TEXT:  
   
  HAUNTED OCEAN 
  A Doc Savage Adventure by Kenneth Robeson 
   
  Originally published in “Doc Savage” magazine June 1936 
   
   
  Chapter 1 
  DEAD MAN AT THE DOOR 
   
  “THERE’S a dead man just outside 
  your door.” 
  The voice was calm and controlled. 
  Its tone might have indicated the owner 
  was accustomed to encountering dead men 
  just outside of doors. Certainly the man 
  who spoke was not greatly perturbed. 
  Doc Savage was facing the man as 
  he entered. Except for a quick stirring of his 
  flaky gold eyes, the bronze adventurer 
  himself did not betray great surprise. Yet, 
  until the visitor had announced it, neither 
  Doc Savage nor his four companions then 
  present had known of any presence in their 
  corridor, dead or otherwise. 
  That is, with the exception of the 
  man who had made the announcement. 
  And this visitor had pressed the buzzer and 
  
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  2 
  been admitted in the usual manner. 
  Moreover, the visitor had been expected. 
  He had telephoned half an hour previously. 
  His visit was for the purpose of consulting 
  Doc Savage on the investigation in which 
  Doc and his four men were then engaged. 
  There was not a ripple on the 
  smooth bronze skin of Doc Savage’s face. 
  Looking at his visitor, he spoke first to the 
  big, solemn-faced man behind him. 
  “Renny, you will see what has 
  happened,” he said, quietly. “You will have 
  a look around and bring the body in.” 
  Colonel John Renwick, known as 
  “Renny,” an engineer of worldwide repute, 
  moved his great bulk toward the outer door. 
  Renny was a giant in breath and stature. 
  His rugged features were always solemn, 
  almost melancholy. But that was deceptive. 
  Doc spoke next to the other big 
  man beside him. This man was of ungainly, 
  squat appearance. His small eyes twinkled 
  under the shaggiest of jutting brows. His 
  long arms trailed his hands below his 
  knees. 
  “Monk,” directed Doc, “you will 
  have a look around outside on the stairs. 
  Perhaps it would be well to drop down a 
  few floors by elevator, then come up 
  carefully.” 
  Lieutenant 
  Colonel 
  Andrew 
  Blodgett Mayfair, known as “Monk,” the 
  widely famed chemist of Doc’s group, 
  grunted in a childish treble. He scuttled in 
  the direction of the elevators. 
  Doc thus had started the quickest 
  possible means of finding out what a dead 
  man outside his door might mean. Then he 
  addressed his visitor. 
  “Your 
  reception 
  has 
  been 
  somewhat unpleasant,” said the bronze 
  man. “You have excellent nerve. I take it 
  you 
  are 
  Professor 
  Callus, 
  the 
  oceanographer?” 
  The man bowed and agreed. “I am 
  Professor Callus. I have been in touch with 
  a friend in the Geodetic Survey. He 
  mentioned you were seeking to trace the 
  origin of the prevailing subsea disturbance.” 
  “We have been working on that,” 
  stated Doc Savage. “I admit we probably 
  have little more information than yourself, if 
  we have as much. What we know thus far 
  we will gladly pass along.” 
  Professor Callus wagged his head 
  again. 
  His 
  skull 
  had 
  the 
  peculiar 
  appearance of a shining globe. It was partly 
  bald, and apparently too large for his 
  scrawny neck and skinny body. 
  “Seeing the man outside the door 
  was somewhat of a shock,” he said, slowly. 
  “It was more so because I recognized him.” 
  The voice of Professor Callus was 
  still so calm that another of Doc’s 
  companions emitted an exclamation. 
  “That’s nerve!” he said to the man 
  beside him. “He walks onto a dead man! He 
  knows him! And he doesn’t turn a hair!” 
  The speaker was a slender, well-
  dressed fellow. He had the sharp nose and 
  the keen eyes of an analyst. Which he was. 
  For the speaker was Brigadier General 
  Theodore Marley Brooks, otherwise known 
  as “Ham,” the legal luminary of Doc 
  Savage’s group. Ham carried a sword 
  cane, the tip of which was covered with a 
  chemical that, injected in the skin, would 
  produce instant unconsciousness. 
  Professor Callus apparently did not 
  catch Ham’s remark. 
  “The dead man is a colleague, after 
  a manner of speaking,” he volunteered. “He 
  is—or was—Professor Homus Jasson, and 
  he also has been a deep student of 
  oceanography. I imagine he must have 
  been on somewhat the same mission as 
  myself.” 
   
