, and
  will bring Long Tom."
  "We head for Switzerland?" Ham asked.
  "We take the danger trail," the bronze man promised.
  IF Doc could have seen the electrical wizard right  then, he would have realized that danger had already
  arrived for Long  Tom.
  Behind the impersonal, mushroom−complexioned face of  Long Tom, was hidden real sympathy for those in
  need. That sympathy had  gotten him into trouble before. But he couldn’t help being the soul of  generosity.
  He could never resist the plaintive pleading of beggars.
  If some one had knocked on the door of the office  laboratory, he might have been suspicious. But Long Tom
  was standing in  the hallway just after the coroner’s men had taken away the body of the  dead messenger boy.
  An aged and infirm step came down the stairs that  led from the observation tower of the skyscraper. That was
  not unusual.  It was one way that peddlers could get down through the building and  canvass the offices.
  The man was white−haired. His face was pinched and  drawn, as if life had dealt harshly with him. He might
  have had a  family to support, and selling pencils is not usually considered a  quick way to riches.
  The pencils were in a square box. Around them was a  band blazoning a well−known make.
  "Please, mister," the ancient said haltingly,  "couldn’t you use a few pencils?"
  Long Tom hesitated, thrust his hand into a pocket.  Then he remembered his wallet was in his coat pocket
  back in the  office. He didn’t have any change.
  "Just a minute," he said, and opened the door.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter IV. INTO A TRAP
  19
  
  It was only two steps to where his coat was hanging.  Long Tom was a little surprised to see that the man had
  followed him  in. But there was still that apologetic, suppliant look on his face.  Long Tom reached out to take
  some of the pencils.
  Pfffft!
  A hissing sound came from a dozen little nozzles.  Every pencil was a tiny hose from which came a jet of tear
  gas. Long  Tom staggered back, blinded. Too late he realized he had been tricked.
  The bent old man straightened. Sharp orders tumbled  from his lips. There was a rush of feet from outside. A
  dozen dark  figures swarmed through the door.
  Long Tom, blinded though he was, plunged forward.  The men quickly understood that his unhealthy
  appearance was no  catalogue of his fighting ability. Three men went down, moaned on the  floor.
  But twelve against one are too many, particularly  when that one cannot see. Long Tom’s sight was slowly
  returning, but  even that wasn’t enough.
  He flung two foes from him, staggered back. Four  more gangsters bored in. The electrical wizard was driven
  back against  a wall. Then a mighty fist sent him sagging to the floor. He landed on  his back, hands
  outstretched. One slammed against the desk’s baseboard.
  Groggy and helpless, he was bound hand and foot and  gagged.
  THE phone jangled sharply.
  The white−haired man who was no longer old seized  it. At first he imitated Long Tom’s voice. It was a
  surprisingly good  imitation. Then his voice dropped back to normal.
  "O. K.," he rapped. "He’s got away with a lot of  things. I don’t see how he got out of the hotel. But he can’t
  get out  of this trap. We’ll fill him so full of lead they can use him for an  anchor."
  The man clicked the receiver back on the hook and  turned to the gangsters.
  "The bronze man is in the elevator," he rasped. "Go  to the stations appointed. Shoot for the head only!"
  There came the sound of the high−speed elevator. Its  meteoric ascension forced air whistling through the
  cracks of the door.
  The elevator outside clicked to a stop. The  automatic doors opened. Footsteps came toward the door. The
  white−haired leader glanced quickly at Long Tom, smiled in satisfaction.
  Long Tom’s expression showed he had recognized that  tread.
  The footsteps reached the door. Guns were pointing  that way from all directions.
  The door swung open. Long Tom held his breath. The  white−haired man stopped smiling.
  For the footsteps walked right into the center of  the room. But no one was there!
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter IV. INTO A TRAP
  20
  
  Hair rose on the necks of the gangsters. Eyes seemed  almost to pop from their heads. Some moistened dry
  lips. Others could  only gape stupidly.
  And the sounds went on!
  The chair behind Doc’s huge desk scraped back. There  was a sighing, as if a huge bulk had dropped into the
  soft leather  cushion. The seat of the chair sank.
  Sweat was pouring now from a dozen faces. One  gangster whipped a little paper from a pocket, sniffed the
  powdered  contents up his nostrils. But the drug didn’t seem to have any effect.  He was still scared to death.
  The white−haired man broke the spell with an effort.  "Shoot, you idiots!" he screamed. "Shoot at that chair!"
  The roaring of the guns sounded like a stepped−up  Niagara. Acrid smoke filled the air. The chair behind the
  desk seemed  to disintegrate. Lead literally tore it apart.
  The silence that followed that burst of firing was  like that in a courtroom following a verdict of death. Long
  Tom lay  wide−eyed and motionless.
  Then there was a low cough. It came from right above  the shattered chair!
  Then a memo pad on the big desk was riffled back.
  "Long Tom," came Doc’s voice from the chair, "when  these persons have gone, I would like to talk to you
  about our plans."
  THE gangsters stood frozen. If they had been  frightened before, now they were actually oozing fear. Their
  features  were chalk−white, their entire bodies shaking.
  Through the door to the library came the shrill  voice of Monk.
  "You danged shyster!" he shouted. "As soon as we  clean out this nest of gangsters, I’m going to take you
  apart,  injunction by injunction!"
  "Ha!" Ham’s voice came sarcastically. "You’re not  any tougher than those twelve babies out there."
  Two pairs of footsteps clattered into the room. But  no one was visible.
  One of the coke−fiend gangsters let out a scream.
  "I’ve got ‘em, I’ve got ‘em!" he yelled. "Lemme go!  I’m goin’ straight to Bellevue!"
  He dropped his Tommy gun and dived toward the door.  It was the signal for a stampede. Overtensed nerves
  could stand no  more. Rat−faced figures fought each other to get to the hallway, the  white−haired leader
  among them. In the space of seconds, the office was  cleared.
  Then the elevator doors opened again. Doc Savage  stepped out.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter IV. INTO A TRAP
  21
  
  Chapter V. A WARNING
  LONG TOM’S jaw sagged as Doc untied him. His eyes  held a vacant look. His fingers played with a lobe of
  one oversized ear.
  "I’ve seen you pull a lot of stuff, Doc, but how was  that done?" he asked weakly.
  "I caught your signal when you pressed the  baseboard," the bronze man explained. "So I went to the room
  below,  looked into the panoramic television in the ceiling, and saw the gang.
  "The desk was wired to turn over a page of the memo  pad. And the chair seat was wired to sag when I wanted
  it to. The  rest�the sound effects�was done by micro−waves and ventriloquism."
  "Oh!" Long Tom’s expression cleared. Then his face  showed admiration. An electrical genius of no mean
  ability himself,  those few words had been sufficient explanation.
  "That’s something new. I’ve been working on it, but  never got so far. In other words, the micro radio waves
  hit the  diaphragm of the telephone in whatever room you aimed them at, and  reverted into sound, and by
  ventriloquism you make it appear�"
  Doc nodded. "What happened?" he interrupted.
  Long Tom explained swiftly and somewhat  shamefacedly. "Our opponent, whoever he is, not only has money
  and an  exceedingly alert organization, but he must also have imagination and  brains," the bronze man
  commented. "I believe Vardon was right. The  stakes are high."
  "So much the more reason for us to get to Europe in  a hurry," the electrical wizard said glumly. "I suppose
  we’ll have to  stick our necks out again for some rough gang to take a crack at. I�"
  The door burst open with the bang of a cannon. Ham  bolted into the room. His usually immaculate attire was
  disheveled. He  showed unusual excitement. He was waving a newspaper in one hand.
  "Look! Look!" His words were wheezing gasps.
  Long Tom craned his neck and moved forward. "Now,  Ham, take it easy. Excitement is bad for your heart."
  Ham thrust the paper at Doc. "This extra just hit  the streets. I grabbed it and came on up. Monk went on to get
  the plane  ready. Read this!"
  Across the front of the newspaper were big headlines:
  BIG REVOLT IN HILDALGO!
  TROOPS STORM PALACE!
  Only a few lines of reading matter were under the  headlines. Evidently but little information had been
  received when the  extra had been put to press.
  "Hidalgo!" breathed Long Tom. "That must mean old  Carlos Avispa is in danger. But what about the gold? Is
  that lost?"
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter V. A WARNING
  22
  
  THE bell of a telephone sounded. Doc lifted the  receiver.
  "Mister Savage? I am speaking for the secretary of  state." The voice was smooth, almost regretful.
  "Yes?"
  "I am afraid the news we have for you may already be  in the papers, but we wished to verify it before calling
  you."
  "Thank you," said Doc. "And the message?"
  "There has been an uprising in Hidalgo. Knowing your  interests there, the secretary of state asked me to give
  you what facts  we have."
  "And those are?"
  "Few, very few, I am sorry to say. We do know there  was a sudden uprising, seemingly by a majority of
  President Avispa’s  troops. What caused it, or why, I do not know. An attack is believed to  have been
  launched on the palace. But all communication was severed  after we had received but one short bulletin.
  Whether the government of  Hidalgo has been overthrown or not, we do not know."
  "I see. I wish to thank you for calling." The bronze  man spoke slowly.
  The speaker at the other end of the line coughed  slightly. "I�we�er�we realize, Mister Savage, that this may
  be a blow  to you. President Avispa, we know, is a personal friend of yours. And  we understand you have big
  interests there. But, ah�ah�"
  "Yes?" Doc’s voice did not raise, but there was a  sudden firmness in its tone.
  "Ah�well, the secretary asked me to remind you not  to get into any entanglements with Hidalgo. United
  States citizens must  not participate in the quarrels of other countries." He paused, then  added:
  "I am sorry, sir."
  Doc Savage hung up the receiver slowly.
  "A FINE pickle!" raged Ham, after the bronze man had  related the phone conversation. He paced to and fro
  rapidly. "Avispa  and our gold in danger, and we must stand by�helpless!"
  "There are many things to consider," Doc Savage  reminded quietly. "The fact remains that much trouble has
  been, and  will be, avoided with other countries if United States citizens minded  their own business."
  "Yes, it is justified, undoubtedly; but not in this  case." Ham straightened, became Brigadier General
  Theodore Marley  Brooks. He spoke in his best courtroom manner:
  "But this situation is different, your hon�pardon, I  mean Doc. If we went to Hidalgo it would not be to
  embroil our country  in a private war. We would go merely as friends of the duly constituted  authorities, to
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter V. A WARNING
  23
  
  lend our advice and counsel�"
  "And to do a little scrapping, if necessary," Long  Tom interposed, with a sly grin.
  "For all we know, President Avispa may be dead," Ham  continued, with a stern glance at Long Tom. "The
  country may be in the  hands of rebels. Our friends, the Mayans, may be endangered. We owe  them a debt we
  can never repay. Besides�" The lawyer hesitated.  "Incidentally, Doc, we were not told definitely that we
  couldn’t go,  were we?"
  The bronze man shook his head, said, "No. I was  merely reminded not to interfere with anything that might
  drag the  United States into trouble with Hidalgo. We would experience no trouble  from the law if we went to
  Hidalgo, provided we left before our  passports to Hidalgo are suspended."
  "But�but," sputtered Long Tom. "You told Baron  Vardon we would go to Switzerland, that we would leave
  at once! Even if  our sympathies are with President Avispa in Hidalgo, we cannot go there  until that job is
  taken care of."
  "No," contradicted Doc softly. "I did not promise  that we would go to Switzerland at once." Light flamed in
  his flake  gold eyes. "What I did say was that we would undertake at once the task  Baron Vardon suggested.
  We will do that. But now, we will go to  Hidalgo. I believe the uprising there has a definite connection with
  the plot Baron Vardon mentioned."
  Ham’s face shone with delight. "The attorney for the  plaintiff wins his case," he beamed. "Of course, I’m
  sorry we will be  there just as advisers and can’t get into the fighting, but�"
  He danced about, using his sword cane to spar with  an imaginary enemy.
  "Always thinking of fighting," Long Tom said  disgustedly.
  "Ham, you go on down to the plane, help Monk load,"  the bronze man put in. "You know the equipment we
  should have."
  The dapper lawyer minced toward the door, still  sparring with his cane. A broad smile was on his face.
  "Long Tom, here are your instructions." Doc Savage  spoke for some length. A look of bewilderment on the
  electrical  genius’s face gradually faded; his expression became eager and intent.
  "That’s good," he gulped at last. "We can’t take any  munitions except, of course, weapons to defend
  ourselves; but with this  stuff�"
  "It may come in handy," Doc agreed dryly.
  Long Tom went to one of the big laboratory rooms  that were included in the office suite. Doc turned to the
  radio room.  The bronze man sat down before a large panel. He threw a switch and  watched tubes slowly
  become warm.
  "Renny and Johnny!" he said, his mouth close to a  small microphone. His voice was unraised.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter V. A WARNING
  24
  
  MORE than three thousand miles away, that voice came  clearly from a small radio. Huge mountains reared
  on all sides. There  was a tremendous cut through one of those mountains. Steam shovels were  panting as they
  dug up tons of earth.
  An enormous man, fully six feet four inches in  height, was watching those steam shovels through half−closed
  eyes. As  he watched, he opened and closed fists that were bony monstrosities.  They appeared big enough to
  break doors. In fact, breaking doors with  those fists was one of the favorite occupations of their owner.
  His face was severe, the mouth thin and tightly  compressed. Even though his eyes showed pleasure in the
  scene he was  witnessing, his features had a puritanical look.
  A small native, his clothes mud−covered, panted up.
  "Señor Colonel Renwick," he wheezed. "The black box,  it speak!"
  The big man’s look of indifference vanished. Long  legs taking gigantic strides, he jumped over boulders,
  cleared a  sixteen−foot stream with scarcely a break in his pace.
  He halted before a big boxlike tent. A small radio  was sitting outside that tent. Beside it was a portable
  sending set.  "Renny speaking," he said clearly.
  As "Renny" spoke, another tall man came running into  view. But where Renny was heavy, this man was thin.
  He looked almost  half−starved. Glasses were perched on his nose. His features were  studious and intellectual.
  Known wherever geologists and archaeologists  gathered as William Harper Littlejohn, one of the most
  famous in his  field, he was called "Johnny" by his friends.
  "And this is Johnny elucidating," he said into the  microphone.
  "There is trouble in Hidalgo," came Doc’s clear  tones.
  Renny’s big frame jerked erect. Forgotten in a  moment was the engineering project he was directing. That
  project was  one that would add to his fame, but additional renown meant nothing  compared to a call to action.
  "You two being in South America, are much closer to  the scene than we are in New York," Doc’s voice went
  on. "By leaving  within an hour, you should be able to fly to Hidalgo before dawn. Keep  in touch with me by
  radio, and help President Avispa in every way  possible."
  "Boy, this sounds like action!" Renny chortled  exultantly. "It’s great!"
  "Positively stupendous," agreed Johnny.
  In New York, Doc turned away from the radio.
  "All set," called Long Tom. "Let’s go. Too bad  Johnny and Renny will beat us to the scene, but they may
  leave  something for us to do."
  Long Tom might not have felt so certain Johnny and  Renny would arrive first, or that everything was all set,
  had he been  able to see through the ceiling.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter V. A WARNING
  25
  
  A SMALL, dwarflike man, an evil grin on his face,  was rapidly coiling a strand of wire back into a small
  briefcase in the  room above. The wire was almost invisible. The microphone at the end  was no larger than a
  dime.
  "A marvelous invention, this," he chuckled without  sound. "So the great Doc Savage has decided to interfere
  in affairs in  Hidalgo? That will prove very interesting to The Leader, I am sure."
  He took earphones from his head, placed them on top  of the wire and the batteries the briefcase contained.
  "And the great Doc Savage must be worried. He is  calling in all his men to help."
  The dwarf snorted with disgust. "Seems to me I read  about the project Colonel Renwick is directing in South
  America.  Littlejohn is making some archaeological surveys at the same place. It  will be easy to discover just
  where."
  Once more that evil grin crossed his wrinkled  features. He moved noiselessly toward the door.
  "Who can withstand The Leader? His organization is  perfect. I do not believe that Colonel Renwick or
  William Harper  Littlejohn will ever arrive in Hidalgo."
  Chapter VI. DEATH CALLS
  JOHNNY and Renny were troubled by no such doubts.  Their movements were swift and assured.
  They wasted no time on the tent. Growling, his  puritanical face more stern than before, Renny threw clothes
  recklessly  into a suitcase.
  Johnny worked more deliberately, but almost as fast.  He looked at some of his archaeological specimens with
  regret, but did  not bother to pack them.
  A youth wearing high leather puttees, military  trousers and tropical hat, came toward them. His face wore a
  look of  dismay.
  "Colonel Renwick, what is the matter? Where are you  going?"
  Renny looked up impatiently, snapped the clasps on  his suitcase. "Come on, Johnny, what are you killing
  time for!" he  snapped.
  "But�but you can’t do this! You can’t leave!" the  youth exclaimed excitedly.
  "Why says I can’t?" roared Renny. "I am, ain’t I?  You’re supposed to be an engineer, aren’t you? You take
  charge. I’ll be  back�when you see me."
  One huge fist reached out, yanked Johnny to his  feet. "Come on!"
  "You’re a domineering, despotic, dyspeptic  martinet," wailed Johnny. But he went along.
  Two slender steel threads led down the mountainside.  They vanished in the mists of clouds that hung far
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter VI. DEATH CALLS
  26
  
  below the top of the  mountain. They appeared tiny and fragile. Yet an open car was suspended  from the upper
  thread.
  This primitive elevator was used to bring material  and men from the plains thousands of feet below to the
  summit. The  lower thread acted as a brake, to keep the elevator from descending too  fast.
  Johnny and Renny leaped into the car. Renny reached  over and released the brake. The effect was like that of
  a sudden,  steep dive on a roller−coaster. Only this dive didn’t stop in a second  or two. It seemed to continue
  indefinitely.
  The car rocketed downward. Johnny’s mouth opened and  closed as he tried to speak against the wind. He
  motioned for Renny to  use the brake, to slow the speed of the car.
  Renny grinned broadly. "Doc asked for speed, didn’t  he?" the big man shouted.
  Johnny looked over the side. One hand was holding  tight to the glasses on his nose. The other gripped
  frantically at one  side of the car. His face suddenly went a pale, pasty color. He gulped.
  Renny’s face lost its grin. He reached for the  brake, applied it hard. The speed of the car did not slacken. It
  increased.
  Hunching his huge frame, Renny looked over the side.  His face, too, went ashen.
  The bottom steel thread had vanished. Somewhere, it  had either broken or been cut. There was no way to stop
  the terrific  speed of the car. It was hurtling downward at ever increasing speed.  There still were thousands of
  feet to go.
  When the car reached the bottom, there would be one  tremendous crash. Only pieces would ever be found of
  car and occupants.
  Renny groaned, but not from fear.
  "When we don’t get there, Doc sure will think we’ve  disobeyed orders!" he shouted.
  DOC was having troubles of his own just then.
  Even Ham’s features were streaked with perspiration  as the last of a long series of boxes and provisions were
  stored aboard  a huge amphibian.
  The plane rested on a slide at the end of a long  warehouse. The name "Hidalgo Trading Co." was painted on
  that  warehouse. It was inconspicuous−appearing from the outside. Inside, it  appeared more like a
  transportation exhibit at Grand Central Palace.
  A submarine was there; both swift scout and heavier  passenger planes and an autogyro were stored, ready for
  immediate use.  And hovering close to the top of the warehouse was a speedy, modern  dirigible.
  "Too bad we can’t use the dirigible," Monk groaned,  with a look aloft. His simian countenance appeared
  pained. The  dirigible would be easier riding than the amphibian, but the hairy  chemist knew there was no
  chance of using it. Where they were going  they would be buffeted by wind currents that would tear apart
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter VI. DEATH CALLS
  27
  
  even the  strongest airship.
  "All loaded, Doc," panted Long Tom. His complexion  was yellow−colored.
  Doc nodded, swung through the door at the rear of  the amphibian, made his way to the controls. A moment
  later and four  motors burst into speech.
  On the water, the plane was clumsy−appearing. Its  nose reared up. It was huge, with the long wings that
  meant tremendous  lift, but with wings so angled that they signified speed as well.
  Monk cast off the mooring ropes as Long Tom and Ham  clambered aboard. The roar of the motors increased
  in pitch.
  Far down the river, a launch was approaching. Spray  curled, destroyer−fashion, from its bow. It was headed
  directly toward  the Hidalgo Trading Co. warehouse.
  Ham eased into the co−pilot’s seat beside the bronze  man. A carefully applied handkerchief restored his usual
  appearance of  freshness. He glanced down the river.
  "Visitors on the way, Doc," he said laconically. Doc  Savage revved each motor in turn. The amphibian
  moved out slowly,  drifting with the current.
  "I expected them," the bronze man said quietly. 
  The launch was close now. A gun could be seen on its  bow. It was an efficient−appearing gun, quite large
  enough to destroy  an amphibian. A man appeared from the cabin, waved his hand frantically.
  Monk’s face appeared suddenly in the pilot’s  compartment. He wore a worried look.
  "Step on it, Doc!" he howled hoarsely. "They’ll be  on us in a minute!" Behind him was Long Tom. The
  electrical wizard’s  features also showed strain.
  The bronze man pushed forward on the wheel, drew  back the throttle. The amphibian leaped like a race horse
  from a  starting stall.
  A yell of dismay came from the launch. It was close  enough to make out the features of the men aboard. A
  police lieutenant  held a megaphone, bawled a frantic order.
  "Hold it, Doc Savage! You can’t take off now!"
  For answer, Doc smiled. Once more he pressed forward  on the wheel, pulled back the throttle. The amphibian
  shot ahead, then  rose into the air like a graceful bird, circled the police launch.
  Down below there was much confusion. The police  lieutenant yelled again through the megaphone.
  "Stop!" he bellowed. "Where are you going?"
  His voice carried to the plane, which wasn’t so high  up. 
  "To Hidalgo, of course, you mug!" bellowed Monk. A  delighted grin creased his homely features. "They
  can’t stop us now!"
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter VI. DEATH CALLS
  28
  
  "No?" Ham turned a look of withering scorn on the  hairy chemist. "You think they can’t, you baboon! They
  couldn’t,  probably, if you had kept your mouth shut. Now�"
  "What did I do?" Monk howled belligerently.
  "Oh, nothing!" Sarcasm blistered from Ham’s tongue.  "Just nothing at all. Here we are up against a clever
  opponent who  found out someway that we were not headed to Europe, but to Hidalgo,  and tipped off the state
  department to get us stopped. Then what do you  do but bellow out the truth!"
  "Well, what of it?" Monk looked hurt. "We’re in the  air, aren’t we? They can’t stop us."
  Ham’s shoulders lifted in a long sigh. "I don’t  suppose it ever occurred to that simian brain of yours that there
  is an  air division of the Coast Guard, did it? If they really want to stop  us, they’ll send a fast plane after us as
  soon as that copper reports.  We couldn’t get away then without a fight, and you know we couldn’t  fight."
  Monk’s big frame suddenly seemed to shrink. He did  his best to hide his head. "I�I didn’t think of that," he
  admitted  sheepishly. "But if we don’t get there, at least Renny and Johnny will."
  RENNY and Johnny didn’t think they would reach any  place safely.
  The car elevator was moving downward so rapidly that  trees and rocks were only a blur on either side. The
  pulley on the  steel cable overhead whined and shrilled like a banshee.
  Johnny’s eyes watered even behind his glasses. His  hat whipped off. When he opened his mouth to yell, the
  wind tore the  sound away so swiftly it could not be heard.
  Renny stood fully erect in the car. His huge figure  seemed unaffected by the tremendous pressure of the
  wind. His enormous  arms were outstretched, so that the long fingers of his powerful fists  grasped each side of
  the car.
  He was looking over the side, his gaze placid and  unworried.
  "Always wanted to make a trip this fast sometime!"  he shouted.
  Johnny caught the words only faintly. "Inexplicable  exhibitionism of juvenile philosophy!" he screeched.
  The car sagged dangerously close to high knolls at  times. Again, it was a hundred feet in the air. Always there
  was the  danger it would overturn, would spill its occupants to instant death.
  And death could not be long delayed. The bottom of  the mountain could not be far away.
  Renny appeared to sigh deeply. He loosed the grip of  one huge paw, reached down in the bottom of the car.
  He lifted up a  small derrick hook. There was a rope attached to the hook.
  The studious features of Johnny brightened as he saw  Renny lean over a side of the car. The big engineer
  dropped the hook.  His attitude was that of a man about to try for a trout.
  The car dipped toward a knoll. Renny jerked on the  rope. His face changed expression slightly as the car
  again rocketed  high in the air.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter VI. DEATH CALLS
  29
  
  "Missed!" he shouted.
  Trees were bigger now, on each side. They grow  bigger lower down on the mountains, where they can get
  more oxygen. And  that meant the end of the elevator ride was very close.
  Another knoll approached. Renny’s features set hard.  His thin mouth was more severe and grim than usual. It
  was compressed  so tightly he seemed to have no lips at all.
  Once more his enormous arms swung out, down, then  up. 
  Johnny didn’t need to hear his yell. He saw Renny’s  mouth open, saw the expression in his eyes.
  Without hesitation, Johnny loosed his grip on the  sides of the car, threw himself to the bottom.
  A thin, piercing wail cut the air. It grew louder.  It sounded as if thousands of saws were rasping against metal.
  Renny’s shirt split with the strain. Muscles knotted  in big bunches. Perspiration poured from his face. A
  small, white  streak of light came into view. It was a streak that cut across  directly above the level of the car
  top. The derrick hook appeared to  be holding that light in place.
  Johnny’s arms reached up, caught hold of the rope  attached to the hook. He braced his feet against the side of
  the car,  poured all his strength into holding that streak of light motionless.
  A huge clasp was at the front of the car. It was  used to hold the car in place at its terminal.
  Now, Renny moved that clasp around, screwed it down  slowly on the streak of light.
  THE sound of buzz saws increased. Smoke curled up  from about the clasp. The streak of light appeared to
  dance.
  Then it became apparent what that streak of light  was. It was the lower end of the two wires upon which the
  elevator  depended�the wire that had been cut.
  It was moving upward as fast as the car was  traveling downward. Loose and uncontrolled, it would slice
  through a  man’s body easier than the keenest knife.
  Johnny’s eyes had a harried look behind his glasses.  His arms were as rigid and immovable as steel. The
  slightest slip, the  slightest slackening of pressure on the hook against the wire, would  cause it to leap and
  whirl. Renny would be directly in its path.
  The big engineer showed no indication of fear. His  bony monstrosities of fists were slowly squeezing the
  clamp tighter  against the wire.
  The car pitched up on its nose. Instantly, Renny  eased the pressure a trifle. As the car settled, he put that
  pressure  back.
  The car’s speed was still that of a diving airplane,  but even so it had slackened. Tightening of the clamp on
  the wire was  acting as a brake.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter VI. DEATH CALLS
  30
  
  Slowly, carefully, Renny increased that pressure.  The car bucked like a rodeo bronco. The world gradually
  took on a more  calm appearance.
  Time seemed to stand still. Crimson showed in a long  gash on one of Renny’s arms where it had barely
  brushed the speeding  wire. The car’s pace slowed to that of a slow−moving auto.
  "O. K., Johnny, get set!" Renny said quickly.
  The car crashed. The two aids were hurled out. But  they had landed with only minor bruises.
  Near them lay another body. It was that of the  watchman supposed to be on duty at all times at the bottom of
  the  elevator. He had been shot neatly through the brain.
  "Seems like some one didn’t want us to go where  we’re going," Renny observed without humor.
  "A platitudinous observation, but justifiable,"  Johnny agreed dryly.
  Fifteen minutes later, they lifted their plane from  a South American field and headed northward.
  Neither spoke of the peril that was just past.  Neither thought of the perils that might be ahead. It was just as
  well  they did not know what was in store for them.
  Chapter VII. A SPIDER STRIKES
  WHITE, foamy clouds stretched for miles in either  direction. They appeared solid, except where a shaft of
  sunlight drove  through. Then it could be seen they were as filmy and intangible as a  spider’s web. 
  In the center of those white billows was a darker  spot. It darted and circled rapidly, over and under, in and out
  of the  white web, much as a spider does. But it emitted a deafening roar. It  did not pounce noiselessly on
  helpless prey as does the spider.
  Otherwise, the simile was quite correct. The plane  that was seeking shelter in the clouds high over Florida not
  only  resembled a spider with the clouds for its web, but its purpose was the  same: It also was preparing to
  stalk prey.
  Inside the plane there was little sound. Words of  the men who sat there were quite audible.
  "They should come soon," said one. His voice was  thick, guttural. Heavy, protruding eyebrows masked small
  eyes in an  aggressive face.
  "Bah! They should not have been permitted to leave  New York at all. The United States is too easy with Doc
  Savage," said a  second.
  Fingers of one hand twirled the ends of a tiny,  waxed mustache. Shoulders shrugged expressively.
  The third occupant of the cabin turned from the  window. "What are the reports?" he asked.
  His voice was flat, lifeless, without expression,  but it brought an amazing change in his two companions.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter VII. A SPIDER STRIKES
  31
  
  "Just a moment, Leader," the heavyset man said  excitedly. His aggressive face shone with eagerness.
  "Permit me to get them, Leader," exclaimed his  smaller companion. The ends of his mustache bobbed up and
  down rapidly.
  "I have just come from the radio!" boomed the first.
  "Me, I can answer the questions!" blurted the second.
  "Quiet, Louie. Calmly, Henry." The man called The  Leader did not raise his voice. It remained flat and
  lifeless. But a  chill was there, suddenly. Louie and Henry stilled as swiftly as they  had erupted.
  THE LEADER swung his eyes slowly from one to the  other. There was something malevolent about that
  look. It would have  been hard to describe at first. Then the reason would have been clear.
  The face was as lifeless as the voice. Only the eyes  seemed alive. The nose, cheeks, lips and chin were not
  unhandsome, but  they were devoid of all expression. Color was in the cheeks, the lips  were pink. But that
  color appeared artificial.
  It was almost as if rouge and lipstick had been  used. The face might have belonged to a corpse. It seemed
  impossible  that it belonged to a living man. Yet power was reflected there, and a  ruthless will.
  "You first, Louie," that cold, dead voice said.
  "We have just heard from Blanco Grande," the big man  said hurriedly. "Everything, it is going according to
  plan. The  soldiers have revolted. The country is in an uproar."
  "And President Avispa?"
  "I�uh�I regret to say he has not yet surrendered."  The big man appeared frightened, suddenly. Beads of
  perspiration  appeared on his forehead. "It�it seems he was well loved by many of his  people. Not all the
  troops revolted. The palace is still holding out,  although it is only a matter of�"
  The chill look in the other’s eyes stopped him.  Those eyes were as merciless now as his face.
  "Do the men so soon forget the hand of death?" that  cold, dead voice asked.
  Louis’s hands shook openly. He moistened his lips  with a thick tongue. "No," he said hastily. "It is just a
  minor delay.  They will be in command by the time we reach there."
  "And your report, Henry?"
  The small man twisted the ends of his mustache  nervously. "All, it is well. The unit organizations in each
  country are  progressing rapidly. From England, France, Germany, Russia and others,  the reports come in. All
  wait the word from The Leader."
  The hum of the plane’s motors came but faintly. The  ship twisted and turned through the sky.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter VII. A SPIDER STRIKES
  32
  
  "It is well," the dead−voiced man said at last. For  just a moment a flash of hate lighted his eyes. "We should
  have headed  directly for Hidalgo, but the men I sent to New York failed. The world  is within my grasp. I will
  win, but it is necessary to eliminate Doc  Savage. Soon his plane will be coming by here. And then�"
  Strange smiles lighted the faces of Louie and Henry.  Their eyes dropped to a queer apparatus on the floor of
  the cabin.
  "WE are making good time, Doc," Long Tom said  laconically.
  "We can’t make too good time to suit me," Ham said  anxiously. "I’ll be glad when we leave the United States
  far behind."
  "A shyster that can talk like you shouldn’t be  worried," Monk grumbled. "You’re supposed to be able to talk
  your way  out of anything." The hairy chemist sighed. "I wish Habeas was along.  It would be a pleasure to
  look at a face that doesn’t have law written  all over it."
  At the start of the trip Doc had requested that the  pets be left behind because of the danger that they would
  meet, much to  the chagrin of both Ham and Monk.
  "That hog?" Ham sniffed contemptuously. "Now if  Chemistry were here�"
  "We are nearing the outer coast of Florida," Doc cut  in quietly. "Soon we will be beyond the jurisdiction of
  the Coast  Guard."
  "And if we are stopped?" Ham asked.
  "I am sure we can explain to the state department,"  the bronze man said. "That would take time, however. I
  trust that will  not be necessary."
  Clouds were moving in on the plane. Long Tom moved  to the radio compartment. He placed a pair of
  headphones over his ears  and twisted a dial. A startled expression crossed his face.
  With one move, the thin electrical wizard yanked the  headphones from his ears, raced toward the front of the
  plane.
  "Another ship is near by!" he shouted. "I heard the  roar of her motors over the airphone!"
  "I know. It is to our right, and above us," the  bronze man said. He twisted the controls slightly, plunged the
  plane  into a cloud bank to the left.
  Long Tom’s mouth dropped open. He knew Doc Savage  had exceptional hearing, that the long, rigid training
  the bronze man  had followed since childhood had made his ears super−keen, but even so  Long Tom was
  surprised.
  The airphone was tuned delicately. It was designed  to pick up the slightest motor roar at the distance of
  several miles.  Even so, the sound that had come to Long Tom’s ears through the headset  had been only
  moderately loud.
  "The Coast Guard?" breathed Monk. A look of childish  disappointment was on his homely face.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter VII. A SPIDER STRIKES
  33
  
  "There are numerous pleasure craft about here," Ham  put in hopefully.
  "The plane is drawing closer," Doc said quietly.
  "In those clouds?" Monk asked incredulously. His  look of disappointment changed to one of acute dismay.
  "Some of the Coast Guard planes use airphones, also,  you hairy ape!" Ham said bitterly. "They use them to
  help locate  smugglers who use planes. You would pop off and talk too much!"
  Doc looked thoughtful.
  "WE are drawing close to them," Louis said  jubilantly. His eyes under their big eyebrows were shining
  wickedly.  Headphones were over his ears.
  "This�this Doc Savage, he is a tough man to go up  against," Henry said hesitantly.
  "Bah!" Anger flared in the malevolent eyes of The  Leader. "Who is he? Just an adventurer who has been
  lucky. He will not  escape me!"
  "I�I wish we could use the hand of death," Henry  muttered, half to himself.
  The pale, ghastly white features of The Leader spun  toward him.
  "That’s child’s play," he said in that cold, dead  voice. "And it would not work at any distance. The hand of
  death is  only to impress and kill fools. Doc Savage, I’ll admit, is no fool. But  what we are going to do�" He
  broke off, turned toward the queer  apparatus on the floor of the plane.
  "The roar of the motors is much louder!" Louie  yelled excitedly. "We must be almost up with them!"
  The Leader glanced out a window. The clouds were  thinning. The spot could not have been better chosen for
  an ambush. A  swift drop, and then� 
  A signal was given the pilot. The plane turned up on  one wing, dived downward. A second ship appeared
  below them. It was a  big, four−motored amphibian.
  "THEY’VE caught us," Ham said wearily.
  Doc’s flake gold eyes were looking upward. A plane  was shooting down from above. On the sides of that
  plane were the  insignia of the Coast Guard.
  "I’m sorry," Monk said. For once his voice was quite  humble.
  "Can’t you outrun them?" Long Tom broke in heatedly. 
  "We are carrying too heavy a load. The speed of our  plane is not up to that of the one they are using," Doc
  said concisely.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter VII. A SPIDER STRIKES
  34
  
  The bronze man’s eyes narrowed slightly.
  The other plane had dropped until it was almost  level with them. The helmeted head of the pilot could be seen
  through  the side.
  But no signal was being given them to land. 
  "Something queer about this," Ham breathed. A  puzzled look passed over his features.
  "Maybe," Monk began, "they’re not goin’�"
  He broke off. Doc had wrenched hard on the controls.  The big amphibian went into a barrel roll, straightened
  out and dived.
  Monk hit the top of the cabin, rolled and came up  sputtering. Long Tom sprawled his length. Ham’s features
  went white.
  They all saw then what Doc had seen an instant  before. 
  The plane bearing the Coast Guard insignia had  turned toward them slightly, then its nose had gone up.
  And as the nose went up, a long, dark shape hurtled  from the bottom of that ship. It headed directly toward
  the amphibian.
  "An aërial torpedo!" whispered Ham.
  The fake Coast Guard plane pivoted, rose slightly,  then leveled off. The aërial torpedo whizzed swiftly
  through the air.
  Once more Doc whipped the big amphibian around. He  looped, did tricks few pilots would ever have
  attempted with so large a  ship. The plane should have been far removed from the course of the  torpedo.
  "It’s following us!" howled Monk.
  Long Tom’s eyes were bulging. Ham was sitting  upright, hands clenched.
  Doc’s eyes swept the scene. As he twisted and  dodged, the torpedo went through the same motions.
  Up above, the fake Coast Guard plane loafed easily. 
  "It’s radio−controlled! We can’t escape!" cried Long  Tom. Doc was a master pilot. Under his hands the
  amphibian became as  nimble as a pursuit ship. But in vain.
  With every twist of the amphibian, the torpedo made  a similar turn. A small screw behind it beat frantically.
  Short, stubby  wings made it a flying engine�and a flying bomb.
  And the aërial torpedo was fast. It was gaining.  Slowly but surely, it was overtaking Doc’s ship!
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter VII. A SPIDER STRIKES
  35
  
  Chapter VIII. A TRAP CLOSES
  A GRIM expression came over the face of the bronze  man. The big plane was wide open. The throttle was
  pulled to the last  notch. Her four giant motors seemed to be trying to tear their way from  the wing sockets.
  But escape that way was impossible.
  Doc gave a faint signal. As Ham seized the controls,  the bronze man slipped from the cabin. With Long Tom
  at his heels, he  went into the tiny radio control room of the plane.
  Monk slipped into the co−pilot seat. His features  worked with futile rage.
  "Daggonit," he howled, "if we could only get above  that thing, I could drop down on top of it!"
  "Try sticking your head out a window!" Ham  blistered. "If it sees you, it’ll probably get scared and run
  away." 
  The fact that Monk failed to reply to that one  caused Ham to turn around. He could hardly see Monk for his
  mouth. It  was open, wide. When the chemist did that, his head all but  disappeared. Monk just pointed.
  The dapper Ham stared. His eyes opened wide, his jaw  dropped.
  The aërial torpedo was no longer pursuing them!
  As they watched, it appeared to hesitate. It wabbled  and twisted. Then it spun, its nose going up as it turned.
  The aërial torpedo headed back, directly toward the  ship from which it had come!
  ABOARD the other ship there was sudden confusion.  The man called The Leader who had been watching
  with a frozen face,  leaped to his feet, raced toward the radio room.
  Henry was sputtering unintelligible words. His arms  were waving wildly.
  "It’s turned around! It’s coming for us! I can do  nothing!"
  The Leader’s malevolent eyes became hard. "Get out,"  he said, in that cold, flat voice. "I can control this."
  Louie’s big form appeared behind him. The Leader  worked keys rapidly. The aërial torpedo came on,
  twisting and dogging  as the pilot of the fake Coast Guard plane went through maneuvers even  as Doc had
  gone through them a few short seconds before.
  Without change of expression, The Leader turned to  Louie. He whispered a few words in the other’s ear. The
  big man nodded,  raced out of the radio room.
  The Leader rose, motioned to Henry. "Take it. The  torpedo is harmless now." Henry’s eyes were
  fear−stricken, but he  obeyed. The Leader’s eyes narrowed slightly. He closed the door of the  radio room
  behind him.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter VIII. A TRAP CLOSES
  36
  
  A moment later, and his air of calm had disappeared.  The torpedo was gaining, it was coming closer with
  each passing  instant. The frozen−faced man raced to the belly of the big ship.
  Louie was already there, was pushing himself into a  small opening. The Leader crammed himself in a similar
  one.
  Louie looked up questioningly. The other nodded.  With a heave of mighty muscles, the big man jerked down
  on a lever.
  The next instant they were falling. A tiny plane had  dropped away from the belly of the big ship. Wings shot
  out from its  side. A motor roared.
  The Leader scarcely looked around as the aërial  torpedo hit the plane he had just deserted. Safe with Louie in
  a small,  swift pursuit plane, he showed no concern over the fact that he had  tricked the man that he had left
  behind. That he had died.
  But his eyes were terrible in their anger. He had  come to grips with Doc Savage. He had lost�this time. But
  next� 
  DOC’S big four−motored plane was more than a mile  away when the fake Coast Guard plane appeared to
  dissolve in air. He  swung the big amphibian toward the speeding dot of the pursuit ship.
  It was useless. The tiny plane was merely a blur of  motion. Even as he looked, it dived into a cloud bank and
  disappeared.
  "That was unfortunate," the bronze man said. "But we  can hardly be responsible for that."
  Monk’s breath came out in a slow sigh. His mouth  closed like a big hinge. Eyes still staring, he surrendered
  his seat to  Doc.
  "Dang it," he complained, "I saw it, but I still  don’t believe it. Just what happened?"
  "There are two types of aërial torpedoes," Doc said  quietly. "One is radio−controlled at will. The other, like
  this one,  was newer. The two planes, the sender and the object to be destroyed,  complete a radio−wave
  circuit. The torpedo rides the beam. No matter  what the direction the pursued ship takes, the torpedo will
  follow."
  "But this one turned around!" Monk howled. "It  destroyed the ship that fired it. How come?"
  "The same principle as reversing a motor on an  alternating current. We have stronger apparatus than they
  have. I  merely reversed the beam."
  "But two of them got away at that," Ham said  regretfully.
  "Yeah, and at the speed they were making, they’ll  get to Hidalgo long before we will," Long Tom put in
  dolefully.
  "That may not be fatal," Ham said dryly. "Johnny and  Renny are closer than we are. They should get there
  first. And they  should be able to handle one pair, at least."
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter VIII. A TRAP CLOSES
  37
  
  "If they get there," Monk said pessimistically.
  As if in answer to his words, a light began to flash  on and off on the switchboard at the radio controls. It
  showed that a  message was coming in on the special micro−wave length used by Doc and  his aids.
  Long Tom sprang to the board, pressed a switch.
  "Conditions deemed meritorious for incursion of  landing terrain," the emotionless voice of Johnny droned
  through the  loudspeaker. "Propugnaculum of legions of Avispa seem in prepotency."
  Long Tom looked quickly at Doc, then spoke into the  small microphone.
  "All right, then," he clipped. "If Avispa’s soldiers  are in control of the landing field, go on down. We’ll be
  seeing you."
  RENNY looked over a side of the plane. The little  joystick was almost invisible in one huge hand. But those
  enormous  fists that could smash a solid oak panel were as sensitive as a  mother’s touch on the stick. The
  plane wheeled slowly as he picked up  wind direction and prepared to land.
  Below them was scattered fighting through the  streets of Blanco Grande. That Central American city looked
  far  different than when Doc’s aids had first seen it.
  The presidential palace had been rebuilt. Now it was  one of the wonder spots. There was a great modern
  hospital that Doc had  ordered built. That building and its highly trained staff had  practically banished disease
  from all Hidalgo.
  Gold from the Valley of the Vanished had made that  possible, just as the same gold had financed Doc in his
  fight on  evil−doers.
  "Yeah, gold in proper hands can be of lots of good,  but if the wrong guy had it�" Renny spoke almost to
  himself.
  Soldiers in the uniform of the Republic of Hidalgo  were putting dark, brown−clad men to rout all over the
  city. Bursts of  smoke came from rifles, and brown−clad men fell in the streets. At the  airport itself, a large
  contingent of soldiers stood on guard. They  waved wildly to the approaching plane.
  "Looks like they’ve got the beggars on the run,"  Renny said.
  "We must get to Carlos Avispa before any untoward  interposition by the criminals changes that tide," Johnny
  commented.
  Renny moved forward the stick and the plane  flattened into a glide, began to descend slowly. The soldiers
  were  waving and shouting even more than before. It was as if they were  hailing rescuers from the sky.
  The big engineer frowned slightly as his eyes combed  the crowd for sight of the distinguished figure of
  Avispa. If his  soldiers had really been victorious, it was not unlikely that the  white−haired president of
  Hidalgo would be at the flying field to greet  them.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter VIII. A TRAP CLOSES
  38
  
  The motor roared as Renny gunned it, dropped one  wing of the plane in a quick turn; then they were
  swooping down, and  the wheels touched the ground gently in a perfect three−point landing.
  Soldiers were rushing toward them from all parts of  the field.
  "Viva! Viva!" 
  came the cries.
  "Viva, nothing!" 
  Renny growled. "I’ll be durned glad to get my feet on the ground."  He hoisted his big frame out of the
  cockpit. Johnny already had dropped  from the ship. 
  "An extraordinary welcome�" Johnny began. Then he  paused. The half−starved look on his face changed to
  one of incredulous  wonder.
  "Renny!" he yelled.
  "Holy cow!" roared Renny.
  Somewhere, a sharp voice had barked out an order.  The soldiers stopped cheering. Bayoneted rifles swung up
  as they raced  forward.
  "Surrender!" came the harsh command.
  JOHNNY and Renny already were several paces from  their plane. The odds against them were
  overwhelming. With smiles wiped  from their faces, Doc’s two aids forgot all about the military strategy  that
  says "do not fight a useless battle."
  They went into action!
  A strangled roar came from Renny as he leaped  forward. His hamlike fists clubbed out like bludgeons. Two
  soldiers  sank to the ground as if they had suddenly been mesmerized. Their  uniforms were split, and beneath
  the colorful dress garb of the Hidalgo  presidential guards, khaki uniform showed plainly.
  Johnny dived to the plane, reached inside. He came  out with his superfiring machine−pistol even as a soldier
  leaped for  him. The starved−appearing geologist tripped his attacker, brought the  pistol up. He was too busy
  even to use a big word.
  The gun moaned in his hands. A wave of soldiers went  down like wheat before a reaper.
  The blast cleared the way so Renny could reach the  plane and get his machine−pistol. He whirled, crouched
  low. His weapon,  too, went into action with a bullfiddle moan. The phony guards went  down like tenpins.
  "We’ve got to get word to Doc!" Renny howled.
  "Get word to him yourself!" came a bellow from  Johnny. It had probably been years since he had used such
  simple words.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter VIII. A TRAP CLOSES
  39
  
  As their machine−pistols moaned and coughed, the  uniformed men screamed, broke back.
  Blam! Blam!
  A rifle spoke sharply, twice. Lead pinged into the  plane behind their backs. Johnny and Renny ducked, firing
  steadily.  Only "mercy" bullets were in their weapons�bullets that brought quick  unconsciousness, but not
  death; but their foes did not know that.
  Then the tide of the battle turned. Behind the wave  of retreating figures, a soldier set up a Lewis gun on a
  tripod.  Sandbags were in front of him. A cruel leer was on his face.
  The gun started with a deadly chatter, even before  his own retreating confederates were past him. Three of
  them fell,  filled with his machine−gun lead.
  Doc’s aids dropped, rolled. Dirt kicked up in front  of them. They pressed themselves flat on the earth. There
  was a tiny  rise in the ground between them and the machine−gunner. It made them  more difficult targets.
  But the machine−gunner chopped his gun down. The  slugs tore off that little rise of ground, sent it flying
  away in a  cloud of dust. Bullets tore through Renny’s clothing. The deadly rain  of lead came nearer� 
  A voice roared suddenly from a loudspeaker at the  edge of the field.
  "Do not kill them, fool! We must take them alive.  Until Doc Savage is dead, they must live. By torturing
  them, we may  bring the bronze man to terms."
  The machine gun stopped chattering. Instantly,  Johnny and Renny were on their feet. They turned, dashed
  toward their  plane.
  A veritable wave of men rushed around that plane  toward them. A yellowish vapor was pouring from a large
  tank in the  arms of the leading man.
  Johnny coughed. Renny felt as if his muscles had  suddenly gone powerless. The machine−pistol dropped
  from his hands.  Figures wearing gas masks poured over him.
  Arms flaying the air instinctively, his huge fists  knocking down men right and left, the big engineer went on.
  His clawing  hands caught a side of the plane. He felt as if his lungs were  bursting. Arms caught him about the
  legs, tried to hold him back.
  With the last ounce of his tremendous strength,  Renny jerked himself forward, fell head down in the cockpit
  of the  plane. His head collided with the radio switchboard. He tried to shout.
  It was too late. He could not. He slumped down,  unconscious.
  Chapter IX. THE SKIES EXPLODE
  FAR to the north, in Doc’s big plane, the radio  control board light flashed again. Once more, Long Tom
  tuned in on the  micro−wave. A voice came in steadily.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter IX. THE SKIES EXPLODE
  40
  
  It used none of Johnny’s long words. It was a  compact message, designed to pack the most meaning in the
  fewest words:
  "Overpowered by enemy. Too many to tackle. Turn  back. Use other plans."
  Doc Savage’s flake gold eyes opened slightly. His  mouth tightened.
  "They’ve been trapped!" Monk’s voice was a moan.
  "I don’t see how�" Long Tom gulped.
  "Evidently they mistook hostile forces for the loyal  troops of President Avispa," the bronze man said crisply.
  For a moment there was silence. Ham’s brow was  furrowed. He knew, as did the rest, that the very wording
  of the  warning they had received indicated that Johnny and Renny had been  overcome.
  It was a warning designed to indicate that very  thing.
  Small, easily concealed dictographs were hidden just  under the radio board on all the planes used by Doc’s
  men. Pressure of  a button was all that was necessary to broadcast one of several  prepared messages. Renny
  had banged his head against the button that  controlled the one he wanted to send.
  "If no one saw Renny get that warning off, maybe we  can surprise them," Ham exclaimed.
  "More and more, we are having evidence that the man  we are opposing is not only clever, but has sources of
  information that  has enabled him to anticipate us," the bronze man said slowly.
  Monk roared, thrust out his powerful arms. Monk  always was a direct actionist. Trickery might be all right,
  but he  preferred stronger methods.
  "Let’s go on and take ‘em!" he howled. "We’ll knock  ‘em clean to the Pacific!"
  "One shot, if it struck this plane in the right  place, and we’d be the ones who would be knocked clean to the
  Pacific,"  Long Tom commented dryly.
  "Can’t we let Monk get there somehow in any case?"  Ham asked pleasantly. "They would think they had
  harmed us if they  chopped him up, and that certainly would be fooling them."
  "Why, you encyclopedia of reversed decisions!" Monk  bellowed. "If I wasn’t better than you, I’d take a
  parachute jump  without the parachute!"
  Ham pulled open a large window of the control cabin  and smiled. "I think it’s big enough," he said
  significantly.
  "Turn east," Doc interrupted evenly. He turned the  controls over to Ham. "Head for Havana. Give her all the
  speed she’s  got."
  HAM obeyed unhesitatingly. Conversation quieted. Doc  Savage had reached a decision. What it was, his aids
  did not know, nor  did they ask. The bronze man seldom revealed what he had in his mind  until it came time
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter IX. THE SKIES EXPLODE
  41
  
  to put that plan into execution.
  But they all knew that there must be a good reason,  or Doc would not be turning off their course when
  Johnny and Renny were  in danger.
  For time and time again, they had all seen instances  to show that Doc Savage’s first concern was the safety of
  his men. The  bronze giant would take terrific personal risks when his aids were in  the clear. But when he was
  the only agent that could free them, he made  sure they would be safe before he walked into almost certain
  death.
  Vital supplies were aboard the big amphibian. Ham  knew Doc would sacrifice those supplies willingly if it
  would aid  Johnny and Renny. But if not, those supplies had to be saved.
  Doc rose, went back into the cabin with Long Tom.  The green foliage of Cuba appeared before them.
  "Tilt the nose up," the bronze man instructed  briefly.
  The dapper lawyer obeyed. There was a faint jerk on  the plane. An object hurtled downward. Then a huge,
  white mushroom  appeared.
  Long Tom had bailed out. He was landing in Cuba.
  Doc watched Long Tom land, pick himself up and fold  the chute. As the unhealthy−appearing electrical
  genius headed for a  highway, the bronze man took the controls.
  "Where to now?" Monk growled.
  "Hidalgo," Doc answered briefly. "No stops until we  get there."
  Monk and Ham looked at each other questioningly.  They would have liked to know what Long Tom was
  going to do, but they  knew they would have to wait until Doc decided to tell them.
  The bronze man looked straight ahead. Tiny flakes in  his eyes looked like whirlwinds. His mouth was grim.
  FAR ahead of the big four−motored ship, a smaller  plane whipped along like a humming bird. It went so fast
  it was merely  a blur in the sky.
  The malevolent eyes of the man at the stick were  inscrutable. His face was set and lifeless. It had no
  expression. Radio  headphones were on his ears.
  The little plane was high in the air. It had to be.  The country below was rugged and wild. Just ahead was a
  mighty mountain  peak. It was on one of the two great Central American ranges that wedge  between them the
  Republic of Hidalgo.
  The great area between the two giant ranges was  traversed by half a dozen smaller but even more rugged
  groups of hills.  The whole scene presented a perfect spot for guerrilla banditry.
  It was almost impenetrable. The tiny ship topped the  big peak and glided down into the valley. Nearly in the
  center of it  was Blanco Grande.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter IX. THE SKIES EXPLODE
  42
  
  The pilot, his malevolent eyes glowing, circled and  spoke softly into the microphone slung before his mouth.
  Still  swinging, he waited for his answer.
  The view below him was one of beauty. Blanco  Grande’s crooked streets had been straightened. There were
  no squalid  shacks, but only great parks. Crystal−clear water played from  fountains. There was a great, white
  marble library that permitted the  education of those Hidalgans who wished to partake of it. Gold had done
  that for Blanco Grande.
  The vicious−eyed pilot saw, but was uninterested. He  thought only of the gold that had made the beauty of
  Blanco Grande  possible. The corners of his lifeless mouth lifted slightly. Gold!
  If the world only knew what he intended to do with  that gold, armies from every civilized nation would be
  sped by warships  under forced draft to block him. But the world did not know. When it  did learn, it would be
  too late.
  "Gold has been used in many ways, but never as I  intend to use it," The Leader assured himself.
  The earphones crackled slightly. He listened, then  turned to the big man in the tiny cockpit behind him. The
  slit that was  his mouth straightened.
  "The ones they call Renny and Johnny have been  captured," he said in that flat, expressionless voice. "They
  are being  held as hostages�or until I decree they must die."
  Again the earphones crackled into life. The  malevolent eyes of The Leader sparkled at what he heard.
  "The bronze man went off his course to fly over  Havana," he announced. "He circled and dropped the man
  known as Long  Tom. Our men lost trace of Long Tom, but he is believed to have headed  back for New York.
  "Doc Savage is worried. He should be. I am almost  glad we did not kill him in the clouds. I will be happy
  when he reach  Hidalgo. For then�" A mirthless chuckle came from between his thin lips.
  Louie shivered faintly; perspiration dampened his  fists. The big man did not hesitate to kill. He feared little.
  But he  did fear the lifeless−faced ruler who piloted the plane.
  If The Leader said he was glad Doc Savage would  reach Hidalgo, then it meant the brain behind those evil
  eyes had  concocted some terrible scheme.
  A GROUP of soldiers rushed out as the plane dropped  to the landing field at Blanco Grande. Gone were the
  fake uniforms that  had fooled Johnny and Renny. Now the soldiers of fortune were dressed  in khaki.
  At their head was a stocky, agate−eyed man in the  uniform of a general. His shoulders were broad, his eyes
  set a little  too close together. Copper−tinted features grave, he bowed low before  the figure approaching from
  the plane.
  When he raised his head, he endeavored to keep his  features calm. But fear showed there. A silence fell.
  Slowly, deliberately, The Leader raked him with his  malevolent, repelling eyes. They started at the feet and
  moved slowly  up to features that were turning ashen.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter IX. THE SKIES EXPLODE
  43
  
  General Juan Glassell’s mouth opened, then closed.  He ran a tongue over dry lips.
  "Glassell, you are a fool." The flat, lifeless tones  of the other were not raised. They did not need to be. There
  was a  chill in them like an icy blast.
  The big man in the general’s uniform tried to speak.  The words would not come. His throat seemed glued.
  "You were in command of the armed forces of  Hidalgo," that dreadful voice went on. "You assured me you
  could seize  control of this country within two hours. You failed."
  The Leader took a step forward. His lifeless face  jutted forward. Involuntarily, Glassell moved backward.
  "I�I�" he half shrieked. "How did I know so many  would remain loyal? How did I know we would have to
  kill so many?" He  gulped rapidly. "But we are winning! We will soon be in control!"
  The other looked at him for a long moment. "It must  be that way, you must win before to−morrow. If not�"
  "Not the hand of death, not that!" Glassell  screamed. 
  "Blanco Grande must be in our hands. It is the only  exit from the Valley of the Vanished. Unless we control
  that exit, we  could be trapped." The Leader spoke as if to himself.
  Some of Glassell’s color returned. "It shall be  done. We shall hold the city. There will be no attack on our
  rear when  we push ahead. We can even start part of the advance to−night."
  "You blundered also when you permitted this Doc  Savage’s men to send out word that they had been
  captured," the  cold−voiced one went on.
  General Glassell started with honest astonishment.  "But�but that is impossible! I was here myself! They
  could not�"
  The Leader held up a hand. "Enough. They did. But it  is just as well. This bronze man will rush here to rescue
  them. That is  what I want. Now here is what I want you to do�"
  THE Hidalgo airport became the scene of great  activity. Pursuit planes were rolled out, their motors warmed.
  Big  bombers trundled from their hangars. Pilots and observers swarmed about  them. At the edge of the field,
  antiaircraft guns were moved into  position.
  "His plane should be here in ten minutes." General  Glassell spoke excitedly. His close−set eyes were
  gleaming wickedly.  "Every report has been the same. It is the four−motored craft you  described. The
  markings are such they could not be counterfeited."
  Beside him the frozen−faced one nodded slightly.  "There is no question of that. His eyes narrowed, then he
  shrugged. "It  has taken him longer to reach here than I estimated, but that means  nothing."
  The pursuit planes took off. The bombers roared in  the air behind them. Up and up they soared. The pursuit
  ships were only  faint dots in the sky, the bombers far in the distance, when a huge  amphibian showed in the
  clear mountain air. At first, it was many miles  away. Then it was quite close.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter IX. THE SKIES EXPLODE
  44
  
  Relief showed suddenly in The Leader’s evil eyes.  "It is the right ship," he breathed. "At first I feared a trick,
  but  now�" 
  On and on came the amphibian. It circled the field,  high and suspiciously.
  The Leader lifted the microphone in front of him. He  spoke into it.
  Instantly, it seemed as if all hell had arrived.  There was the terrific roar and moan of diving motors. Pursuit
  ships  that had been hidden high above, smashed down, motors wide open in  desperate power dives. Machine
  guns rent the air like riveting hammers.
  Doc’s ship wheeled. It was clumsy by comparison with  the hornetlike attackers. Its big bulk seemed to loom
  large, make a  perfect target.
  But machine−gun bullets bounced off it like rain.
  "Armor−plated," The Leader sneered. "But wait!"
  The big amphibian was dodging and twisting with  amazing agility for so large a ship. Time and time again, it
  seemed to  dart directly out from under a rain of steel that would have been fatal.
  But gradually the attackers were closing in.  Squadron after squadron zoomed close. The bombers were
  coming down,  their observers firing fiercely.
  Then a second contingent of battle planes drew near.  Doc’s plane was locked in a perfect circle of enemy
  ships. It had no  way to escape. The pursuit planes drew aside to let the latest arrivals  close.
  Strange−looking weapons protruded from the sides of  these ships. Gradually they jockeyed close.
  Flame suddenly filled the air. Flame blasted with  tons of pressure from the muzzles of those queer−looking
  weapons. That  flame was white−hot. Even the watchers, far below, could see the armor  plating on the big
  amphibian melting. The flame cut through the steel  like an acetylene torch through a cheap boiler plate.
  The lips on the frozen−faced one twitched. His grin  was a horrible grimace.
  Then that grin vanished. Stark dismay flamed in his  malevolent eyes.
  ONE instant the entire sky was filled with fighting  ships. The next, and the sky was filled only with flames
  and flying  pieces of things that had been ships and men.
  The Leader had expected Doc’s plane to be carrying  explosives. He had counted on that to wipe out the
  bronze man and his  aids. But he hadn’t counted on the terrific destruction that occurred.
  Doc’s big ship vanished. It just wasn’t there. But  neither was the entire attacking fleet. The blast, when its
  concussion  reached the earth, flattened hangars, hurled men to the ground.
  Doc’s plane was blown not to bits, but to fine  powder. But with it every ship of that tremendous battle fleet
  was  destroyed!
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter IX. THE SKIES EXPLODE
  45
  
  Hidalgo’s entire fighting fleet had been destroyed.  But� 
  The evil sparkle returned to the malevolent eyes of  The Leader. Once more those lifeless lips twisted. He
  turned to General  Glassell.
  "The price was high," came that flat, cold voice.  "But it was worth it. Doc Savage was more dangerous to us
  than any  ordinary army would be. Now he is dead. He and his aids. And I am happy  that I watched him die."
  Chapter X. VIVA THE LEADER
  DARKNESS fell on Blanco Grande. But the night was  red. Streets resembled an old−fashioned torchlight
  parade. And there  was a revelry of victory such as no political celebration would have  dreamed about.
  Khaki−clad figures staggered drunkenly, waved  half−empty bottles in the air. They repeated one
  monotonous, victory  chant:
  "Doc Savage is dead! Viva The Leader! Doc  Savage is dead! Viva The Leader!
  Eyes stared wildly. Sometimes they glanced about  nervously, only to start and continue their celebration.
  There could be  no doubt about it. Doc Savage was dead!
  That decision had not been reached at once even  after the terrific explosion in the sky. Hundreds of men had
  been put  to work. Carefully, they had picked up every piece of wreckage, every  part of a human body they
  could find.
  Enough pieces of the big amphibian had been found to  identify it positively. There could be no mistake. It
  had been Doc’s  plane.
  Identification of bodies had been more difficult.  They had been torn into thousands of pieces. But one
  unanswerable clue  had been found:
  Among the shattered fragments that had been men, had  been found a queer substance, several pieces of it, in
  fact. That  substance had been tested. It was crimson−soaked underwear of the type  only Doc and his men
  wore.
  That had convinced even The Leader.
  And as revelry reigned in the streets, the  frozen−faced one and General Glassell sat comfortably in the
  traitor’s  well−furnished offices. As sound of the celebration penetrated those  offices, Glassell smiled happily.
  "With one stroke, you have insured victory," he  complimented. "Even those who have stood with President
  Avispa will  quail now. The bronze man was their only hope."
  The frozen−faced one nodded slightly. His eyes  darkened as the shrill echo of shots came to his ears.
  "But those at the palace are stubborn. They still  fight on." He shrugged, his lifeless face unchanging. "It does
  not  matter. We can localize the fighting there. You have dispatched more  troops toward the palace?"
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter X. VIVA THE LEADER
  46
  
  "As you ordered. None can stand against the force I  have dispatched. Every instrument of modern warfare is
  included in the  equipment�everything but planes."
  "The loss of those planes was regrettable, but need  not concern us," the other said in cold, clipped tones.
  "More could be  ordered, but we will not need them. Before they will have arrived, we  will have conquered."
  "And then?" There was a sly, shrewd look in  Glassell’s close−set eyes.
  "Then I am ready." For the first time a note of  hardness, a grim hint of implacable power and greed, broke
  through that  flat voice. "Authority such as no man has ever had will be in my hands.  Dictators, kings,
  emperors and czars of the past will be as nothing  compared to me."
  "But how�"
  General Glassell’s voice choked, his face paled. The  other’s repelling eyes had swept over him, once. That
  was enough.
  "It is not well to ask too many questions," the  frozen−faced one told him. "The secret of how that power is
  coming to  me is known to me alone. No one else can guess, no one else will  know�until it is too late."
  From outside came that steady, monotonous shout:
  "Doc Savage is dead! Viva The Leader! Doc  Savage is dead. Viva The Leader!"
  THE cries filtered dimly through a subterranean  passage. They reverberated hollowly against walls of stone.
  The walls  were damp, cold and clammy. But the two men leaning against them felt  just as damp and just as
  clammy.
  Sweat�the cold sweat of horror�oozed from the pores  of Renny and Johnny.
  "If Doc is gone, it doesn’t matter much what  happens to us," Renny said.
  Johnny was slow in replying. His grief was heavy.
  "Doc had to get it sometime, I suppose," he said in  a low voice. Under stress of emotion he had returned to
  simple words.  "But if he’d only had a chance to fight�"
  The guards had told the two men all about it. They  had told it with great glee. Their description had been
  complete. They  had even revealed the fact that look−outs had been watching Doc and his  men all the time,
  and that Long Tom had landed in Havana.
  Renny shuddered. That chant of death came again  through the cell window. "And Monk and Ham went with
  him. There were  six of us. Now there are only three. Long Tom’s the only one left,  outside of us."
  "And we are incapacitated by lack of locomotion,"  Johnny said crisply. His eyes narrowed behind their
  glasses. His  half−starved features set.
  Renny looked at him quickly. The big engineer’s  puritanical face became severe. His thin mouth compressed
  tightly.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter X. VIVA THE LEADER
  47
  
  "I see what you mean!" he snapped. "Doc wouldn’t  want us to quit, just because he is gone. He’d want us to
  carry on, to  do what we were supposed to do."
  His huge frame swung toward the door. His  monstrosities of fists battered furiously. He was accustomed to
  smashing through doors with those fists. This one was different. Skin  came from his knuckles. The door did
  not move. It was of iron.
  Johnny gestured faintly toward one side of the  dungeon. Renny looked that way and his eyes opened slightly,
  his  features became even more thin and disapproving.
  Mortar appeared chipped and flaky around one huge  stone in one side of the cell. Some previous occupant
  had undoubtedly  spent hours working away at that mortar, buoyed by undying hope.
  Softly, despite his bulk, Johnny eased to the stone.  His powerful fingers brushed the mortar away. Then those
  fingers jammed  in hard, caught a firm grip.
  Muscles rose in huge ridges on his back,  perspiration broke from his face. The big stone creaked. Fine dust
  flew  out. Renny moved over, caught Johnny about the waist, added his  ponderous weight.
  There was a dull, crunching sound. The huge stone  came out.
  In the corridor outside the cell a guard laughed  jeeringly. "Birds do not fly from this cage, señors," he called
  bitingly.
  With disappointed eyes, Doc’s two aids looked into  the hole left by the huge stone. Behind that hole was
  another stone,  equally as big. The cell was a veritable fortress. Escape was  impossible.
  "Maybe Avispa can win out without our help," Renny  said. But his voice showed that he had no such hope.
  NOR did President Avispa hold any such hope, either.  Despair was written on a face that once had known
  only smiles. Harsh  lines of worry had wiped out his look of kindliness.
  Shoulders that once had been powerful, now were  bowed with sorrow and disappointment. His head was
  cupped in strong,  well−formed hands. His eyes had a look of grief and resignation.
  Words dinned into his ears, words shouted by a  drunken, boisterous mob of khaki−clad men that encircled
  the palace.
  "Doc Savage is dead! Viva The Leader! Doc  Savage is dead. Viva The Leader!"
  A scattered volley of rifle shots sounded, near at  hand. The monotonous chant broke off, but only for a
  moment. Soon it  was resumed.
  A small man slipped into the room. His face was  bloody, his clothes torn.
  Avispa’s head came up. For a moment hope lighted his  eyes; then that hope died as he saw the look on the
  other’s features.
  "It is so?" he asked needlessly.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter X. VIVA THE LEADER
  48
  
  "There is no doubt about it, my president," the  little man said. "I myself saw the pieces of the plane and
  the�the  other things that show the bronze man is dead."
  For a moment President Avispa did not speak. He was  thinking�thinking back into the past, as the old
  sometimes do. Clark  Savage, Sr., had been his friend. Clark Savage Jr. had been his friend.  Now both were
  gone. He had respected the elder Savage, but he had had  an affection for Doc such as he had had for no other
  living man.
  But Doc was gone. And enemies were pressing ever  harder.
  "What else did you learn?"
  The man hesitated. It was as if he did not care to  be the bearer of evil tidings.
  "The two known as Renny and Johnny are captives," he  mumbled at last. "They are held in the dungeon,
  where none can get at  them. From words I heard dropped by liquor−loosened tongues, they are  to be
  executed."
  A sudden shout went up from outside the palace. A  machine gun wrote rapidly. And the words it wrote were
  death. Rifles  cracked.
  "An attack!" the little man breathed.
  Avispa grew old again. He slumped in his chair.  "They are few. My men are loyal, but why should we fight a
  useless  battle? Why shouldn’t I surrender and at least save their lives?"
  "No! No, my president!" The little man fairly  spouted words. "That cannot be! I did not want to tell! But now
  I must!"
  "There is worse to come?" Avispa asked  incredulously. 
  The small man gulped, and nodded. "They are boasting  in the streets of what they are to do," he said
  brokenly. "Those of us  who are captured alive are to be tortured in ways that make the blood  run cold. Never
  surrender. If you are not killed in the final fighting,  then�"
  Slowly, with hands that shook, President Avispa  reached into a drawer, brought out a pistol. "I understand, mi
  amigo. One bullet I shall save for myself."
  A second, then a third machine gun joined the  riotous chorus of death beyond the palace walls. A pitiful line
  of  defenders hunted cover, praying only that the end would be a merciful  one.
  THE men manning those machine guns outside the  palace were angry. They alone had been kept on duty.
  While others drank  and celebrated, they were forced to work.
  "Let’s get it over with!" a hardboiled sergeant  snarled fiercely. "The quicker we wipe out that bunch of rats in
  there,  the quicker we can have some fun ourselves!"
  "They at least are a stubborn bunch of rats!" a  corporal grated.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter X. VIVA THE LEADER
  49
  
  Sullen murmurs swept the ranks of the attackers. The  monotonous chorus of the revelers brought only fierce
  swearing.
  A tall figure came swaying down the street. He was  dressed as a captain. Or he had been in a captain’s
  uniform. Now that  uniform was ripped and torn. A civilian’s hat was pulled down tightly  over his head. He
  held a bottle high in one hand.
  "Doc Savage is dead! Viva The�"
  "Viva 
  hell!" bellowed the sergeant. He made a swipe for the bottle in the  other’s hand. 
  The big man toppled, but held onto the bottle.  "Naughty, naughty," he said thickly. "Shish is mine. Why don’t
  you get  your own?"
  "Yeah, why don’t I?" the sergeant rasped bitterly.  "By the time I get free, there won’t be any left!"
  The big man nodded his head sagely. "You shonow, I  spect you’re right. Shere isn’t very much more."
  Machine guns quieted. Eager, angry ears were cocked  toward the speaker.
  "You mean the supply is about gone?" the sergeant  asked, with dangerous calm.
  "Yes, shir. It’s about gone." The big man swayed  again, lifted the bottle to his lips, then wiped his mouth with
  a tattered sleeve. He coughed, the bottle almost fell from his hands.
  The sergeant grabbed it, took a deep swallow. The  anger faded from his face. "If we only didn’t have to push
  on and take  this place to−night�"
  He hesitated a moment, and fear showed thinly on his  features. "But it’s no go. I only wish�"
  The big man regained his balance with an effort,  stared owlishly at the bottle in the sergeant’s hand. He
  pawed for it  awkwardly.
  "Shay, that’s mine."
  "Scram!" snarled the sergeant. "I’m keeping this,  and it’s little enough as it is!"
  "O. K." The big man turned, staggered off. "If  you’re goin’ tuh be so�so unsociable about it. I got a bunch
  hidden I  was goin’ to give yuh, but not now."
  The sergeant’s mouth dropped open. He looked quickly  at the corporal. The corporal nodded feverishly.
  Together they slipped  off, behind the swaying figure. They did not see the men from the  machine guns take in
  after them.
  And soon they discovered they had lost the big man.  He seemed to have vanished in thin air. For a moment
  the men swore,  then they hurried back to their posts. A vacant spot had been left in  the lines for a moment.
  But no one would know about that.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter X. VIVA THE LEADER
  50
  
  EVEN as they were warming up the machine guns a  moment later, a tall figure eased into the palace grounds.
  A moment  later and that figure had reached the palace itself.
  President Avispa heard a faint tap on his window. He  whirled, grabbing up the gun from the desk.
  Peering in at him was a disheveled figure wearing  what had been a captain’s uniform. A civilian’s hat was
  jammed tight  over the head.
  But Avispa did not notice the uniform or hat. He saw  only a pair of eyes. Those eyes were of flake gold.
  As he stared, momentarily paralyzed, the big figure  eased quickly into the room.
  "I came as swiftly as I could," said Doc Savage  quietly. 
  Avispa found it hard to speak at all. Outside, he  could still hear that monotonous chant:
  "Doc Savage is dead! Viva The Leader!"
  But Doc Savage was not dead.
  Chapter XI. SEEING DOUBLE
  PRESIDENT AVISPA seemed to grow younger with each  passing second. Age dropped from him like a
  cloak. His features were  lined, his hair white; but now his shoulders were erect, his head up.
  "My�my friend," he said simply.
  Doc wiped dark grease paint from his face. Bronze  hair that closely matched the color of his skin showed as
  he pulled the  hat from his head.
  "You are safe. I thought you were dead." Avispa had  difficulty in standing still. He seemed to want to hop up
  and down with  joy. Then he sobered. "But I can’t understand. You have had many narrow  escapes. But this�"
  He gestured expressively. "Positive evidence was  found that you were dead."
  "Evidence that I hoped would be found," the bronze  man said dryly.
  "Then you really weren’t in the plane?"
  Doc smiled slightly. "Of course not, although I  wanted The Leader and his men to think so. Long Tom
  dropped off the  plane at Havana. In the disguise of a peasant, he purchased some  supplies, then chartered a
  small, swift plane and followed us. We met  over the Valley of the Vanished."
  President Avispa nodded eagerly.
  "I had supplies we could not afford to lose," the  bronze man continued. "Those were the ones Long Tom
  purchased in  Havana. Those supplies were dropped by parachute. Monk, Ham and Long  Tom went with
  them, and I took over the small plane. Using radio  control, I directed the big amphibian here."
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter XI. SEEING DOUBLE
  51
  
  "But when the attack came?"
  "My plane was hidden in the clouds, even above the  pursuit ships that were waiting for me. In the amphibian
  was thermite,  in great quantity. Naturally, when the explosion came it was  devastating, as you saw."
  "But the bodies," protested Avispa. "How did you do  that?"
  "They were artificially created," the bronze man  responded quietly. "I knew The Leader would demand more
  than an  exploded plane to make sure I was dead."
  Doc then told the white−haired president of the ruse  he had used to get inside the palace grounds. Although
  he had pretended  to drink, the bronze man hadn’t touched a drop.
  "Now the enemy thinks you are dead." The  white−haired president grinned broadly. "What a surprise is in
  store  for them when they discover their error, when they find that you have  arrived and saved Hidalgo!"
  "Hidalgo is far from saved," the bronze man  cautioned. "The enemy we oppose is resourceful, he is
  dangerous."
  Avispa sighed, sank back in his chair. He knew that  Doc was right, that the battle had still to be won; but now
  that the  bronze man had arrived, he felt his first ray of hope. And he was glad  to shift his burden to another’s
  shoulders.
  "First, you will want to know what has happened. I  will tell you," he began.
  "The revolt is led by General Glassell. He was in  charge of my army. He turned traitor. Why, I do not know. I
  do know  that in the weeks just preceding the revolt, he enlisted many strangers  in the army. They were of a
  type I did not think we would need,  evil−faced, villainous−appearing. But he said they were fighters."
  "They were renegade soldiers of fortune, men who  came here solely to take part in this revolt," Doc said
  quietly.
  Avispa nodded. "So I discovered. When the attack  came, many of my men were loyal. But they were caught
  unprepared. A  majority were killed. Only a few reached me here at the palace. They  have done their best.
  They have repelled attack after attack. But it is  only a question of time. They cannot hold out much longer."
  "And Johnny and Renny?"
  A shadow of pain flickered over the other’s face.  "They are prisoners. They are to be executed," he said.
  DOC SAVAGE’S expression did not change. Only the  gold flecks in his eyes appeared to move.
  "Where are they held?" he clipped.
  "In the dungeon," Avispa said apologetically. "I  should have destroyed that dungeon. I did not. I kept it as a
  curiosity. It was built years ago by another ruler. In it are all the  medieval instruments of torture ever devised.
  And it is impenetrable."
  A shudder shook the white−haired president’s frame.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter XI. SEEING DOUBLE
  52
  
  "Johnny and Renny are there. They are fifty feet  underground in a fortress that has walls twenty feet thick.
  The only  entrance is a narrow passageway in stone. It is heavily guarded."
  Guns sounded with renewed vigor outside the palace  walls. A scream of pain came from an unlucky
  defender. Doc Savage’s  face hardened. His life had been dedicated to fighting injustice and  evil−doers. The
  screaming of dying men and the snarl of guns outside  symbolized the worst type of injustice.
  Directed by a man with an insatiable lust for power,  revolt had been brought about in a peaceful country.
  Hundreds of  innocent lives had been lost. And the trail of blood was not yet ended.
  "The situation is bad," Avispa said doubtfully.
  "Johnny and Renny are in peril," Doc said quietly.  "They are prisoners because they obeyed my orders. My
  first task is to  save them, if possible."
  Avispa agreed slowly. Age seemed creeping back over  him.
  "Where does Glassell live, or have his offices?"
  "They are combined." The white−haired president gave  brief directions.
  "Perhaps if you could talk to him, you could  persuade him to see the evil he has brought," he concluded
  wearily. "He  did not appear bad to me. I thought once�" he gestured resignedly.
  "I will be back," Doc interrupted swiftly. "Do not  give up."
  As swiftly as he had entered, the bronze man was  gone. He melted into the shadow of the palace wall.
  A machine−gunner thought he saw a dark shape move  against that wall. He turned his gun that way, squeezed
  the trigger.
  Br−r−r−r−r−r−r−r−!
  Lead tore fragments of stone and dust from the wall.  The dark shape had vanished.
  The machine−gunner swore half−heartedly. He was  beginning to be accustomed to ghosts. The captain who
  was going to lead  the way to a liquor supply must have been one. Nothing else could have  disappeared so fast.
  A breath of air fanned the gunner’s check suddenly.  He spun, twisting his gun with him. Then he laughed
  nervously.
  A tall figure appeared to have materialized beside  him, coming out of the very ground. The figure was
  swaying. One hand  passed a bottle to the gunner.
  "Brought this to you," the big figure gulped.
  The gunner grabbed it gratefully. It wasn’t until  much later that he recalled that his benefactor must have
  come from the  palace wall. By that time the bottle in his hand was half empty. He no  longer cared.
   THE GOLDEN PERIL
  Chapter XI. SEEING DOUBLE
  53
  
  GUARDS almost encircled the home of General  Glassell. They, too, were thirsty. But liquor would not have
  tempted  them, even if they could have had it.
  The Leader was in the office with Glassell. The very  thought of that was enough to bring chills to otherwise
  hardened  spines. They had heard of The Leader. They had heard more of the hand  of death. So they walked
  their posts alertly, quick to challenge any  who came too close.
  But walking in a military manner does not mean  looking up at the sky. Thus the guards did not see the dim
  shadow that  glided noiselessly through the foliage of trees, high over their heads.
  Leaves rattle and tree limbs bend easily under heavy  weight. But so carefully did the shadow among them
  move that there was  not a sound. Yet it moved fast. Only seconds elapsed until it had  passed the line of
  guards, reached the security of darkness on the  other side.
  Then a big figure dropped to the ground as lightly  as a cat. It drifted across the yard, blending with shadows
  behind  stunted trees and bushes.
  Before a window, the figure halted. The shades were  drawn, but there was light behind those shades. Voices
  came clearly.
  "I personally do not take pleasure in watching  torture, but if that is your wish, Glassell, you have my
  permission,"  came cold, flat tones.
  Breath was drawn in gustily. Lips smacked, as if  Glassell were anticipating a pleasurable experience. "It has
  been long  since I have enjoyed such a sight," the general said. His Spanish had  become blurred. It was
  guttural and harsh.
  "This Renny is a big fellow, is he not?" the cold,  lifeless voice asked.
  "Big enough to stand plenty before he dies,"  Glassell gloated. "In that I shall take extreme delight. The
  other"�his  tone expressed supreme disgust� "this Johnny, as he is called, is a  half−starved appearing fellow.
  He probably will not last long, although  we have ways of keeping life existing, even when the poor pigs want
  to  die."
  The huge figure outside the window stiffened.
  There was sound of a chair being drawn back. "First  I shall eat," Glassell said. "Then I shall go. When I
  return, two more  of Doc Savage’s aids will be dead."
  A shadow appeared to drift up one side of the house.  It moved lightly, fingers finding the slightest projection.
  Then a  window swung up. The shadow disappeared inside.
  Glassell ate heartily. His close−set eyes were half  shut. Already he was planning the exquisite torture he
  would use. There  was the rack now; but that was not so good, it had been used too often.  Perhaps it would be
  better to start by filling the bodies of his  victims with sharp toothpick−sized pieces of wood imbedded not too
  deeply in their bodies. By burning those pieces of wood, every nerve  would suffer agony, but the torture
  would not kill. After that�"
  Still smiling, he rose from the table and left the  house. Guards snapped to attention as the general walked
  from the  building and headed toward the dungeon.
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  Chapter XI. SEEING DOUBLE
  54
  
  THE soldiers who guarded the dungeon torture chamber  were brutal. It took men of instinctive brutality to
  serve in those  posts. Right now they were filled with a sense of well−being. There  were two captives below
  who should furnish lots of amusement.
  A bottle had been passed around earlier. Now several  were smoking cigarettes. But they were alert. They
  could afford to take  no chances on those prisoners escaping.
  A sentinel whistled softly. The men leaped up,  stepped on their cigarettes. Ugly, loutish figures drew to
  attention.
  The swaggering form of General Glassell came into  view. The general walked jauntily. His air bespoke a man
  well pleased  with himself.
  "The soul of Doc Savage is no doubt lonesome," he  purred. "We will send it company."
  He laughed harshly at his own joke as he passed the  first guard.
  "Step lively!" he rapped. "I wish to see the dogs  immediately. The day’s work is incomplete."
  Four of the guards stepped forward. Here was a  leader to their liking. He was ruthless, vain and brutal.
  Moving at a rapid pace, the guards led the way down  through long stone corridors. Deeper and deeper they
  went into the  ground. The air was dampish and foul.
  As they reached a heavy door, three of the guards  stood back. They lifted bayoneted rifles.
  "These are desperate men," said the turnkey. He  twisted a huge key in the lock. The door swung open.
  Johnny and Renny stared out calmly. They looked at  the big figure of the general.
  "A one−way trip?" Renny asked pleasantly.
  "And not a joyful one," the turnkey sneered.
  "Bring them out!" the general rapped.
  The turnkey laughed. Johnny and Renny moved out  slowly. The guards backed up, the points of their
  bayonets touching the  stomachs of Doc’s aids.
  Safe behind them, the turnkey smashed Renny hard in  the neck, spat at him. He kicked Johnny in the shins.
  "Travel," he rasped. "If you’re nice, we’ll shoot  you after using the thumbscrews. Otherwise, we may show
  you some of our  other playthings."
  "Guard them carefully!" the general barked. "Take  them up above. We’ll see about the torture then."
  "A pleasant executioner," Johnny commented.
  "I believe I prefer dying to his company anyway,"  Renny agreed.
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  Chapter XI. SEEING DOUBLE
  55
  
  "Silence, dogs!" The turnkey kicked out viciously.  Renny bit his lip, his huge hands working as if they
  already felt a  throat in their grip.
  The general stood to one side, smiling slightly as  the procession passed him.
  THERE was a sudden commotion above them. The sound  was that of running feet. The guards halted,
  startled.
  "Get going! What are you waiting for?" barked the  general. His lips lifted in a savage snarl.
  The guards quickened their pace. Sharp points of the  bayonets boosted Johnny and Renny along.
  "Holy cow," Renny exploded, "we can’t even walk;  we’ve got to run to the closest exit�and the kind of exit
  that probably  will be our last one!"
  The sound of running feet was nearer now. Two more  guards tore around the end of the corridor, rushed
  toward those with  Renny and Johnny.
  They looked as if they had been seeing ghosts. Their  faces were pale. They swallowed hard as they tried to
  speak.
  Then another figure came around the bend in the  corridor. Breaths came in sharply. Then there was silence. A
  deep,  ghastly silence.
  That second figure also was General Glassell! There  were two General Glassells!
  One stood near the prisoners. The other stood almost  before them. The two looked exactly alike. They were
  dressed exactly  alike.
  It was almost as if one of them was standing before  a mirror. Or as if the soldiers were seeing double.
  "Arrest that man! He’s an impostor!" howled the  second General Glassell.
  Chapter XII. THE TORTURE ROOM
  THE soldiers stood rooted. Eyes were bulging, hands  were fingering guns nervously. The wrong word would
  have filled that  corridor with a deadly hail of lead. Nerves keyed, the men were ready  to shoot at anything or
  anybody.
  The two General Glassells were glowering at each  other. The face of each grew red. Their mannerisms were
  the same, the  very lift of their lips was identical.
  "You heard me! Arrest that man!" The roar came not  from one man, but from two.
  Guns came up in the hands of the soldiers. And about  half covered the second General Glassell. The others
  covered the one  who had arrived first.
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  Chapter XII. THE TORTURE ROOM
  56
  
  Johnny and Renny stood fast. They were barely  breathing, but their eyes were sparkling. They alone of all
  those in  the corridor knew what had happened, knew that one of the two men  wearing a general’s uniform
  was really Doc Savage!
  But even they did not know which one!
  The bronze man had often fooled them by his skillful  use of make−up. This time, he had excelled himself. So
  closely did the  two men resemble each other, that none could tell which was real and  which was counterfeit.
  More guards and soldiers poured into the corridor.  And that broke the spell. For in the lead was a captain of
  the guards,  carrying a submachine gun.
  The captain’s wits were quick. He took in the  situation with one quick glance.
  "Both of you up, with your hands!" he bellowed.
  "But I’m General Glassell!" shouted the second  general to appear.
  "Obey my orders! Arrest that man!" countered the  first.
  "You’ll both be corpses if you don’t do as I say!"  snapped the captain. "One of you is lying. I’ll find out
  which. Up with  your paws!"
  Slowly, two pairs of hands went up. The guards moved  closer, encircling both of the men dressed as generals.
  Bayonet points  went out, jabbed a trifle harder than was necessary. It is seldom that  buck privates get a
  chance at generals.
  "I cannot understand this," the first General  Glassell snarled. His Spanish was guttural and harsh. "I come
  here to  take these prisoners to the torture room. Then this fake general  appears. I do not understand why you
  do not arrest him. He must be a  spy."
  "Spy!" The second general fairly shouted the words.  "Spy! Me, the general in command of all Hidalgo’s
  troops? This man  looks like me outwardly; he talks like I do. But he is not me. I can  prove it!"
  A sharp gasp came from Johnny. Renny’s huge figure  shifted uneasily.
  "Then prove it!" bellowed the captain.
  The second General Glassell pawed at his tunic, he  tore his shirt open.
  "You have all fought with me!" he screamed. "Look!"
  With one quick motion, he bared his chest. A long,  vivid scar ran from the center of that chest almost to the
  waistline.
  "See if the impostor has such a scar!" Glassell  shrilled.
  "That will not be necessary," came the calm tones of  Doc Savage. "I congratulate you. You have won,
  General Glassell."
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  Chapter XII. THE TORTURE ROOM
  57
  
  RENNY moaned in disappointment. Johnny shook his  head sadly.
  The real General Glassell was jumping up and down in  anger. He surged close to the man who looked like
  him, took one  incredulous look into the other’s eyes. Then anger faded; fear and  something like awe crept
  into his face.
  "Doc Savage!" he breathed. "But�but you are dead!"
  The guards stepped back when they heard Glassell’s  words. One who had imbibed too heavily turned a pale,
  sickly color.
  "A spirit!" he moaned.
  With a visible effort, General Glassell regained  control. The red rim of rage crept into his eyes.
  "Not a spirit yet!" he blasted. "This bronze man is  hard to kill. But he is in my hands now. And this time he
  will die. I  myself shall watch him die. Shall see him die by inches."
  All attention was centered on Doc Savage. For just a  moment no eyes were on Renny. The big engineer went
  into action.
  The bellow of rage he gave would have done credit to  a bull−ape�or to Monk. His huge arms swept out,
  knocked over two guards  as if they had been tenpins.
  Then his huge monstrosities of fists knotted. He  really went to town! Arms working like pistons, Renny
  slugged with the  grim efficiency of a battering ram.
  Fists that could break the panels of a stout door,  snapped jaw bones just as easily. Howls of pain and rage
  resounded  through the corridor.
  Johnny, also, had started to go into action. He had  been stopped almost before he started. One guard was
  standing behind  him. That guard brought the butt of his gun down on the geologist’s  head with deadly force.
  General Glassell paid no attention to Renny. He  didn’t even turn his head when Johnny went down. He held a
  .45 automatic in one fist, and the muzzle of that automatic was aimed  directly at Doc Savage’s head.
  "Call your man off, or I’ll order my captain to  sweep this hall with his submachine gun!" he rapped.
  The threat was no idle one. The guard captain had  stepped back as the fight had started. An amused grin was
  on his hard  features. He held the submachine gun ready for instant action.
  Doc could have fought. He undoubtedly could have  disarmed Glassell. With Glassell’s gun, he could have
  killed many. But  the odds were too heavy against them.
  Alone, Doc would have taken the chance. He could not  take a chance now without sealing the fate of Johnny,
  and Renny. And  thought of his men always came first.
  "Hold it, Renny," he said calmly.
  The huge engineer’s arms dropped to his sides  instantly. A surprised look crossed his puritanical features, but
  he  asked no questions. If Doc said stop, then stop it was.
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  Chapter XII. THE TORTURE ROOM
  58
  
  A moment more, and he was pinned in by bayonets.  Further struggle was useless.
  "To the torture room," Glassell said. And his voice  had hoarsened, had become thick and gloating.
  The general was well pleased with himself. He  had just recovered from a shock that had badly disturbed him.
  For,  finishing his dinner, Glassell had left his room, to meet what, at  first, he had thought was a ghost. That
  had been the last thing he had  remembered. A bronze fist had rendered him unconscious.
  But lady luck had been with Glassell. A guard had,  by chance, heard the thud of the general’s body falling to
  the floor.  Investigating, he had almost fallen across the unconscious man. A few  minutes had been necessary
  to revive him. Doc Savage hadn’t pulled his  punch. Cold water had brought the general to.
  There was a gleam in Glassell’s eyes as he marched  with the prisoners toward the torture room. There was a
  smile on his  face�a smile that spoke death for the bronze man and his aids.
  JOHNNY swayed dizzily as he was led into the torture  room. His head still ached from the terrific blow he
  had received. But  he forgot that blow, forgot the pain, as he saw the implements for  inflicting pain which
  were stored in the dimly lighted, stone−walled  room.
  As an archaeologist, Johnny had often studied  instruments of torture. He knew the history of most of them,
  had seen  many extensive collections.
  But he had never seen a more complete collection  than had been assembled here. Every fiendish device
  perfected during  the Spanish Inquisition was there, as well as many used by pirates and  savages.
  The rack appeared almost gentle compared to the  other instruments designed to inflict pain for hours without
  killing.  There was an ironlike cage in the shape of a man.
  A victim would be placed there, and the door closed.  The inside of that door was of solid iron spikes.
  Whenever the victim  grew tired and slumped, those spikes drove into his body and forced him  erect.
  Hours of mental and physical torture would pass  before the poor wretch would finally fall forward, impale
  himself on  those spikes and be unable to rise again. He would die a slow, horrible  death.
  Then there was the platform to which a victim would  be trussed by his thumbs, with a noose slack about his
  neck. Blocks of  wood were placed under the feet and the arms pulled up high over the  head.
  Then those blocks of wood were removed, one at a  time, until the victim hung by his thumbs, pulling himself
  up, until he  could stand no more and dropped down to strangle.
  Iron pinchers were there. Spots were on those  pinchers and the spots were not from rust. Toenails and finger
  nails  were extracted with those gentle instruments, while other devices cut  away the eyelids.
  But all these were given only a passing glance by  Renny. His attention centered on a huge machine in the
  middle of the  room. His eyes grew wide, and he gave a strangled cry as he saw that  machine. For Doc Savage
  was being led toward it!
  The bronze man appeared perfectly calm. Rusty  handcuffs had been placed on his wrists, with those wrists
  behind him.  Guards were all about him. And at his side was General Glassell.
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  Chapter XII. THE TORTURE ROOM
  59
  
  "I will explain this little pet of mine to you,"  Glassell jeered. "I am sure you will enjoy it. You see, we attach
  cords  to each of your arms and legs. We pull you into the air, spread−eagled.
  "You are hoisted high, at first. Under you, you see,  is this sharp sword. It will be aimed directly at your belly.
  You will  be lowered slowly, oh so slowly. When that sword pricks your stomach,  you will draw yourself up.
  You are a strong man. That is what will make  this amusing.
  "For long minutes, perhaps, you will hold yourself  up; then you will sink down. The sword will cut you; it
  may drive just  a little way into your belly. You will lift again, and again you will  drop, until finally that
  sword will start cutting into you, half an  inch at a time until at last�"
  "Shall we start now?" Doc asked politely.
  Renny half sobbed. Doc had been in many tough  places. But none, the big engineer thought, had ever been as
  tough as  this. And he was helpless. Johnny was helpless. They had to stand by  and watch�
  Blam!
  There was a sudden explosion, it came near the door  to the torture chamber.
  Tense nerves jumped. Guards spun. Their guns roared  even before they could look. Then blank looks of
  astonishment crossed  their faces.
  No one was there!
  "Fools! Must we wait all night?"
  Half abashed, but still wondering, the guards turned  back to the scene in the center of the room. Their eyes
  grew wider  still.
  The general was swinging a gun in his hand. With his  other arm, he was supporting his prisoner. A mark on
  the jaw showed  where that gun had collided hard.
  THE guard captain leaped forward. Two other men  joined him. Quickly they took the rusty handcuffs from
  the unconscious  man’s wrists. As swiftly, they attached strong cords to ankles and  arms. The limp figure was
  swung up in the air, to hang spread−eagled,  directly above the sharp−pointed sword beneath.
  Johnny kept back a cry with difficulty. He had hoped  until the last that the bronze man would find some way
  to escape. Now  it could not be done. Knocked unconscious by that blow to the jaw with  the butt of the heavy
  .45, he would recover to find slow,  certain death awaiting him.
  An evil, coarse chuckle came from the general.  Features contorted into a hideous grimace, he whirled on
  Renny and  Johnny, studied them for a moment. The, corners of his mouth lifted  higher.
  "Are all the guards here?" he snapped at the  captain. 
  "Si, 
  none wished to miss the treat," the man agreed. 
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  60
  
  "Give me two brave men who are not afraid to kill,"  the general ordered. "I have thought of an added delight.
  The bronze  man is more worried about his aids than he is about himself. If he  should revive and find them
  missing, his mental torment will equal the  pain the sword will inflict"
  "Si, si, 
  it is so," the captain smirked. 
  "Then give me two men. I will take these two out and  place them where they will be safe. Do not lower that
  poor pig up  there, even if he regains consciousness, until I return."
  "Si, 
  my general." 
  Johnny and Renny were bound swiftly. Then they were  marched from the room. The general followed them,
  an almost insane look  on his features.
  The heavy door of the torture room swung closed.  Instantly the general seized the heavy lock, threw it in
  place and  locked it.
  "What�" began one of the guards.
  STRONG fingers flicked out. They caught the man just  at the base of the brain, pressed hidden nerves there.
  The man  collapsed like a bag of flour.
  The second guard brought his gun up. It seemed to  him later that strength must have deserted him. The gun
  was taken from  him so fast he did not know what had happened. A hand smacked down over  his mouth, he
  was propelled toward the entrance to the dungeon at a  fast pace.
  A moment more and they had reached the night air.  The guard was flung back up against a wall. He hit so
  hard he was  stunned.
  "Turn around," a quiet voice ordered Johnny and  Renny. The bonds were torn from their wrists.
  "Now get back down there, save that general of yours  before he is impaled on his own pet device," rasped the
  terrible figure  that stood over the guard.
  The guard turned, ran as if demons were pursuing him.
  "How did you do it?" gasped Johnny, using small  words in his surprise.
  "A nitro capsule. I had it in my mouth, shot it  across the room. The handcuffs were already loose. When the
  explosion  came, I merely knocked out Glassell and put the handcuffs on him."
  "Holy cow," exclaimed Renny.
  Doc did not seem to hear. He was already running  through the darkness. His aids took after him.
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  Chapter XII. THE TORTURE ROOM
  61
  
  As they ran, they heard renewed firing at the  palace, firing so fierce that it could only mean disaster.
  Chapter XIII. THE LEADER STRIKES
  THE small band of palace defenders was hard−pressed.  Not many soldiers remained. Some had deserted in
  fear of the hand of  death. Enemy bullets had accounted for many more.
  The attackers were staging a bitter assault. But it  seemed concentrated at the front gates. With a stone wall
  and concealed  firing pits to aid them, the defenders fought desperately on. Even  though only comparatively
  few remained, they held back the khaki−clad  legions.
  Near one side of the palace, a sentry paced  restlessly. He strained his eyes, trying to peer into the darkness.
  Upon his shoulders rested the task of protecting President Avispa. And  he preferred the sounds of the battle in
  front to the ominous stillness  of the shadows inside the palace grounds.
  That sentry wasn’t afraid of guns. But he had heard  of the hand of death. And a death that could creep out of
  the darkness  and leave him with a horrible red stain on his neck made sweat course  down his backbone.
  A weird, high−pitched scream pierced the night. It  came even above the crack of rifles and the
  typewriter−like chatter of  machine guns. The sentry gripped his gun tightly, found it wet and  slippery with
  his own perspiration.
  Victims of the hand of death were supposed to scream  like that.
  The sentry pivoted, retraced his steps along his  post. And behind him, two furtive figures crept from the
  shadows. They  drifted noiselessly toward the side of the palace.
  "Wait for a moment. I will take care of the guard,"  came a low, flat voice.
  One of the two furtive figures halted. The other  slipped ahead, blended with the blackness of the palace wall.
  The sentry whirled, started back toward where that  lurking assassin waited. He saw a dim movement, and
  opened his mouth to  yell. That yell never came.
  A vagrant moonbeam flickered faintly on cold steel.  A long knife plunged up to the hilt in the sentry’s heart.
  The sentry was already dead, he could not scream.  But with his last flash of consciousness, he saw something
  that froze  his brain, made him grateful for the merciful plunge of the knife.
  A hand darted out for his throat. It was a  strange−appearing hand, a dreadful monstrosity. That hand closed
  on  soft flesh and squeezed hard. But the sentry was saved that horror.  Life had already departed.
  The killer moved into the open briefly. His  companion sped to his side. That companion was breathing
  heavily, his  own eyes were filled with fear. Teeth chattered, despite the warmth of  the night.
  "Stop it, fool!" hissed a cold, flat voice.
  With quick steps the killer reached a window, pushed  it open. A moment more and he was inside. His
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  Chapter XIII. THE LEADER STRIKES
  62
  
  companion followed him.  Light showed under the bottom of a door leading to an adjoining room.  The killer
  crept forward. His hand was light as he turned the knob of  the door, swung it open slowly.
  Before them, but with his back turned, sat President  Avispa. The white−haired president of Hidalgo was
  studying maps.
  A sudden draft of air swept the back of his neck.  Avispa did not look up. One of his hands moved toward a
  drawer at his  side. Then that hand halted.
  "Hands still, Avispa!" snapped a cold, quiet voice.  "Turn around!"
  Defiantly, the white−haired president’s head snapped  up, he whirled in his chair. Then the defiance went out
  of him as if he  were a punctured balloon.
  He knew death had called for him.
  THE lifeless, expressionless face of The Leader was  before President Avispa. Malevolent eyes swept
  scornfully over the  white−haired man. A gun was steady in one fist.
  But it was on the frozen−faced one’s companion that  Avispa’s attention centered.
  The other was removing a hat. He unwrapped a long  muffler from about his neck. Casually he slipped from a
  light topcoat.  As he stood revealed in the light, he also was white−haired, his  features were lined.
  "A double!" Avispa whispered.
  The frozen−faced one nodded. "Exactly." His cold,  flat voice was clipped. "Doc Savage is not the only one
  who knows  something of the art of make−up."
  "W−what do you want?" Avispa’s tones were choked.
  "Your abdication�in return for your life."
  There was silence for a moment.
  "If you will abdicate and name General Glassell your  successor, you will be spared," those cold, flat tones
  went on.
  "And if I don’t?"
  The malevolent eyes of the frozen−faced one  sparkled. "If you don’t, you will die! My companion here will
  take your  place. He is made up to look just like you. His act will be  sufficiently good to fool your guards."
  "But will it fool Doc Savage?" Avsipa asked quietly. 
  The lifeless face of The Leader split. Teeth showed  as the red flare of rage lighted his eyes. The hand that
  held the gun  came up, the fingers showing white on the butt.
  "Doc Savage! Doc Savage is dead!" he half shrieked.  He jumped up and down, screaming curses of hate.
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  Chapter XIII. THE LEADER STRIKES
  63
  
  Avispa took a chance. His hand shot to the desk  drawer, closed over the gun that was there.
  Blam!
  Two shots sounded as one. Avispa’s weapon dropped  from his fist. There was a red stain across his knuckles.
  The make−up double leaped forward, he smashed the  aged president squarely in the face with a fist. Avispa
  was slammed  back into his chair. Crimson streamed from his nose.
  "I could have killed you then." The Leader’s voice  had become low and merciless. "I am going to kill you,
  but that  way would be too easy."
  He moved forward, his lifeless face jutted out, his  malevolent eyes staring. One hand still held his gun. The
  other hand  came from a pocket. It was a peculiar−looking hand. It appeared like a  club−foot at the end of an
  arm. Queer fingers opened and closed.
  Avispa opened his mouth, but no sound came. His  vocal cords appeared paralyzed.
  "Think, as you are en route to hell, of what will  happen to your people," the frozen−faced one gloated. "They
  are to  become the accursed of the earth. Nothing can save them! Your  double, here, will rule for a time. Then
  Glassell. And now�"
  Those clutching fingers shot out. They gripped  President Avispa firmly by the throat.
  A thin, high−pitched scream�a dreadful scream�broke  from the aged man’s lips. The bloody imprint of a
  hand appeared on his  neck.
  DOC SAVAGE was easing over the palace wall when he  heard that scream. Close behind him were Renny
  and Johnny. Both aids  knew their only chance to get by the guards was to follow him.
  "Holy cow, what was that?" exclaimed the big  engineer.
  The bronze man did not answer. It had seemed he was  moving fast before. But his speed then was nothing as
  compared with the  speed he now showed.
  Before his aids could hit the ground, he had dropped  over the wall, was racing across the grounds toward the
  palace. He  could see the faint light through the shade at Avispa’s office windows.
  A peculiar trill sounded. At Doc’s feet was  stretched the body of the sentry. He stopped only for a second.
  That  second was enough to show the sentry was dead.
  The bronze man then vaulted through the open window,  dived into Avispa’s office.
  The white−haired president was slumped back in his  chair. The prints on his throat were rapidly growing
  more red, His  heart had stopped, he had quit breathing.
  Renny and Johnny pounded into the room.
  "Well, I’ll be superamalgamated!" boomed Johnny.
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  64
  
  Doc Savage crouched over the body of Carlos Avispa.  His hands darted to the secret pouch that was always
  strapped next to  his skin. He took out a tiny hypodermic syringe and a small vial. In an  instant, he jabbed the
  hypodermic into the reddening flesh and shot  home the plunger.
  "If the stain continues to deepen for more than a  few seconds, there is no hope," the bronze man clipped.
  Even as he spoke, he was drawing another syringe  from the pouch. This one was as long as a darning needle.
  Renny gasped  as Doc jerked loose Avispa’s shirt. The bronze man placed the needle  directly over the
  white−haired president’s heart. Then he drove that  needle in, deep through the flesh.
  Silence gripped the room. But that silence was  broken. A voice from somewhere outside ripped through the
  night,  rasping metallically from a powerful amplifier.
  "It grieves me to confess that I have been  deceived," the voice cried. "I had thought Juan Glassell was our
  enemy.  He is not. And I had thought Doc Savage and his aids were our friends.  That, also, was a mistake."
  Incredulous gasps came from Renny and Johnny. Even  through an amplifier, an intimate would have sworn
  the voice was that  of Carlos Avispa.
  Doc Savage did not look up. He was still working  over the stricken body of the white−haired president.
  And slowly at first, the red hand of death was  fading.
  "Extraordinary phenomenon," Johnny muttered. The  geologist felt Avispa’s wrist. A pulsebeat came faintly.
  "The adrenaline injection in the heart I  understood," Renny said. "But the other?"
  Doc did not appear to hear. Avispa’s eyes opened. He  stared about wildly for an instant, incredible horror still
  mirrored in  the pupils of his eyes.
  "�and so," the amplifier blared outside, "as  president of Hidalgo, I call upon you to surrender."
  RENNY’S mouth dropped open. He leaped toward the  door that connected with other parts of the palace.
  That door was  locked.
  An expression, almost of glee, crossed the big  engineer’s face. He squared off before the door, drew back one
  huge  fist. With an explosion like that of a minor bomb, his fist struck.  Two−inch oaken panels split.
  The white−haired president stirred.
  "Those words! That man�" he gasped.
  Doc nodded. He bent over, lifted the white−haired  president in his arms.
  As Renny reached through and unlocked the door, Doc  pushed past him, darted into the hallway.
  At the front of the palace, the impostor was  smiling, but there was a worried look in his eyes. He had spoken
  well  and persuasively. But still a sullen murmur came from the defenders.
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  65
  
  "What I say is true," he repeated into the  amplifier. "Doc Savage is really the man behind this revolt. He
  wants  all the gold from the Valley of the Vanished. He intends to defraud  Hidalgo. I was tricked. General
  Glassell argued with me, but I did not  believe him. Now, I know the truth. We must surrender. I will let
  Glassell become�"
  He broke off.
  A bronze man, carrying the white−haired figure of  President Avispa appeared at his side. Avispa was weak,
  clung to Doc’s  shoulder as he was set on his feet.
  The impostor’s face paled. He glanced desperately  toward a dim and darkened corner of the parade ground.
  He couldn’t see  the half−concealed figure there. But he needed instructions.
  Sounds of firing outside the palace walls had  stopped. It was as if the attackers expected an immediate
  surrender.
  The crowd of palace soldiers stood in stunned  silence. What they saw they could not comprehend. The
  impostor was an  actor. He thought he could bluff it out. He screamed into the amplifier:
  "Doc Savage is here with an impostor! Kill them  before they do us harm!"
  A roar came from the crowd. Figures crowded close to  the stand.
  The bronze man did not attempt to speak. He leaped  to the side of the fake Avispa, seized him by his hair.
  The wig came  off.
  The impostor then stood revealed as a black−haired,  villainous fake. The mob went wild.
  THE impostor wasted no time. He leaped from the  platform with a scream. Palace guardsmen raced toward
  him.
  Doc Savage stepped before the amplifier. "Do not  kill him," he said quietly. "His master is the one we want.
  Save this  man until we can find out what he knows."
  Renny and Johnny leaped into the raging throng,  tried to fight their way to its center, where the impostor had
  gone  down under a struggling mass.
  Doc might as well have shouted down a well. Even  over the amplifier, his voice was drowned on the howls of
  mob rage.
  And Renny and Johnny stood no chance at all. They  could not even penetrate the outer fringes of the
  struggling mass. The  guardsmen had caught a traitor. They knew how to deal with traitors.
  The impostor was literally torn to pieces.
  From a darkened corner, at the far edge of the  palace grounds, a frozen−faced man with malevolent eyes
  stared in  amazement. A plan that couldn’t go wrong, had gone wrong! A man that  should be dead, was not
  dead!
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  Silent as a wraith, The Leader vanished from the  grounds. Grim orders were issued.
  "Wipe the palace from the face of the earth! Kill  every man inside!"
  Guns went into action. And for the first time,  artillery was brought up. That artillery would soon blast the
  palace  into dust.
  Chapter XIV. A VOICE FROM THE SKY
  THERE was a small chemical laboratory in the  presidential palace. Carlos Avispa paced nervously up and
  down. Doc  worked quietly at a small vat with several chemicals. Renny and Johnny  stared dolefully out a
  window.
  A red glare showed dully against heavy, overhanging  clouds. Part of Blanco Grande was in flames. The
  reprisal of The Leader  had not been long in coming.
  "He’s a killer," Renny muttered. "We gotta get that  guy, somehow."
  "I thought, at first, Glassell was the arch−fiend,"  Avispa said. "But this is beyond his planning. Even for all
  the gold in  the Valley of the Vanished."
  "The Mayan gold is only the start of this," Doc’s  voice said quietly. "And Glassell is merely a cog."
  "Holy cow," Renny boomed, "what more than gold would  he want?"
  "This man is a person of unlimited ambition," Doc  said cryptically, "Also one of ability."
  The shrill of the telephone in the laboratory  interrupted him. Avispa answered. His haggard face grew even
  grayer as  he listened to an excited voice on the other end of the wire. His lips  grew into a tight line. When he
  hung up, he turned to Doc.
  "It was a spy I have in their camp. I am afraid you  must go, Doc Savage. I know your sworn pledge to the
  Mayans. Five  thousand troops have left for the Valley of the Vanished."
  He paused, seemed about to speak again, then changed  his mind. Doc looked at him for a moment.
  "That is not all the message you received," he said  gently. "Tell me the rest of it."
  Avispa hesitated.
  "Another large group of troops has been left behind.  Even now, they are bringing up artillery to shell the
  palace. When we  are wiped out, Blanco Grande is to be burned."
  "Astounding retributory determination," Johnny  grumbled. "We should do something."
  "I can do nothing but urge you to leave," Avispa  said sadly. "My place is here. I must die with Blanco
  Grande, but you  should do your best for the Mayans."
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  67
  
  Doc walked to one corner of the room. Concealed in a  wall, was a small but powerful radio transmitter. The
  bronze man  flicked on the switch. He twirled the dials, waiting briefly for the  tubes to heat.
  "Monk speaking," a voice bawled. It was startlingly  clear as it boomed from a tiny loud−speaker.
  "A large enemy force is on the way to the Valley of  the Vanished," Doc’s voice clipped. "I will endeavor to
  be there with  Renny and Johnny before they arrive. But in the meantime, there is much  to be done." He
  issued instructions in concise, swift sentences.
  "I gotcha, Doc," Monk’s voice said. The radio  clicked off.
  The bronze man sped back to the chemical vat. He  poured a peculiar−colored liquid into several bottles. His
  flake gold  eyes gleamed.
  "Wait," he instructed briefly. Then he was gone.
  THE rumble of heavy artillery, being towed through  the streets, sounded ominously as the bronze man left
  the palace  grounds.
  Khaki−clad rebels were jubilant. When that artillery  was fired at point−blank range, the battle would be over.
  Blanco Grande  would be theirs.
  A small, smartly clad captain strutted down the  street. He had served in wars all over the world. He had
  fought under a  dozen flags. But none that afforded him as much pleasure as now. Here  was an opportunity for
  just the sort of wild looting and killing that  he liked.
  Strolling easily, he went past a dark alleyway.  Steel−strong fingers reached out, caught him back of the neck.
  He  floated into the alleyway.
  The captain was no coward. But he felt fear then. He  tried to struggle. He could not seem to move a muscle.
  A low voice came  to his ears, a vibrant, compelling voice.
  "Where is the gold?"
  "W−what gold?" he stammered.
  A finger pressed on nerves at the back of his head. 
  "The gold is under guard in the bank building. It  was taken from the Mayans," the captain said in a dull,
  colorless voice.
  Pressure on that nerve had done something to the  captain. He found that he could not think clearly enough to
  lie. He had  to tell the truth.
  A hand flicked across the back of his head. The  captain dropped to the ground, unconscious. A shadowy,
  dimly seen  figure eased through the night. It headed toward the bank where the  stolen gold was hidden.
  The bank was brightly lighted. There was a reason  for that. The rebel soldiers did not trust each other. They
  wanted to  see anyone who went in or out. The structure itself was a severe, stout  affair of stone.
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  68
  
  There were five men on guard. They were  villainous−looking criminals and well−armed. A voice came from
  around a  corner. It was a feminine voice. It screamed in pain.
  "Help! Help! Let me go! Please!"
  The five khaki−clad men grinned evilly. They  strolled down to the corner, peered around. There was nothing
  there.  Grumbling, puzzled, and faintly worried, they hurried back to their  posts.
  Inside, a bronze figure was active.
  Pile after pile of gold was there. That gold had  cost the lives of many brave Mayans.
  The bottles of chemicals came from the bronze man’s  pockets.
  The guards were talking uneasily. The rumor had  spread. Word had come that Doc Savage was not dead. And
  the mysterious  call for help when there had been no one about, weighed on over−tensed  nerves.
  "I’ve heard that the bronze guy was an excellent  ventriloquist; maybe he played a trick on us," one muttered.
  Fear−shadowed eyes glanced into the bank. A voice  howled hoarsely. Something was there.
  Guns ready, the men darted to the door. That door  was unlocked. It had been locked ten minutes before.
  Frantically they rushed in, darted toward the back  of the building. Then they halted, abashed. A dummy hung
  there. There  was no sign of any living creature.
  Tiptoeing, lips tight, the five guards crept out.  Something happened�something puzzling. But, without words,
  they decided  what they would do: They would say nothing. To admit some one had  entered the gold
  storeroom would be inviting the hand of death.
  At the outskirts of Blanco Grande, the tall figure  of Doc Savage moved swiftly to a small field. His plane was
  concealed  there. The motor of that plane roared.
  Outside the palace, artillerymen were swinging their  guns into lines. Shells were piled by the guns. In the
  distance sounded  the drone of a plane’s motor.
  The artillerymen glanced up curiously, then pushed  shells home. In a moment the palace of Hidalgo would be
  no more.
  "This is Doc Savage speaking," came a clear, vibrant  voice. The voice came from the sky.
  "SOLDIERS of General Glassell, listen!" The clipped  tones of the bronze man won instant attention.
  Artillerymen halted  their work, necks craning upward. Everywhere in the capital city, noise  ceased. It was as
  if all were listening to that voice.
  The plane loafed easily in the sky. A radio  loud−speaker amplified the voice of Doc Savage thousands of
  times. Each  word he said came clearly.
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  Chapter XIV. A VOICE FROM THE SKY
  69
  
  "You were promised gold for your fighting," Doc’s  voice went on. "For that gold, you must murder innocent
  people. But how  do you know, even after you have committed your crimes, that you will  receive the gold that
  is promised you?"
  Jeering laughter rose from the khaki−clad men below.
  "You have seen the gold, I know." It seemed almost  as though Doc had heard those jeers, and was answering
  them. "When the  Mayans were slaughtered and the gold they escorted brought here, that  gold was exhibited.
  But were you given any of it?"
  The jeers died suddenly. That was so. The men had  seen the gold, but none had been paid with the precious
  metal. With  closer attention, they listened to the next words from the sky.
  "Early to−night, more than half your force was  dispatched to the Valley of the Vanished. It is there that the
  real  gold is. There is more of it there than could be carried by all of you.  There is enough there to make every
  man a king. But again, how do you  know you will receive your share?"
  The khaki−clad men were silent. Hard faces bore  wondering expressions.
  "There is one way in which you might answer that  question." Doc’s voice seemed to rise slightly. His plane
  pivoted  directly over the heart of the city.
  "If those who led you are playing fairly with you,  then what you think is gold now stored under guard, is
  really gold. But  suppose it is not? Suppose the gold has been taken by your leaders, and  only worthless metal
  remains?
  "Then, in that case, you have been tricked. You have  nothing. The men storming the Valley of the Vanished
  may get gold, but  how do you know if you will get anything?
  "I say to you then�investigate. Find out if that is  really gold that is stored in the bank. If it is not, then go after
  those who are really on the way to a fortune. Do not be fooled!"
  A moment of silence followed those last words. Then  there was a yell from a thousand throats. Gold, not
  glory, was what  these men fought for.
  Artillery was forgotten. Machine guns were  forgotten. Hundreds of yelling men smashed through the streets
  toward  the bank.
  THE five men guarding the bank did not know whether  to join the rush or to fight. They lifted their guns,
  hesitantly.
  That was a mistake.
  They were cut down almost before they could move.  Angered killers swarmed into the building.
  The sacks of gold were at the rear. In an instant,  those sacks had been ripped open.
  Howls of disappointment and futile anger came from  those who were close enough to see.
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  70
  
  When the golden loot had first been brought back by  the raiders, it had been shown to the soldiers. It had
  gleamed dully,  as only gold can gleam.
  What the khaki−clad men saw now did not gleam. There  was no sign of gold. Only bars and ingots of lead
  lay before them.
  The word passed swiftly. The leaden bars were hurled  furiously aside. Men rushed from the building. In
  disordered streams,  they poured down the street.
  It was just as well they did not investigate too  closely. One leaden bar struck a marble wall with such force
  that the  bar broke in two pieces.
  Had the ends of those pieces been examined carefully  they would have revealed much. The outer side of the
  bars appeared to  be lead. For as much as a quarter of an inch from the surface, they  also appeared lead.
  But the centers were pure gold.
  The chemical Doc had mixed, a combination chiefly of  graphite had done its work well. It had worked into
  the porous,  precious metal, had seemingly worked alchemy in reverse, changing gold  into lead.
  Actually, it had done nothing of the sort. But the  angered, charging troops did not know that.
  They did not even recall Doc’s actual words, did not  know that he had not lied to them, but had merely
  tricked them. They  believed the gold that was to have been paid them had been stolen, that  their only hope of
  getting gold was to join the rush on the Valley of  the Vanished.
  Frantically, they streamed from Blanco Grande,  following those who had left hours before.
  High above them, Doc looked on, a peculiar  expression in his flake gold eyes.
  He had saved President Avispa. He had saved Blanco  Grande from destruction.
  But at what a cost! Now, hundreds more of  gold−hungry attackers were streaming toward the Mayans he was
  sworn to  protect.
  HALF an hour later, Doc was in the air again. This  time, he pointed the nose of his plane toward the Valley
  of the  Vanished. With him were Renny and Johnny.
  They did not see the plane that left close after  them. That plane carried General Glassell and a frozen−faced
  one whose  eyes could only glare with rage.
  But the evil brain behind that frozen face was  working. A preliminary skirmish had been lost. But the main
  fight was  still to come. And The Leader was confident.
  For he knew the cards were stacked against Doc  Savage.
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  71
  
  Chapter XV. SHOT DOWN
  THE sun was high when Doc eased the motor of his  plane and headed downward.
  Below lay a scene such as few have ever viewed. It  was a big valley, shaped roughly like an egg. Most of the
  ground was  sloping, far too steep upon which to land a plane. But there was one  small, smooth lake.
  In the center of the valley towered a pyramid. The  sides were absolutely smooth, except for the center where
  steps had  been carved. At the top, on a flat place, stood a temple, with a flat  stone roof, supported by square
  pillars.
  The entire pyramid glowed with a yellow, metallic  aurora. It had been constructed of quartz literally filled
  with pure  gold.
  Doc had arrived at the Valley of the Vanished.
  As the bronze man sat his plane down on the small  lake, scores of figures raced toward him. The air was
  filled with  strange cries of welcome.
  In the lead was a tall, solid man, with snowy−white  hair. His skin was golden−colored, he wore a broad
  girdle of red, with  the ends forming an apron in front and back.
  Close behind him was a young woman, nearly as tall  as he, whose beauty caused a gasp from Renny and
  Johnny, even though  they had seen her before.
  "Greetings, King Chaac and Princess Monja," Doc said  in perfect Mayan.
  The lumbering figure of Monk and the tall, perfectly  attired Ham, with Long Tom at his heels were
  approaching at a more  dignified pace.
  "Boy, I’m glad you got here!" Monk bellowed.
  Renny’s ordinarily tight−lipped face had relaxed in  a huge grin. Johnny appeared just as pleased as Mayans
  rushed to the  sides of the plane and hoisted them out, carrying them through the  water on their shoulders.
  King Chaac seemed almost speechless. He grasped  Doc’s hands and held them tightly in his own. His
  daughter had eyes  only for the bronze man. She was looking at him in a way that showed  clearly that she
  loved him, even though she knew that love was hopeless.
  "It has been long, too long since you were here,"  Princess Monja said. Her voice was low and trembled
  slightly with  emotion.
  "Son of my old friend, I am happy," King Chaac said.
  Others crowded about, chatting happily. Renny and  Johnny were seized by old friends who talked as if they
  could never  stop. Monk and Ham eased their way closer, moving slowly through the  throng. Long Tom stood
  back, his eyes thoughtful.
  No sign of the danger in which they all stood was  marring the welcome to Doc. Young men and women,
  dressed in clothing  that showed expert weaving and dyeing, some with fine wire−gold  interwoven, were
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  bubbling joyously.
  A dozen were trying to talk to Doc at once. The  bronze man was answering all as swiftly as he could. His
  features were  as emotionless as usual.
  But Long Tom wondered just what memories this  reception brought back to the bronze man. King Chaac was
  still erect,  but his hair was whiter, his shoulders more bowed than when last he and  Doc had met.
  And Long Tom knew that Doc must be thinking of that  first meeting, must be recalling the sad events that
  had led up to it,  even though he did not show that fact.
  For the gold in the Valley of the Vanished, the gold  that had provided Doc Savage with funds to fight
  wrong−doers and now  was being sought by the worst criminal of them all, had been a legacy  to the bronze
  man from his father.
  Clark Savage, Sr., had discovered this lost valley  with its strange inhabitants, many years before. He had
  secured  possession of the land inclosing the valley, and had made arrangements  with King Chaac for Doc to
  have the gold when the bronze man came and  proved himself worthy.
  Then Clark Savage, Sr., had been murdered.
  LONG TOM’S eyes darkened with pain as he thought of  that, even though it was long in the past. Enemies
  had killed the elder  Savage, had tried to prevent Doc from ever reaching or claiming his  legacy.
  Those enemies had been defeated. Doc had won out,  but the loss of his father had been a severe blow.
  And now the Valley of the Vanished was threatened  again. It was threatened by modern, well−armed foes.
  Even Long Tom,  with all his marvelous faith in the ability of the bronze man, did not  see how the present
  peril could be defeated.
  The happy, chatting Mayans were faced with  extermination by relentless, merciless foes.
  Still talking to King Chase, with Princess Monja  clinging to one arm, the bronze man was led toward the
  Mayan village.
  "I am glad you have come in our time of danger,"  Chaac said with simple dignity.
  "Our enemies are many. Our task will be a difficult  one," said Doc Savage.
  "But with you here, I know we shall be safe," the  Mayan king responded.
  "The preparations you asked us to make are  completed," Long Tom said, drawing nearer.
  "Those bums are in for a surprise when they jump  us," Monk put in.
  "What I cannot understand is who could be behind  this," said Ham. "You mentioned a General Glassell�"
  "He is only a tool," Doc Savage said.
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  73
  
  "And a renegade Mayan," King Chaac said, bitterly.
  "I thought so," the bronze man agreed gravely. "His  skin and features showed me he was of your race."
  "He is a product of what you call civilization,"  Chaac continued, and his face was hard. "Also, he is the son of
  Morning  Breeze."
  Renny’s puritanical face lighted. "Morning Breeze!  The one who tried to kill us when we were here before?"
  King Chaac nodded. "That is correct. And Glassell,  as he calls himself, really is Son of the Moon, the child of
  Morning  Breeze. After Morning Breeze was killed, Son of the Moon apparently  reformed. He became very
  popular with our younger people."
  "He is no good," Princess Monja said unexpectedly.  Her beautiful face twisted scornfully. "He tried to make
  love to me!"
  "Son of the Moon convinced a majority of my people  that we were missing much that civilization could give
  us," King Chaac  explained. "He persuaded me he should be sent to Blanco Grande. He said  he would study,
  would bring back to us things that would help us."
  "He didn’t," Monja said angrily. "Instead�"
  "Instead," Chaac continued, "he became a too apt  pupil of civilization. We heard disgraceful stories about
  him. But  President Avispa liked him, made him head of his army. Now he has  betrayed that trust."
  "And now he intends to kill his own people,"  Princess Monja said.
  "Not if we can help it," growled Monk. The hairy  chemist’s gaze never left the face of the girl.
  "Hero saves life of girl’s father, wins her hand,"  whispered Ham maliciously.
  Monk blushed.
  THE council of war was held in King Chaac’s  quarters. Doc sat at the head of the table with the Mayan ruler.
  The  others ranged themselves on either side.
  "We have made a thorough study of the terrain," said  Ham. His words were crisp, concise.
  "Now we have Brigadier General Theodore Marley  Brooks speaking," Monk put in slyly.
  "With Major Thomas J. Roberts and Lieutenant Colonel  Andrew Blodgett Mayfair, I reconnoitered the
  situation," Ham went on  smoothly. "It is bad."
  "The entrance to this valley is a narrow one,"  objected Renny.
  "True. It could be held against a large number of  men�provided we had sufficient modern weapons," Ham
  replied. "But while  we have only our mercy pistols and a few other things, the foe is in  possession of
  high−powered artillery."
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  "Did not your diligent preparations provide for such  a contingency?" asked Johnny.
  Ham grinned. "We followed out Doc’s orders. That is  the only reason we may hope for success."
  "I think the invaders are in for a surprise," Long  Tom agreed. He smiled with quiet pride.
  King Chaac turned to Doc Savage. "What are your  instructions for my people?" he asked simply.
  The bronze man’s flake gold eyes swept swiftly over  his aids. "We do not wish to cause loss of life among
  your people," he  said. "However, you have scouts out now, I presume?"
  Chaac nodded. "They are watching all possible routes  of approach."
  "Then there is little more they can do," the bronze  man said. "But we should not underestimate the foe who
  opposes us. He  is clever. Above all, counsel your young men to take no unnecessary  chances."
  "They are filled with anger at the brutal murder of  their Friends," said Chaac. "When the invaders appear,
  they will want  vengeance. They may be difficult to control."
  "But they must be controlled," Doc Savage said  quietly. "Against the modern weapons of the soldiers of
  fortune who are  marching here, they would stand no chance."
  "They have motorized battalions," Renny put in.  "They have artillery, machine guns and rifles. When they
  attack�"
  He broke off. A tall Mayan had suddenly raced into  the room. Perspiration was pouring from his body. He
  spoke excitedly.
  "They come! They come! An advance guard is even now  entering the canyon only one removed from this!"
  KING CHAAC started to speak. Doc Savage already was  on his feet. The others leaped up.
  "You remain here. I will see what is to be done,"  the bronze man clipped.
  Without waiting for a reply, he vanished from the  room. Johnny was close behind him. Monk and Ham
  exchanged one quick  glance, then poured from the room, followed by Long Tom and Renny.
  Doc was racing down the street of the village with  long, quick strides. He did not appear to be moving fast,
  but a Mayan  runner who attempted to keep up with him, found himself quickly  outdistanced.
  "He’s going for the plane!" Long Tom shouted. "We’ve  got to stay here, but at least we can look!"
  He turned the opposite way and sped toward a narrow,  dangerous trail that led upward, toward the head of the
  canyon�the  direction from which the invaders must come.
  Princess Monja appeared from a near−by building.  Without a word, she joined the group of running men.
  "You go back!" Monk roared.
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  The girl shook her head. A strange look was on her  face. "If Doc Savage goes into danger, I want to see," she
  argued.
  Ham chuckled as Monk’s jaw dropped. "Thought she was  worried about you, you hairy ape, did you?" the
  dapper lawyer gibed.
  Behind them, a plane’s motor came to life with a  sullen roar. As Renny glanced over one shoulder, he saw the
  plane move  swiftly across the small lake, then take to the air.
  The climb was steep, but Doc’s aids were all in good  condition. They mounted swiftly.
  Princess Monja alone lagged slightly. Renny caught  hold of one of her arms in a huge fist. Monk glowered,
  and grabbed her  on the other side.
  The plane was now far above them, moving over the  end of the canyon.
  "Lucky Doc destroyed most of their air fleet, or  we’d be worse off than we are," Renny commented. "A few
  eggs from the  air could sure make it tough."
  Br−r−r−r−r−r!
  The wicked snap of a machine gun came faintly to  their ears.
  Just as the group reached the top of the mountain,  where they could look down into the adjoining valley, a
  puff of smoke  appeared in the sky near Doc’s plane.
  "They’ve even brought antiaircraft guns along with  them," Long Tom marveled.
  It was impossible to see the men who were firing on  Doc. They had taken shelter among trees and rocks
  several miles away.  But the sound of shooting came clearly.
  More and more puffs of smoke appeared near Doc’s  plane. The bronze man was swinging the ship around in
  lazy circles.
  Princess Monja’s dainty fingers gripped hard into  Monk’s arm.
  "They won’t�they can’t�he’ll be safe, won’t he?" she  asked anxiously.
  "Sure," Monk comforted. "Doc can take care of  himself. He won’t take any unnecessary chances. Why�"
  A moan came from Johnny. The lean archaeologist  looked sick suddenly. An exclamation of dismay came
  from Monk and Long  Tom. Ham’s hands clenched tightly, while Renny was banging one huge  fist into an
  open palm as pain showed on his tight−lipped face.
  Smoke was billowing from Doc’s plane. Even as they  watched, the plane faltered in mid−air. Slowly, its nose
  dropped; then  it was falling over and over. Going down, down�
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  76
  
  Chapter XVI. A NET CLOSES
  "HE�he’s lost!" sobbed Princess Monja.
  "Don’t be silly. Doc will be all right," said Monk,  but his simian features were worried.
  "Ah−ah, Doc has extricated himself from much more  precarious situations than this," Johnny said hollowly.
  His glasses  were bobbing up and down.
  The plane was almost out of sight now, sinking  behind a projecting corner of the canyon. Smoke had
  increased until  huge billows were rolling from the stricken craft.
  "Doc’s got something up his sleeve. Don’t you  worry!" boomed Renny. But the huge engineer’s mouth was
  compressed  tightly, his features even more severe than usual.
  "I�I’m glad we got the stuff rigged up in time,"  Long Tom said, desperately trying to change the subject.
  His yellow complexion even more unhealthy−appearing  than before, the electrical wizard glanced down the
  rim of the canyon  where long, pipelike weapons had been rigged. Those weapons pointed  downward, so that
  they covered the approach to the Valley of the  Vanished.
  A faint crash came to their ears. A cloud of dust  rose far down in the canyon. Doc’s plane had struck.
  "Let’s get back to the village," Monja pleaded  brokenly. Tears were streaming from her face.
  Had Monja not been present, Doc’s aids probably  would have delayed their departure. As it was, they
  followed the  weeping princess.
  Thus, they did not see the creeping, stealthily  moving figures who were wiggling their way to where the
  pipelike  weapons hung over the canyon’s rim.
  The safety of those in the Valley of the Vanished  depended upon those weapons. They were supposed to be
  guarded at all  times. Only chance left them vulnerable. The slinking figures were  taking advantage of that
  chance.
  DOC’S plane crashed almost at the spot where the  advance guard of the soldiers of fortune had made their
  stand.
  Khaki−clad figures, bayoneted guns ready, rushed  forward as the ship came down. At the last moment the
  plane seemed to  right itself, but still it struck with resounding force.
  Smoke clouds rolled out on all sides. The soldiers  plunged into the smoke and vanished from view. Others
  followed them.  Some were shouting hoarsely as they charged.
  Those shouts died suddenly. The smoke spread out in  a thin cloud. Even those who had hung back were
  enveloped in it.
  A huge captain, face scarred from some ancient  encounter with a sabre, halted abruptly, a heavy automatic in
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  one hand.
  "Halt!" he roared. "Wait!"
  The sound of his voice appeared to dwindle on the  second word. A faint whiff of the smoke had reached his
  nostrils. A  surprised expression crossed his battle−hardened features.
  Slowly, he crumpled. His arms fell limply to his  sides. His head landed on one of those arms. His eyes closed
  as in  sleep. Around him, others were dropping. Those who had first darted  toward the plane already were
  down.
  Scarcely ten seconds after the plane had crashed not  a soldier in the advance guard was on his feet. The entire
  company was  sprawled motionless, weapons still in hand.
  Slowly, the smoke cloud lifted. Fresh currents of  air swept through the canyon, rolling the mist away.
  A soldier stirred, sat up to stare about stupidly.  One by one others awakened. Their faces were dull and
  stupid. They  pressed their hands to their heads as if unaware of what had happened.
  The scarred−faced captain recovered more swiftly.  Intelligence dawned in his eyes. He leaped up, snarling
  viciously as he  raced to the side of the plane. Shock−absorbers on that plane had taken  up most of the force of
  the crash landing. The ship was virtually  undamaged.
  And it was empty!
  "Where did he go?" the captain roared angrily.
  The soldiers glanced about with dull eyes. One, a  huge fellow in khaki, moved over to the machine guns that
  had been  trained on the plane, started to dismantle them.
  "They�they ain’t nobody here," a sergeant gasped.  There was a note of awe in his voice. "Would a ghost ‘a’
  been flying  that plane?"
  "Ghost, hell!" The captain’s jaws worked furiously.  "This is one of that Doc Savage’s tricks!" His eyes
  widened suddenly,  and he whipped a hand to one pocket. A relieved expression showed on  his hard features
  as his fingers felt papers there.
  "Form your men and call the roll!" he shouted.
  The sergeant wet his lips uncertainly, "But�but,  captain," he objected, "there had to be someone in that plane.
  There  ain’t now. Where did he go? And what happened to us?"
  "Form the company!" the captain roared, his face  livid with anger. "Doc Savage must have been flying that
  plane! I’ve  always heard he was tricky. And that couldn’t have been smoke that  rolled from the ship; it was
  gas. A kind of gas that just put us to  sleep."
  The sergeant looked dazed for a moment, then snapped  out commands. The huge fellow who had been
  dismounting the guns rose  with a sigh and ambled toward the forming ranks. He stumbled as he  neared the
  captain, threw out one hand to catch himself.
  "Excuse me, captain," he mumbled.
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  The captain snarled, one fist dropped to the .45 at his hip, but the big soldier was already walking away. The
  sound of  paper being crumpled came faintly.
  THERE was uneasy murmuring in the ranks of the  soldiers. Facing bullets was one thing; facing an enemy
  who dropped  from the sky, overpowered an entire company and vanished, was something  else. It smacked
  too much of the supernatural.
  Corporals cursed bitterly as they swung their men  into formation and checked off names. Two or three
  stepped out of ranks  to confer with the first sergeant.
  "All present and accounted for, sir," the first  sergeant reported. "And, if the captain please�" he hesitated.
  "Well?" snapped the scarred−faced man.
  "The men are upset by what has occurred," the  sergeant said hesitantly. "They are willing to take orders, but
  they  want to remind you they are all in this just as much as you are. They  are afraid we may run into a trap in
  canyons such as these, and  respectfully ask your plans."
  The scar flamed like a red gash on the captain’s  face. For a moment, he seemed too inflamed to speak, and
  the first  words that rolled from his lips singed even the hardened hides of the  men who faced him.
  "We attack in just two hours!" he bellowed. His  hands opened and closed on the butt of his .45.
  "We want to know what we’re runnin’ into. Gold ain’t  no good to us if we’re dead!" a voice shouted from the
  rear rank. It  was the big soldier who had dismounted the machine guns who spoke.
  Others yelled in assent.
  "And if our company can be gassed, why couldn’t all  our army get it the same way?" the big soldier went on.
  "I’ll answer that question." There was a decisive  ring in the captain’s voice. His face had hardened, but he
  spoke with  assurance. "First, I want to see the man who dares question me. Who is  he? Bring him here."
  Men in the ranks shifted uncertainly, then the big  soldier was pushed to the front. He shuffled forward
  between two other  khaki−clad veterans until he stood within a few feet of the captain.
  "We knew of this gas. Preparations have been made to  render it useless!" the captain snapped. He darted a
  quick glance at  the big soldier, then again faced the company. "Doc Savage is clever,  but The Leader is
  clever, also. He has known in advance every move this  Doc Savage has made, and checkmated it. A plan has
  been devised to kill  every Mayan without risk to ourselves. Why, right here in my pocket is�"
  The captain’s hand touched his pocket. A blank look  crossed his features. For a moment, he was quite pale,
  standing as if  stricken. His head turned slowly, his eyes bored into the face of the  big soldier before him.
  Slowly, his hand went to his hip, pulled out his .45. The muzzle of the .45 came up, pointed squarely at the
  head  of the big soldier.
  Flake gold eyes stared back calmly at the captain.  The gold−flecked eyes of Doc Savage.
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  "Damn you!" shouted the captain, and pulled the  trigger.
  AN entire company of men was watching the scene.  None could have told exactly what happened next. It
  came too fast.
  A harmless click came from the .45 in the scarred−faced man’s hand. In the same instant, the two men  beside
  Doc Savage turned somersaults in the air. Powerful hands had  snapped out, grabbed and hurled them as if
  they were weightless.
  The body of one struck the captain. They crashed to  the ground together.
  In the same flash, the bronze man started running.  As the company of soldiers stood stupefied, they saw the
  big soldier  fairly fade across the ground, start up the side of the canyon.
  The captain staggered to his feet.
  "Fire! Get him!" he bellowed. "That’s Doc Savage! A  thousand in gold extra to the man who kills him!"
  Rifles came up. Bolts clicked. Hammers fell.
  But no shots came!
  A squad rushed to one of the half−dismantled machine  guns, assembled it swiftly, inserted a belt of bullets
  and swung the  muzzle to cover Doc Savage’s fast−disappearing figure. The gun would  not work.
  "The firing pin’s been knocked off my rifle!" one of  the soldiers yelled. Others took up the cry. Not a
  workable gun was  left in the company. Doc Savage had worked swiftly in the few minutes  the men had been
  unconscious.
  Now he was traveling swiftly back toward the Valley  of the Vanished.
  As he ran, sure−footed as a mountain goat up the  steep canyon side and over rocks, the bronze man examined
  the papers he  had taken from the scarred−faced captain.
  The papers were covered with orders. They were  concise, detailed military orders. A map showed every
  canyon, every  possible adit and exit to the Mayan kingdom.
  And they revealed that even now huge forces of armed  men were marching to bottle up both the upper and
  lower entrance to the  huge canyon where the Mayans lived. The attack was to be launched  simultaneously
  from each end.
  The orders read:
  When the signal for the attack comes, move forward  fearlessly. The canyon should be taken without loss of a
  life.
  A faint, trilling sound filled the air, the sound of  Doc Savage. The final notations on the orders read:
  We understand what Doc Savage intends to do. He will  be rendered harmless.
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  The bronze man redoubled his speed, stripping off  the khaki coat he wore. The original owner of that coat
  was trussed and  gagged firmly. His bound form would be found when the advance guard  started ahead.
  Doc Savage was following no trail. Sometimes it  seemed as if he literally were running on a thread, so
  narrow was the  ledge of rock he traversed.
  He mounted sharply, sped along the crest of the  canyon. Two huge boulders loomed before him. There was a
  narrow  passageway between.
  The bronze man was moving almost soundlessly,  despite his speed. As he neared the boulders, he traveled
  even faster.  Like a high jumper, he leaped at one of the huge rocks.
  With fingers that gripped like steel, he hurled  himself upward, reached the summit.
  On either side of the passageway, now below him,  waited an armed man.
  ONE of the soldiers thought he sensed the shadow of  an eagle. He glanced up, tried to cry out.
  He had no chance. Doc Savage flashed downward. One  arm whipped out. The man went down without a
  sound. His companion  turned, squeezed the trigger of his gun.
  There was a streak of bronze as Doc’s fingers went  forward, lightning fast. One finger caught between the
  trigger and the  trigger guard, preventing the ambusher from firing.
  The bronze man’s right hand flicked hard against the  other’s neck, struck the paralyzing nerves there.
  Scarcely slowing, never hesitating to look back, Doc  raced on. Behind him were two prone figures. Ahead
  were other boulders,  but they were farther apart.
  A shot rang out, close at hand. At the same instant,  Doc Savage was whipped into the air.
  One moment there had been firm footing beneath him.  The next, and the ground seemed to rise swiftly.
  A group of men rushed forward from all sides. At  four corners, several men had hold of ropes. They were
  holding up a  huge fishing net, of the type used by deep−sea fishers, and woven to  withstand tremendous
  pressure. A thin layer of dirt had concealed that  net.
  Doc was being held up in the air, as the onrushing  men seized the edges of the net, pulling it up, pinning him
  in the  center.
  The bronze man had nothing firm to get a grip on.  The net beneath his feet gave him no leverage. But his
  giant muscles  erupted. Men yelled with sudden fear.
  Enmeshed as he was in the huge net, Doc went into  action. His fists cracked on jaws. His skilled fingers
  brought quick  oblivion to those who came within his reach.
  Without the net, he would have stood a chance of  victory. But that net was a handicap. Too big a handicap,
  combined with  the number of attackers that now launched themselves upon him.
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  Pistol butts rose and fell, showering blows  unmercifully on Doc’s closely combed bronze hair. The avalanche
  of  attackers swarmed over him, pulling the net tight, wrapping ropes about  it.
  Doc Savage resembled a mummy in a hempen cocoon as a  broad−shouldered, powerful man strolled on the
  scene. The fellow wore  the uniform of a general.
  "Well done, men," smirked General Glassell. "The  famous Doc Savage who escapes even torture rooms, is
  now harmless.  Before we are through with him, he may regret he ever made that escape."
  Chapter XVII. A KNIFE FALLS
  DOC’S flake gold eyes moved briefly over Glassell,  the son of Morning Breeze. They remained longer on the
  man who followed  the renegade Mayan.
  The newcomer was dressed in the uniform of a field  marshal. But his appearance would not have been called
  commanding.  Rather, it was fearsome. It affected even the hardboiled soldiers of  fortune. They cleared a path
  for him, with awe and unbidden terror  showing on their features.
  The face of the field marshal showed nothing at all.  It was lifeless. The nose, cheeks, lips and chin were
  devoid of all  expression, as are those of a corpse. Only the eyes seemed alive. They  were malevolent beyond
  description.
  The Leader stood before Doc Savage!
  The bronze man’s gaze was steady. He appeared not to  show the effects of the beating that had brought
  crimson through his  light bronze hair. His attitude was that of a disinterested spectator  surveying a freak.
  The Leader’s features did not move. They remained  leaden and set. But hate sparkled deeper in his
  malevolent eyes.
  "I am pleased to meet the so famous Doc Savage," he  said in a flat, lifeless voice. "One of us had to go.
  Naturally, it had  to be you."
  General Glassell shifted uneasily. "We shall kill  him now?" he asked anxiously.
  The cold, lifeless face turned toward him. The burly  Mayan took a step backward involuntarily. "I�I only
  thought�" he began.
  A faint flicker of scorn came to The Leader’s  malevolent eyes. "Certainly we kill him, but in my own
  way�and in my  own time." He whirled toward the soldiers. "Get blankets and more  ropes."
  The Leader’s eyes blazed as he turned back to the  bronze man. "Have you no curiosity?" he flared.
  "Why should I be curious?" Doc Savage’s voice was  even and unruffled. "You probably arrived here soon
  after I went to  visit your advance guard. You saw what I did there and laid a trap for  me. The trap was well
  set."
  The frozen−faced one bowed. "Thank you," he sneered.
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  Then his voice returned to its usual cold, lifeless  tone. "We did just that. The first two men you encountered
  were mere  decoys. They served their purpose. But I didn’t mean that. I meant,  weren’t you curious as to what
  my plans are, what I mean to do?"
  "No." The bronze man’s face did not change. "I am  not curious. I know."
  Lifeless lips drew back to show gleaming teeth. Eyes  became thin slits. "And you shall die with that
  knowledge. You will not  pass it on."
  The Leader spun swiftly to the soldiers with the  blankets and ropes. "Do as you were instructed!"
  The soldiers moved forward. Even with Doc Savage  trussed so that movement was impossible, they were
  cautious. A grin  spread over Glassell’s features. He seemed to anticipate some special  amusement.
  "You once caused the downfall of my father," he  jeered. "I hope the gods permit him to watch his son aid in
  revenging  that downfall."
  Doc made no reply. Soldiers were wrapping blankets  about his already trussed figure. More ropes went about
  the blankets.  Only his head was left free.
  Then a rope cradle was fashioned. His helpless form  was tossed into the cradle. A strong hempen strand was
  placed over an  outjutting rock, and fastened to the cleverly fashioned support.
  "Now!" rasped The Leader.
  Three soldiers lifted Doc’s bound form. With  sure−footed steps, they walked to the edge of the cliff. A
  corporal  barked a sharp order.
  Without hesitation, the three soldiers threw Doc  over the side. A sheer thousand−foot fall lay below!
  THE rope snapped taut. Doc’s body jerked viciously,  struck the side of the canyon wall and bounded out
  again. Above him,  the single rope that kept him from falling to destruction was stretched  tight as a violin
  string.
  The frozen−faced one peered over the edge. A sharp  knife was in his hand.
  "Anticipation is always half the enjoyment," he  advised in that cold, lifeless voice. "You cannot see me. I can
  see  you. Sooner or later, death will strike. Hang there, helpless. Meditate  on the rocks that wait for your body
  far below. When you least expect it , this knife will do its work. You will die."
  A battle−hardened corporal shivered slightly. It was  ghastly, he reflected, to hang there, never knowing when
  you were to  fall, with a horrifying, mangling death below you�one that would leave  your body a smashed,
  pulpy mass.
  And Doc Savage had been a great man. But, of course,  The Leader was greater.
  General Glassell was trying to express somewhat the  same sentiments.
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  83
  
  "You have genius," he said flatteringly. "No one but  you could have defeated the bronze man. He even
  escaped me."
  The Leader’s lifeless face did not change, but his  eyes showed pleasure. "I am a genius," he agreed.
  "And is not now a good time to tell me what is to  happen, now that the bronze man is through and victory
  within our  grasp?" Glassell asked cunningly.
  The frozen−faced one glanced at a wrist watch. "Ten  minutes before we attack," he said coldly. "Where are
  the reports from  your Mayan spies that you promised we would have?"
  General Glassell squirmed as if suddenly stricken  with a chill. "They will come, they will come in time," he
  said  hastily. "None could fail you." He drew a deep breath. "But is it not  time that I knew the plan?"
  The Leader hesitated. Then his eyes glowed  fanatically.
  "Perhaps I should tell you a little," he conceded.  "You called me a genius. And that is correct. For none but a
  genius  could have devised this plan. For it is simple. Simple and yet so  complex that none but me could have
  thought or carried it out."
  The wild light had left his eyes for a moment. Now  they blazed with the lust for power that makes and wrecks
  kingdoms.
  "Gold is the answer! Gold and gold alone!"
  "But�but, I know," stammered Glassell. "But you are  a wealthy man. You have far more of a fortune than
  you could ever use,  or ever spend. I don’t understand."
  THE LEADER gazed at him scornfully. "Of course you  don’t. And certainly I have money�much money.
  But money isn’t always  gold. And it is gold I want. Gold to bring me power, power to rule the  world.
  "I have men in every nation of the world. They are  trained men, trained agitators." The lifeless−faced man
  spoke as if to  himself. "They have stirred up disorder. They can stir up much more. My  money and their skill
  have done that.
  "Some of them are leaders in their own fashion. They  can cause revolts that might upset one or two nations
  where the people  are none too well pleased with their present governments. But what is  that?"
  Glassell’s eyes were large, his mouth half open.
  "Nothing!" The frozen−faced one’s lips came together  tightly. "Money alone will not buy enough men to rule
  the world. Even  gold as a purchasing power will not do that. You must strike in another  way. And that can be
  done with gold."
  "But I do not see!" Glassell objected blankly.
  "Of course, you do not see. No one has, except me.  That is where genius comes in. That is where a simple
  plan that  suddenly becomes complex, baffles the average mind. But not mine."
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  "Doc Savage said he knew," Glassell put in suddenly. 
  For a moment, faint admiration appeared in the  malevolent eyes of The Leader.
  "Perhaps he does," he admitted. "But he is an  extraordinary man. The knowledge, however, will do him no
  good. I will  seize the gold in the Valley of the Vanished. I will use it as no one  else has thought of using it."
  He paused dramatically. "And I�I shall become the  dictator of the world!"
  Glassell’s breath was coming fast. His features bore  a strange look.
  "And me. I’ll run Hidalgo!" he breathed.
  The words seemed to snap The Leader back to reality.  His eyes swung about swiftly.
  "Yes, you shall rule Hidalgo," he agreed, but there  was a faint, underlying sarcasm in his words. "I shall rule
  you."
  The Leader tested the edge of his knife on the ball  of a thumb. A thin, crimson line showed. He nodded,
  walked toward the  rope that alone held Doc Savage’s helpless body suspended.
  The knife blade pulled across the rope gently. A  thread snapped up. General Glassell looked on, hypnotized.
  Conversation  between the soldiers stopped. They stood frozen.
  Again the knife caressed the taut rope. Another  fragment of hemp unwound like a steel spring.
  Glassell moistened lips that suddenly had become dry  and parched. His eyes were burning feverishly. His
  own hand made  unconscious, sweeping moves, as if it were he who wielded the knife.
  The frozen−faced one lifted the knife high, tensed  for a swift, sweeping blow that would cut entirely through
  the rope.  Then he halted, his head came up quickly.
  In the almost absolute silence, came the faint sound  of running feet.
  "The spies," Glassell said, his voice coarse and  choking.
  A TRAVESTY of a smile, a mere lifting of the corners  of the mouth, unexpectedly marked The Leader’s face.
  "Savage has been where he could hear all we have  said so far. He should live until he can hear this. Death
  will then be  even more unbearable," his flat tones came.
  Two men rounded a turn in the mountain wall, came  racing toward the group of soldiers.
  Glassell chuckled. "I told you they’d get here in  time," he reminded.
  The newcomers were not dressed in the khaki of  Glassell’s troops. They were dressed as Mayans dressed,
  their finger  nails painted a brilliant red. Once that had been a sign of fighting  men. Now it meant only those
  who were outcasts.
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  85
  
  "We come, Son of the Moon," they said in Mayan.
  Shifty−eyed, they stood in front of the renegade who  once had won the respect of King Chaac in the Valley
  of the Vanished.  These two, also, had been trusted. Friends of Glassell’s father, they  had appeared to reform.
  But when Glassell called, they had answered.  They had turned traitors.
  "You did your work?" Glassell asked harshly.
  "Speak Spanish, French, English or anything else,  but not that gibberish," the frozen−faced one ordered.
  Glassell’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he  interpreted without hesitation.
  "They say the task you sent them on has been  completed," he reported.
  "The fangs of Doc Savage’s men have been drawn?"
  "Si, 
  completely. They found the big chambers of gas, with special  projectors aiming in our direction, just as you
  had said they would.  Using masks you provided, they succeeded in freeing that gas." 
  "And it must have been a good gas," the frozen−faced  one said reflectively, "judging from how it tumbled
  over the advance  guard when Savage used it from his plane. I am glad our radio experts  heard his orders.
  That gas, released at the proper time, might have  left our entire army helpless."
  "But not now." Glassell was jubilant. "They think  they are armed to receive us. They are not. They are
  without a weapon.  They have nothing to fight with."
  "Right." The Leader turned, looked over the edge of  the canyon, down to where Doc Savage hung swaying
  on the end of the  rope. The bronze man was trussed so thoroughly only his head was in  view. He glanced up,
  his flake gold eyes emotionless as they saw the  lifeless face of The Leader.
  The knife made a quick circuit in the air. Sunlight  glanced off its shiny surface as it cut cleanly through the
  rope.
  Below�a thousand feet below�sharp−pointed rocks  seemed to leap upward to receive Doc’s body as his
  cocoon−bound figure  hurtled downward.
  Somewhere in the distance a bugle sounded.
  Chapter XVIII. THE ATTACK
  "I DON’T like it." Monk was frankly worried.  Perspiration showed on his apelike features. He paced back
  and forth  restlessly.
  "Doc will win out somehow." Ham tried to speak with  assurance, but he somehow failed.
  Long Tom held a pair of field glasses to his eyes  and peered down the canyon. "If we only hadn’t gone down
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  86
  
  with Princess  Monja, we might have been able to see something that would have given  us a clue as to what
  happened," he worried.
  "Female perversity predominates even antediluvian  craniums," Johnny contributed, with a bitter look at
  Monk.
  "You didn’t have to go down with us just because I  was taking Monja!" Monk flared. Red crept over his face.
  "Quit speaking of girls." Renny’s puritanical  features became even more severe. "You said, I believe, that
  you have  something rigged up that Doc suggested might halt the army that is to  attack us. Perhaps we had
  better inspect that apparatus and see that it  is in working order."
  "Gladly." Ham brightened. He swung his sword cane  back and forth. "Anything to be doing something, and
  anything to keep  from having to look at the lovesick face of this ape."
  Monk growled something unintelligible, but even he  seemed glad of something to do.
  With Long Tom leading the way, the five moved along  the lip of the canyon to where the pipes extended over
  the edge.
  Johnny and Renny examined them with frank interest.
  "It was a tough job, but one that should work," Long  Tom said, with pardonable pride.
  "Unless attacks are launched from both ends of the  canyon at the same time," objected Renny.
  "We’ve got others just like this at the far end,"  Monk rumbled. "A couple of Chaac’s men are down there to
  operate them."
  "And the motivating principle behind these  cylindrical protuberances?" asked Johnny.
  "Compressed air and a gas Doc invented," Long Tom  explained. "We will use masks so we won’t be affected,
  then press this  button"�he stepped forward to illustrate�"and gas, much heavier than  air�"
  His mouth dropped. His ordinarily yellow, unhealthy  appearing features became ghastly. "It�it�" he choked.
  Monk and Ham rushed forward, investigated swiftly. 
  The hairy chemist’s mouth worked wordlessly. Ham  straightened, spoke in strangled tones.
  "Some one has tampered with them! The gas has been  released!"
  "And that kicks us into eternity," Monk rumbled  thickly. "It took us hours to fix that gas. Doc might do it
  quicker.  But he isn’t here. And without it we’re lost. The Valley of the  Vanished is doomed!"
  Renny spoke the thought of all of them.
  "Perhaps it would be well if Doc hurried back," he  said simply.
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  87
  
  DOC was hurrying�downward.
  When the rope was cut, his body fell as if it had  been shot from a gun. Glassell yelled out gleefully. The
  malevolent  eyes of The Leader were half shut, as if savoring a delectable joke.
  Those eyes opened wide with startling quickness.  Glassell’s yell shut off in mid−breath.
  The unbelievable had happened!
  The blankets, cocoon−tied ropes and huge fishnet  that bound the bronze man suddenly opened and fell away.
  Doc Savage  appeared, free of any bonds.
  In the same instant, his long arms and unbelievably  strong fingers shot out. They caught a narrow crevice in
  the seemingly  sheer face of the cliff.
  His fall was halted.
  A foot more, or a foot less, and the effort would  have been in vain. He made his catch at the one place where
  the cliff  bulged sufficiently that he could reach it.
  Only years of training of eyes and muscles could  have achieved the bronze man’s purpose. The hours he
  spent daily in  going through the most rigorous exercises, training every muscle, every  faculty, had their
  reward.
  For the space of a heartbeat, he hung motionless;  then he was in action.
  With the grace and ease of a human fly, but with a  speed that no other human fly ever possessed, Doc moved
  across the face  of that flat mass of rocks.
  The unexpectedness of it all had caught Glassell and  his frozen−faced companion flatfooted. For long
  moments they were as if  drugged, eyes unbelieving.
  The Leader was the first to recover. He whipped a  heavy .45 from his pocket, fired hastily. That haste was his
  undoing. His bullets went wild. Even as Glassell drew his gun free, and  before his companion could fire
  again, Doc reached shelter.
  It wasn’t much of a shelter. It was merely a wrinkle  in the cliff. That wrinkle, like a glass−smooth wave, was
  above him.  Lead struck it and whined away harmlessly. The bronze man moved along  easily beneath it.
  Glassell was raging. The frozen−faced one’s thin  mouth was set; he was firing clip after clip of bullets.
  Soldiers had  raced forward, were adding their rifle fire to the din.
  Doc Savage went on, swiftly.
  The corporal who had heard much of Doc Savage  surmised what had happened. In a way, he was almost
  glad. He held a  reluctant admiration for the bronze man.
  But he had no intention of reminding the others of  what they must have forgotten.
  Doc Savage had been tied, and tied tightly. But the  bronze man had been tied before. Slipping his bonds had
  been simple  enough. And in the kit he always carried around his body were  razor−sharp knives. It had not
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  been difficult to obtain one of those  knives and cut through net, ropes and blankets.
  The bronze man, had he desired, could have climbed  back up the rope to the top of the cliff. But that would
  have meant  facing bullets without a chance for defense.
  Now he had rounded a corner of the canyon, reached a  place where he could climb to the top and run.
  With sure−footed speed, he tore toward the lip of  the gorge where his aids awaited him.
  Once more a bugle sounded. And as the shrill blast  of the trumpet still echoed, artillery went into action.
  The invaders launched screaming shells toward the  Valley of the Vanished.
  As Doc reached the place where his aids waited, the  first of those shells tore overhead. At the other end of the
  canyon  came the rumble of attacking forces there.
  "WE can’t hold out long." Renny’s voice was as calm  and conversational as if Doc had just returned from a
  pleasure jaunt.
  "They freed that gas we had," Monk grumbled.
  None of Doc’s aids showed surprise at the bronze  man’s reappearance. They always pretended that they
  never worried when  he was on dangerous errands.
  "I know." The bronze man wasn’t even breathing fast.  He made no reference to his experiences.
  "The mercy guns?" he asked.
  "We got them as soon as we found the gas had been  destroyed," said Long Tom.
  Doc Savage nodded slightly. The roar of heavy  artillery increased.
  So far, the shells were overshooting. The gunners  may deliberately have been intending to frighten, rather
  than kill.
  "Two of you go to the other end of the canyon," Doc  said swiftly. "The other three remain here. Use mercy
  bullets in your  guns and delay the invaders as long as possible."
  He turned, raced on down the canyon side toward the  Mayan village.
  Renny and Johnny picked up weapons and followed,  headed toward the lower end of the gorge.
  "So long, if we don’t see you again." Renny said  dryly. 
  The others nodded. Their plight was desperate, and  they knew it, but their spirits were far from low. Doc
  Savage was back  again.
  Far down the canyon in front of them the first of a  skirmish line could be seen advancing. It was moving
  slowly, the  khaki−clad men taking care to stay behind rocks. The invaders were  taking no chances.
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  The artillery fire had settled down now to a steady,  thunderous roar.
  A modern army, with all that civilization had  developed in the way of death dealing, was moving relentlessly
  on the  last remnant of an ancient race.
  Only one man stood between that army and victory.  And even his aids wore frowns as they wondered what
  one man, even Doc  Savage, could do to stop a well−armed, well−disciplined mass of troops.
  PRINCESS MONJA’S features lighted as she sighted the  bronze man. Face still stained with tears, she
  rushed to him, threw her  arms around his neck.
  "I’m so glad, so happy you are back," she half  sobbed. 
  An unaccustomed color mounted on Doc’s face. There  was no time in his busy life for love. He long ago had
  renounced any  thought of marriage. And his unfailing attraction for women had often  proved a source of
  embarrassment. He felt far more at ease in a  desperate fight than he did when some beautiful girl showed
  affection  for him.
  Monja’s arms were locked tightly around Doc’s head,  her well−molded form was close to his. Gently, he
  released her grip.
  "You must never worry or be concerned ever about my  fate," he told her gravely.
  The deafening explosion of a big shell drowned out  all lesser sounds. Princess Monja shuddered.
  "I�I was afraid," she said. "I am not afraid now."
  "But still there remains much to be done," Doc said  softly. "Please tell your father I wish to see him."
  The girl hurried to obey. Doc made haste to the  building where Long Tom had taken temporary quarters. One
  room was  filled with chemical supplies and strange equipment. Swiftly, he went  to work.
  Only the fact that the canyon walls were so high  saved the Mayan village from destruction. The gunners were
  forced to  elevate the muzzles of their weapons to such an angle that accurate  fire was impossible.
  But the troops with those guns were advancing.
  King Chaac’s face was worried as he entered the room  where Doc worked. "Are�are we lost, Clark Savage?"
  he asked anxiously.
  "The assault will be centered on the buildings  here," the bronze man observed, ignoring the question.
  "Glassell, since  he formerly lived here, knows of the gold caverns beneath us. I believe  he expects you to run
  there for shelter, since you would be safe from  shells if you were underground."
  "An excellent idea," the aged king said. "I’ll give  instructions�"
  "Such caverns also could prove to be a gigantic  trap," Doc went on. "Openings could be blasted into them,
  and we would  be caught. Therefore, take your people and seek shelter in the  undergrowth and small caves
  along the walls of the gorge. There you  will be safe."
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  "And you?" King Chaac asked.
  "I shall be busy," the bronze man replied grimly.
  "WE can’t hold out much longer," Monk panted. The  hairy chemist was perspiring feverishly. Much as he
  loved a fight, this  one was becoming just a little too warm.
  Ham and Long Tom were twenty paces on either side of  him. Each had sought shelter behind large rocks, was
  making himself as  small as possible.
  And they needed all the protection they could get.  Snipers were raining lead about them. Several times,
  bullets had  smacked into various parts of their anatomy. Only the bulletproof armor  they wore saved them.
  Even so, Doc’s aids knew they could not hold out  much longer. Their rapid−fire pistols, loaded with bullets
  that brought  unconsciousness but not death, sounded occasionally with bullfiddle  roars. But they had no
  chance.
  Had the situation not been so serious, they might  have marveled at the scene beneath them.
  Small baby tanks were creeping forward with machine  guns spitting. Those tanks could never scale the cliff
  and descend on  the Mayan village, but they could come close enough so that the men  safe inside could drive
  defenders from the top of the canyon wall.
  A stream of lead, fully a hundred feet in length,  burst from one of the tanks, played up and down the side of
  the gorge,  but fell short of the men crouched on the top.
  Small trench mortars were throwing up bombs. Some of  these exploded too close for comfort.
  Heavy artillery, machine guns, flame−throwers, tanks  and infantry�all were being used in one strong,
  desperate assault.
  "Doc’s running the Mayans to shelter," Long Tom  observed. He pulled restlessly on the lobe of one oversized
  ear.
  "And we’d better be getting out of here," Ham put in  grimly. The lawyer’s usually dapper appearance was far
  from that now.  He was hot and tired, his clothes dirty. The barrel of his gun was  almost white−hot.
  "I hope Doc’s got some trick figured out," Monk  worried as they retreated cautiously. "If he hasn’t, we’re
  really  goners this time."
  PRINCESS MONJA hoped that the bronze man had some  way of halting the invaders, too. But she did more
  than that.
  A look of determination was on her beautiful  features. When others of the Mayans slipped toward the sides of
  the  canyon in obedience to Doc’s order, she did not go with them. She hid  in one of the buildings near Doc
  until the streets were clear.
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  Then she slipped out, began a cautious approach to  the head of the canyon, circling to dodge Monk, Ham and
  Long Tom as  they moved slowly back. At the rim of the gorge, she halted at a point  where she could see all
  that was going on beneath her.
  A strange glint entered her eyes as she made out a  bulgy, heavy−set figure in the uniform of a general. One
  hand felt  softly the hilt of a peculiar stone dagger.
  Son of the Moon was a traitor. It was he who had  brought this trouble on his people. She, as princess and
  heiress to the  throne of her people, should kill Son of the Moon, and with his death  remove the one who had
  forgotten those of his own blood. Thus reasoned  Princess Monja.
  Carefully, taking shelter where she could, she crept  slowly down the side of the gorge, toward the point
  where that bulky,  heavy−set figure was.
  At the bottom of the canyon, she halted briefly. No  one was looking in her direction. General Glassell was
  only a hundred  yards away. Earphones were on his head. He appeared to be talking into  a black box. His back
  was toward the girl.
  Whipping the stone dagger from her dress, Monja  crept onward.
  And it was then, with terrifying suddenness, that  strong arms seized her from behind!
  Monja kicked, scratched and fought with the fury of  a trapped wildcat. Her mouth was open; she screamed
  frantically.
  Words were being whispered into her ear. Too late,  she realized their significance.
  Monk, growling and muttering, pulled the still  struggling girl back toward the side of the gorge.
  Catching sight of her as she had started down the  canyon wall, he had grasped the mad mission she was on,
  had set out in  pursuit.
  But he had reached her too late. Monja’s scream had  been heard. An entire platoon of khaki−clad figures
  descended upon them.
  Monk fought. He fought as he had never fought  before, mouthing defiance as his apelike arms bowled
  soldiers right and  left. But he could not protect his rear.
  A heavy weight crashed upon him, bore him to the  ground. Still struggling, he was bound, a revolver butt
  smashed down on  the back of his skull.
  Dazed, but with belligerence undiminished, he was  jerked to where General Glassell stood waiting. Princess
  Monja was held  firmly between two of the invaders.
  "This is a surprise," Glassell said, with mock  politeness. "I’m glad to see you, Lieutenant Colonel Mayfair,
  and you,  princess." His eyes gleamed with a strange emotion as they looked upon  the scornful features of the
  Mayan girl. He whipped around to the  soldiers.
  "Execute Colonel Mayfair at once!" he snapped. "As  for the girl"�he paused, smirked slyly�"I had intended
  to get her  anyhow. I am just as well pleased that she could not wait, but came to  me. I will keep her."
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  Chapter XIX. A TRAIL OF GOLD
  GLASSELL turned back to the radio he had been using.  Monja, bound tightly, was propped against a rock
  near by. The soldiers  led Monk away. The girl’s eyes were soft as she watched the hairy  chemist go to his
  doom. Monk glanced at her once. What he saw in her  face made his heart beat swiftly.
  "I’m sorry, Monja," he rumbled.
  "You are a brave man, Monk," she said softly. "I  shall always remember you."
  Glassell was speaking excitedly. "I’ve captured the  one they call Monk and King Chaac’s daughter!" he
  reported.
  "It is well." The cold, colorless tones of The  Leader sounded in the earphones. "Save both of them in case
  Doc Savage  offers unexpected resistance and it becomes necessary to bargain with  him."
  "I’ve ordered Monk shot!" Glassell half howled.
  "Countermand that order at once!" The other’s voice  did not rise, but there was something in it that made
  Glassell’s hands  shake as he tore the earphones from his head and raced in the direction  the soldiers had taken
  Monk.
  Then he paused. A cunning look crossed his heavy  features. The hand of death was terrible, but still� 
  Sharp orders sounded clearly. "Ready! Aim�" 
  Glassell motioned to a near−by soldier. "I have  changed my mind," he said. "Tell Sergeant Audib he must not
  execute  Colonel Mayfair."
  "Fire!" A volley of rifle shots crashed out.
  The soldier gaped stupidly. "But, señor general�"
  "Fool! Idiot!" Glassell swore with seemingly genuine  rage. He jerked out his .45, shot once. The soldier
  crumpled, a look of  surprise still on his face.
  "I am sorry," Glassell reported over the radio a  moment later. "I gave a soldier orders to run and halt the
  execution.  He did not move swiftly enough. Monk already had been executed. I shot  the soldier myself."
  At the opposite end of the canyon, the frozen−faced  one listened without change of expression. Only his
  malevolent eyes  turned a shade darker.
  "Proceed with your advance," he instructed, in that  flat, cold voice. "Do not move too swiftly. Doc Savage
  may have  something up his sleeve, although I doubt it. We shall start moving  here in five minutes and pinch
  the Mayans between us. We should have  achieved our entire aim inside half an hour."
  The Leader switched off his radio. For a moment, he  stood silent. When he spoke, it was to himself.
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  "And I am afraid, General Glassell, that you have  blundered once too often. Your usefulness, also, will have
  expired  within the next half an hour."
  SOLDIERS mounted to the canyon rim overlooking the  Valley of the Vanished. Other khaki−clad figures
  appeared from the  opposite end of the gorge. The men moved forward, cautiously.
  Below them, they could see only the collection of  queer−shaped buildings�and the huge, gold−built pyramid.
  Eyes became feverish; a tenseness filled those  advancing soldiers of fortune. Captains shouted orders harshly,
  delaying with difficulty the advance of troops that were muttering  rebelliously.
  "That’s the gold we’re after. What are we waiting  for?" a gigantic, red−eyed invader snarled.
  "There is no one in view. It might be a trap," a  companion counseled.
  "Trap, hell!" The big soldier spat contemptuously.  "That bunch down there is licked, and they know it!"
  The Mayans hidden at the sides of the canyon also  felt that hope was gone. Peering through trees, they saw
  Doc’s aids  retreat to the building where the bronze man had been at work. Then  they saw nothing more.
  Glum features faced Doc. "Monk is gone," Ham said,  softly. Sorrow showed on the lawyer’s face.
  Pain flashed for an instant in the bronze man’s  flake gold eyes. "You are sure?"
  Long Tom nodded slowly. "We saw him overcome and  later executed. We were too far away to help him."
  "He tried to save Princess Monja," Ham explained  haltingly. "The big ape, I�I�"
  "We understand," Renny said. His thin lips were  tight. All felt a stunning loss, but all knew that Ham
  probably was the  most affected, despite the continual bickering between the two that had  marked their careers.
  "Time is short," Doc Savage said. He stared straight  ahead for a moment, then spoke crisply. "We have only a
  faint chance.  The forces against us are overpowering. But we can try. The fate of the  Mayans, the fate of the
  world, depends on us. Here is what must be  done."
  He spoke on, in short, clipped sentences. The others  nodded. No need to tell them that their plight was
  desperate. They all  knew they were faced with almost certain death. But it was not in their  code to surrender.
  Once Johnny opened his mouth to protest. Then his  lips came together, the words unspoken. Doc Savage was
  taking the most  dangerous, the most desperate chance of all in the one plan that  offered the slightest hope of
  winning out. But that was the bronze  man’s way. Johnny knew protests would be useless.
  One by one, the men turned to their allotted tasks.
  Doc wheeled a small machine to the doorway. In  appearance it was not unlike a miniature cannon, except that
  the barrel  was solid steel, with no opening for a shell. Wires led from it to a  small dynamo. At one side was a
  row of buttons and across the top,  running parallel to the barrel, were two heavily insulated wires,  strung like
  a radio aërial.
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  Soldiers were moving over the edge of the canyon  wall. Doc spun the point of his strange weapon in that
  direction. The  dynamo hummed, its pitch gradually increasing.
  The bronze man pressed one of the buttons beside the  barrel.
  Blam!
  Rock and dirt exploded with a tremendous blast  directly in the face of the onrushing force.
  Again Doc pressed a button.
  "HE’S pulled one out of his hat."
  The speaker was clad in khaki. He was pressed close  to the ground, where he could get a clear view of what
  was happening.  Small, deep−set eyes peered from beneath layers of gristle. One long,  crooked arm was
  tossed carelessly over the small form beside him.
  "Yes, Monk, but I expected that," said Princess  Monja. 
  The hairy chemist twisted his head, looked  admiringly at his companion.
  Explosions were blasting at the entire edge of the  cliff where the attacking force had halted. The blasts came
  with the  force of high−powered shells. The attackers were milling in confusion.
  "Atomic blasts." Monk explained.
  "At�at what?" asked Monja.
  Monk blushed slightly. "Long Tom is the electrical  guy; he could explain better than I can," he confessed.
  "But Doc’s got  an electrical dingbat rigged up that shoots bolts of juice, and when  that juice hits the rocks it
  releases the atomic energy inside, causing  an internal explosion, creating the illusion of artillery shells
  hitting."
  "O−oh, yes. I�I understand perfectly." A dazed look  was on Monja’s face.
  Monk grinned happily. He didn’t understand perfectly  either, but he was glad just to be alive, and to be with
  Monja.
  He really should be dead, he conceded. In fact, he’d  been left for dead by the firing squad. But the
  commander of that  firing squad evidently hadn’t heard of the bulletproof armor. None of  the soldiers had
  fired at his head. All had shot at his body.
  The tremendous striking power of the bullets had  knocked Monk out, but they hadn’t killed him. He’d
  recovered, just as  the advance had started. Borrowing the uniform of an unconscious  soldier, he’d found
  Monja, freed her and started back to rejoin Doc.
  Slowly, the hairy chemist’s grin faded. Additional  hordes of khaki−clad troops were pouring up the canyon.
  The gold−maddened reserves from Blanco Grande had  arrived!
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  In the same instant, officers of the invaders saw  through Doc’s trick. The explosions were continuing. Rocks
  and dirt  were being thrown high in the air, but casualties were few. Shouted  orders came distinctly.
  Troops dived through the dust clouds, started  charging down the slope toward the Mayan village. From the
  opposite end  of the gorge, the first of the attackers there came into view.
  Streams of khaki−clad troops were swarming toward  the golden pyramid from all directions. Literally
  thousands of men were  staging a last, furious charge.
  Below them, Doc Savage stood alone!
  AS the charge started, Doc Savage abandoned the  atomic gun. It had served its purpose. It had delayed the
  attack until  the bronze man’s aids had completed their tasks and disappeared.
  But Monk did not know that. A groan burst from his  lips.
  Nothing could withstand the resistless force of that  charging mass of gold−maddened, inflamed band of
  soldiers of fortune,  an army composed of little better than bandits, whose sole aim was to  kill and loot.
  And then a strange thing occurred�a thing that not  even Monk could understand.
  Doc left the doorway of the building where he had  been crouched. He raced into the open. He raced directly
  for the golden  pyramid.
  Order almost disappeared in the ranks of the  invaders. They became little more than an unruly, senseless
  mob.  Attempts of their officers to control them were unheeded.
  All had heard of the extra reward offered to the man  who killed Doc Savage. They raised guns, fired, and ran
  downward.
  Doc apparently paid no attention to the bullets that  sang about him. As Monk watched, the bronze man
  reached the front of  the pyramid, started up.
  Narrow paths, chiseled in the side of the gorge,  offered the only route for one group of the advancing
  soldiers, but  they were tumbling down that with little regard either for their own  safety or the safety of their
  companions.
  Some were pushed off, to fall to horrible deaths.  The others did not even pause. Behind them came even
  more, as those who  had left Blanco Grande last joined in that frantic rush.
  All eyes were on the bronze man. The steps up the  front of the pyramid were steep, but he was mounting
  them with apparent  ease. His rapidly moving figure made a difficult target, but even so it  seemed impossible
  that he could reach the top in safety.
  But reach the top he did. A sigh of relief came from  Monk, a sigh that was half a groan. For Doc had swung
  open the huge  door at the top of the pyramid�the door that led to the enormous gold  caverns beneath the
  ground.
  "He’s safe for a minute, but he’ll be trapped!  They’ll get him sure!" the hairy chemist wailed.
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  But he found he was talking to himself. Monja had  slipped from under his arm, was on her feet and running
  down another  narrow trail.
  "If Clark Savage dies, I want to be with him," she  sobbed. 
  For a moment, a lugubrious expression was on Monk’s  homely face. It seemed he hadn’t been making the
  progress with the  pretty Mayan that he had thought.
  But Monk’s hesitation was only momentary. Then he,  too, was on his feet, plunging after the girl. He also
  could die with  Doc.
  From the far end of the canyon, a fresh regiment of  khaki−clad veterans streamed into view. The valley
  seemed filled with  shouting, murderous invaders.
  Then Doc reappeared. And at sight of him, Monk’s  breath came in with sudden comprehension.
  The bronze man was running down the face of the  pyramid now. He was carrying a huge load in his big arms.
  And as he  ran, he dropped objects from that load.
  The sun flashed briefly on the burden he carried. It  was a dull, golden gleam. The objects that were being
  dropped were  golden ingots, goblets and golden vessels.
  The bronze man was leaving a golden trail leading  straight to the enormous storehouse underground�the
  storehouse where  thousands upon thousands of similar ingots and immense stores of  beautiful golden images
  and vessels lay hidden.
  Chapter XX. WHEN PLANS MISFIRE
  THE tumult that followed was almost indescribable.  No such desperate, hideous stampede had ever been seen
  before.
  The sight of those golden objects, the clear  intimation that they led to a storehouse where an almost
  inexhaustible  supply was hidden, released passions that long had been hidden. The  thin veneer that
  civilization had stamped on the murderous troops  intent on a bloody errand was stripped away.
  They became savages. Only one thought filled them;  only one desire impelled them.
  Each wanted to be the first to get the gold. Each  wanted to seize all the gleaming metal that he could carry, to
  paw over  it, to revel in wealth, to steal and loot and kill.
  Officers tried desperately to stem the tide.  Automatics cracked as those officers shot the men in the leading
  ranks,  striving to restore sanity.
  They might just as well have tried to reason with a  hurricane, and they stood as little chance of stopping the
  rush.
  More guns roared. But those guns were in the hands  of the gold−maddened soldiers. The officers dropped.
  Some were trampled  to death, others were shot down, still others were run through by  bayonets. None lived.
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  The race up the front of the pyramid resembled the  rushing onslaught of warrior ants, who climb over the
  bodies of their  fellows to surmount any obstacle, and who leave nothing behind them.
  So it was with the khaki−clad invaders. Those who  slipped, those who paused for an instant to draw a breath,
  were knocked  to the steps, were ground under hobnailed boots.
  Screams of pain and torture filled the air, mingling  with other yells from those who did not even know they
  were making a  sound, but knew only they intended to go on, and that nothing could  stop them.
  The bronze man had disappeared. Even had he been in  plain view, it is doubtful that he would have been
  noticed. Every eye  was focused on that yawning opening near the top of the pyramid, the  opening that led to
  the gold vaults.
  THE LEADER had been thrust aside by the first rush  of his troops. And he had realized at once what had
  happened.
  The anger that filled him against Doc Savage made  his malevolent eyes gleam like red balls of fire. His
  expressionless  face was even more lifeless and frozen.
  He alone made no attempt to try and halt the  soldiers. That, he saw, was useless. The very reason that had
  impelled  him to enlist such men as his warriors was now working against him.
  He had wanted only those to whom killing is just  another job, who were outside the law and ready for any
  desperate  venture. Now those qualities had broken out in a way that would be  impossible to control.
  Doc Savage had outwitted him.
  But the frozen−faced one had no intention of giving  up. He still had one desperate play he could make. His
  eyes narrowed  with cunning thought. Cautiously, he started toward the pyramid.
  Thunderous noise of fighting men came from under the  ground now. The stream of struggling bandits
  climbing up the pyramid  had dwindled. In a few minutes all would be in the deep, hidden caverns.
  There was huge chamber after huge chamber in that  underground vault. Every chamber was filled with gold.
  Pile upon pile  of it was there for the taking. But the frozen features of The Leader  betrayed no interest, now,
  in that fact.
  The soldiers, he knew, could still be taken care of.  They could be taken care of in a way that was hideous
  beyond all human  reason.
  But The Leader was scarcely reasonable. And now he  was hunting and stalking. He wanted to find Doc
  Savage. If he could  find him�
  AT one side of the village was a peculiar−appearing  structure. Once it had housed the sacrificial well. At the
  bottom of  that well had hissed vicious snakes. It had been used by the Mayans for  executions.
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  The snakes were no longer there. It had been long  since the sacrificial well had been used. But if the snakes
  were gone,  the well did hold other queer creatures.
  As the din and tumult quieted, those strange  creatures appeared, pulling themselves awkwardly over the edge
  of the  well.
  There were four of them. They were huge, and far  from human in appearance, although each did appear to
  have two legs and  two other appendages that might have been arms.
  But where the heads should have been, were  bucket−shaped objects, something like divers’ helmets.
  Shoulders and  torsos were hidden in bulky jackets that joined the helmets at the top,  and overall−shaped
  trousers below.
  Each of the four was carrying a large cylinder. A  bellowslike arrangement was at one end of each cylinder,
  while a hose  was attached to the other end.
  The cylinders were heavy. The four, big as each was,  grunted inaudibly as they hoisted their burdens and
  started slowly  toward the pyramid.
  And as they moved forward, another figure came into  view. Doc Savage glided from a near−by building, took
  up a position in  front of the strange−appearing figures.
  He did not appear surprised, nor did the four seem  to notice him.
  But another did. The frozen features of The Leader  peered cautiously around a corner, two hundred yards
  away. A gun came  up in his hand, then dropped. The distance was too great.
  The Leader was not superstitious. He saw nothing  awesome in the four creatures that trailed Doc Savage. He
  did see  deadly peril there to his plans.
  He did not know, but he felt with fierce certainty  that he knew what was in the cylinders those four carried,
  and felt he  knew why they were dressed as they were.
  Men about to use an overpowering gas would be  dressed that way. Men who planned an attack on a large
  force where  their only hope lay in rendering their opponents helpless, would be  dressed that way.
  If such a gas were loosed in the gold caverns, the  soldiers there would be helpless. Even if the gas did not kill,
  it  would leave the bandits easy prey, so that they might be disarmed and  bound.
  Under the direction of the Mayans, terrible when  aroused, an army could be marched, powerless, back to
  Blanco Grande to  face the summary justice of military rule.
  The Leader darted forward with fierce strides.
  GENERAL GLASSELL, also, was stalking prey. Unlike  the commander, the Mayan renegade had not been
  in the front ranks of  the attackers. He had arrived behind the fierce rush of the maddened  men.
  But bringing up the rear, he had seen something that  at first made him believe in ghosts.
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  Speeding along ahead of him had been a beautiful  girl, closely pursued by an apelike form, whose long,
  dangling arms  almost touched the ground.
  Glassell’s .45 had appeared in his hand; he  had slipped along rapidly behind them.
  The Mayan, also, saw that all was lost. There had  been one instant of fierce regret, then he had reverted to
  type. With  the fatalism of his race, he had accepted defeat. But all his fierce  hatred had centered on Monk.
  As the roar of underground fighting increased in  volume, Doc led his four aids to the base of the pyramid. He
  held a  mercy pistol in one hand.
  The scramble of running feet came to his keen ears.  He whirled. A strange trilling filled the air, a trilling low,
  yet  penetrating. It was heard by his four aids, even inside the huge  helmets they wore.
  From one side of the pyramid had appeared Princess  Monja, with Monk close behind her. And in the rear,
  pistol raised, was  General Glassell.
  At another corner, almost behind Doc, came the  frozen, expressionless features of The Leader. His gun was
  aimed  directly at the bronze man’s head.
  THERE was an instant of perfect silence among those  at the base of the golden pyramid.
  The fate of the world hung on that one breathless  moment. Victory for either side could be decided in the
  space of a  heartbeat.
  The Leader saw that victory in his hands. A single  pressure on the trigger, and lead would drill the
  bronze−haired head of  Doc Savage.
  Monk saw the danger to Doc. He let out a hoarse  bellow of rage and leaped forward with the clumsy,
  gangling, yet  tremendous speed of the bull−ape he resembled. Four men in queer  costumes also leaped to
  shield the bronze man.
  But even quicker than his aids, even faster than the  finger squeeze of The Leader, was Doc Savage.
  A gun cracked. Lead whistled through the space Doc’s  head had occupied a moment before. But the bronze
  man was no longer  there.
  With a coördination of muscles that would have  appeared unbelievable unless it had been seen, Doc had
  jumped to one  side. In that same flash, he had turned in mid−air. He landed facing  the horrible features and
  malevolent eyes of the frozen−faced one.
  It was then that the man who had wanted to rule the  world knew he had lost. It was then he knew that the
  golden trail he  had followed could have but one ending.
  With a shrill scream, he vanished behind the side of  the pyramid. He ran frantically along the wall toward a
  small niche.
  General Glassell saw that move. He understood what  it meant. Some deep, hidden remnant of manliness
  came to the surface.  With frantic steps, he charged desperately to intercept the man he had  so long obeyed.
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  They came face to face, directly before the niche.
  Insane rage gleamed from the frozen−faced one’s  eyes. Glassell was yelling, was shouting frantic words.
  What those  words were, The Leader never knew.
  He squeezed the trigger of his gun, again and again.
  The renegade Mayan went to the ground, his head  almost shot from his body. The Leader clawed frantically
  at a small  spot on the side of the pyramid.
  Doc Savage shot around a corner. Lead tugged the  side of his coat as the frozen−faced one fired at him.
  Mouth drawn back in a terrible grimace, eyes almost  popping from his head, The Leader’s clawing hand
  found what it sought.  It was a small key.
  Doc Savage’s keen eyes saw that key. His lips  tightened. He fired his mercy pistol at the other’s hand.
  That mercy bullet struck even as the key was pushed  home.
  THERE was a tremendous, earth−shaking roar. The  ground trembled and rocked beneath their feet. Even Doc
  was shaken off  balance, while his aids were thrown to the earth bodily by the force of  that explosion. The
  pyramid rocked and teetered, seemed almost about to  collapse entirely.
  While ears still rang, while bodies still were  stunned by the force of that overpowering blast, other sounds
  rose from  the depths of the earth. The sounds were such that none who heard them  ever could forget.
  They made tame by comparison the worst nightmare  ever experienced. They were animal cries of
  unendurable pain and  torment. They were wrung from hundreds of throats�the throats of  gold−maddened
  bandits, trapped and dying.
  The simple pressure of a hidden key had exploded  tons of dynamite planted by spies at either entrance to the
  gold  cavern. That explosion had been planned to trap and kill Mayans who had  been expected to seek refuge
  there from the artillery bombardment.
  Instead, it had trapped and killed those who had  sought to destroy the Mayans. And they had been killed by
  their own  commander. Hidden caches of deadly gas, designed to wipe out any Mayan  who might survive the
  explosion, had been released with the blast. That  poison was now killing the last of the bandit horde.
  Doc Savage ran forward, firing once more with his  mercy pistol.
  The Leader had fallen. He made no attempt to rise.  One fist made feeble swipes at his throat.
  As the bronze man reached his side, the other fell  back. On his throat was the crimson−soaked hand of death.
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  Chapter XXI. FRIENDS PART
  DOC SAVAGE reached quickly for the kit inside his  coat. His hand came out. It held only a broken
  hypodermic. The Leader’s  last shot at the bronze man had sealed his own doom. It had broken the  only vial
  of antidote Doc had had for the hand of death.
  The bronze man’s aids gathered swiftly. The metal  helmets came off, to reveal Renny, Johnny, Long Tom
  and Ham. Monk stood  close to Princess Monja.
  A peculiar−shaped glove was on one hand of the  frozen−faced one. It was literally covered with hundreds of
  tiny  needles.
  "The hand of death," Monk said solemnly.
  "Be careful when you touch it," Doc cautioned. "The  point of each of those needles has been covered with a
  very  swift−action poison. It was only by analyzing some of the blood of the  slain messenger boy that I was
  able to develop an antidote. Now that  antidote has been destroyed."
  Ham nodded. Mayans were streaming down from the  hills. The noise underground had ceased. There was
  only the silence of  the tomb�a tomb that enfolded all those who had come to murder and loot.
  Renny glanced at the body on the ground curiously.  "But who is he, Doc?"
  "Yeah, I never saw that mug before," Long Tom  muttered. 
  Doc Savage smiled slightly. He reached down, his  hands worked about the fallen one’s face.
  A gasp of astonishment came from the lanky chemist  as Doc Savage rose. In his hands, he held a cleverly
  fashioned mask.  That mask had fitted closely over the real features of The Leader.
  The man who lay dead was Baron Vardon.
  "BUT he’s the one who wanted us to go to  Switzerland. We saw him dead in the hotel room in New York!"
  Monk  exploded.
  "He is the one who wanted us to go to Switzerland,  but we did not see him dead," Doc corrected quietly.
  "You mean�"
  "I mean he tried to decoy us abroad, so he might  have a clear field here," the bronze man went on. "He
  realized he might  fail, so he pretended to be a victim of the hand of death. When we  first entered the hotel
  room, his acting was realistic.
  "Before we left, I knew he was not dead, but there  was no time to do anything, or any reason to then. I didn’t
  want to  make him a prisoner then. It would have meant letting the rest of his  men know that fact and disperse
  before I could trap them all. But,  unfortunately, I failed."
  "The pulse on his throat?" Johnny asked. "Is that  how you knew he wasn’t dead?"
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  "Exactly. The pulsebeat there showed he was alive."
  "But his purpose?" Ham asked. "From Long Tom’s  investigation, Baron Vardon was an exceedingly wealthy
  man in his own  right. Why did he want the gold here?"
  "Baron Vardon was wealthy," Doc agreed, "but he  wanted power. Through his League of Nations
  connections, he learned of  the Valley of the Vanished. And he saw a way to use the gold.
  "Gold is almost a forbidden metal on a majority of  the world’s leading money markets, yet those money
  markets are based on  it. And the peace and prosperity of the world depends on the money  markets.
  "Should the financial centers of the world suddenly  be disrupted, the entire financial structure of the world
  would be  toppled; and nations, even the strongest, would fall."
  "Then he�"
  "He intended to throw the billions of dollars’ worth  of gold of the Valley of the Vanished on the world
  market in one big  sweep. Financial security of nations would have been overthrown. His  agitators would have
  stirred up trouble where stirring was necessary.  Gold would have made him dictator of the world."
  "A golden peril!" Ham breathed.
  THE MAYANS did not want to see Doc and his men go.  But the bronze man’s errand was over. Hidalgo and
  the Valley of the  Vanished had been saved.
  The plane Long Tom had purchased in Havana,  virtually undamaged, was flown from the near−by canyon to
  the small  lake in the Valley of the Vanished. Equipment was placed aboard.
  No attempt had been made to open the underground  tombs where murderers and thieves lay buried. The
  Mayans would wait for  months, until all poison gas was gone, before they did that.
  Princess Monja stood silent and forlorn at the edge  of the lake as the six men started for the plane.
  Monk paused beside her. His homely face worked with  emotion. It seemed he had words to say, but he could
  not say them.
  The Mayan princess had eyes only for Doc. Face  lengthening, Monk walked on.
  The plane’s motor roared. The ship began to move  slowly across the water. Cries of farewell, mingled with
  sadness,  filled the air. It might be long before they saw Doc Savage again.
  Monk’s eyes were glued to Monja. Under the full  sweep of the Central American sun, her skin was golden,
  her face  beautiful.
  Ham’s face screwed up mischievously; then he  sobered. The look on Monk’s face showed only too well
  where his heart  was.
  "Skip it," the dapper lawyer advised affectionately.  "She’s beautiful, and she’s a princess. But you have no
  more chance  there than she has of winning Doc. Women are dangerous, too."
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  "Yeah," Monk sighed deeply. "A golden peril."
  THE END
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  Chapter XXI. FRIENDS PART
  104
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Vault2.0.-.Fiction-and-audiobooks/Books/R/Robeson, Kenneth/058 The Golden Peril.pdf