   
  THEY were now in Doc Savage’s 
  great library. This room, with other offices 
  and perhaps the world’s most completely 
  equipped laboratory were on the eighty-
  sixth floor of lower Manhattan’s most 
  impressive skyscraper. 
  At the time Professor Callus had 
  entered, Doc and his companions were 
  intensively engaged with a wide variety of 
  instruments. 
  Every 
  known 
  device 
  for 
  indicating 
  weather 
  conditions 
  was 
  in 
  service. 
  For in the past few days, strange 
  disturbances had been reported by the 
  government Coast and Geodetic Survey. 
  Delicate instruments had been disturbed to 
  the extent of being put out of business. 
  The 
  inexplicable 
  emanation 
  appeared to come from the depths of the 
  sea. Tonight Doc Savage was attempting to 
  not only trace the disturbance, but to isolate 
  the position of its origin. 
  
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  3 
  Thus far, the man of bronze had 
  been unsuccessful. 
  Until the moment of the arrival of 
  Professor Callus, the phenomenon had 
  been accepted as probably some natural, 
  perhaps 
  some 
  undersea 
  volcanic, 
  disturbance. 
  But now there was a dead man 
  outside the door. And Professor Callus had 
  said he was an oceanographer like himself. 
   
   
  THE matter of the identification 
  brought no comment from Doc Savage. 
  Renny was coming in. He was bearing a 
  body of slight form and weight in his huge 
  arms. 
  “Holy cow!” boomed Renny, placing 
  the body on a couch near the library table. 
  “Feels like he might have been out there 
  some time! The body’s already stiff, Doc. 
  And it looks to me like we missed 
  something by him not getting in here alive!” 
  Doc’s bronzed hands were already 
  busy. He was removing a variety of lethal 
  instruments from the pockets of the dead 
  man’s loose-fitting, shabby suit. 
  “Great guns!” exploded Ham. “He 
  seems to have been a man going places for 
  purposes of much violence! Are those 
  things bombs, Doc?” 
  Ham indicated two round, black 
  objects equipped with timing triggers. 
  “They are bombs,” stated Doc, 
  calmly. “And from their compact form, I 
  imagine they contain enough high explosive 
  to have wrecked this whole floor.” 
  “This is indeed most peculiar,” 
  commented Professor Callus. “I’ve always 
  known Professor Jasson as a very mild sort 
  of man. Yet that must be an automatic 
  pistol. And is that other instrument a 
  weapon?” 
  Doc 
  had 
  removed 
  a 
  loaded 
  automatic 
  of 
  large 
  calibre. 
  He 
  was 
  examining the other device. It had the 
  appearance of an oversize water pistol 
  such as might have been used by a child. 
  But Doc put it carefully aside. 
  “If I am not mistaken, this is a gun 
  for spreading poison gas,” he said, quietly. 
  “And be careful, Long Tom. Don’t touch that 
  for a moment.” 
  The bronze man had taken a flat, 
  ebony box from the dead man’s inner 
  pocket. It was a large box to have been 
  thus carried. A clasp appeared to open by 
  the touching of a spring. “Long Tom” had 
  been about to unsnap the clasp. 
  Long Tom, or Major Thomas J. 
  Roberts, one of the world’s best-known 
  electricians, had been helping operate 
  some of the radio instruments. 
  Doc picked up the flat box. 
  “I believe this should have special 
  attention,” he advised. “Of all this collection 
  of death-dealing devices, I suspect this is 
  the most deadly.” 
  Doc 
  filled 
  a 
  shallow 
  glass 
  receptacle with a clear liquid. This was only 
  pure alcohol. Doc’s sleeves were stripped 
  from his forearms. Tendons of cable-like 
  strength played under his smooth bronze 
  skin. 
  Immersing the flat ebony case, his 
  thumb flicked the spring of the hasp. The 
  case divided. Its opening was accompanied 
  by a sibilant, sinister hissing. 
  “Holy cow!” ejaculated big Renny. 
  “It’s a snake—one of them cobras!” 
   
   
  THE darting, writhing splash of 
  color springing from the flat, ebony case 
  was less than a foot in length. But its head 
  and neck expanded enormously. 
  “It is the most poisonous of all the 
  cobra 
  species,” 
  stated 
  Doc. 
  “It’s 
  a 
  hamadryad, which does not reach great 
  size.” 
  The effect of the alcohol was 
  almost 
  instant. 
  The 
  death-dealing 
  hamadryad hissed only once. It struck at 
  the bronze hand which had released it. But 
  Doc’s movement had been quicker than the 
  cobra’s dart. 
  Professor Callus gasped a little. It 
  had seemed as if the snake must have 
  buried its fangs in the bronzed skin. 
  But the cobra stretched its length 
  and fell back. Then it stretched inertly. The 
  alcohol had overpowered it. 
  Professor Callus blinked a little and 
  his big head bobbed up and down. 
  “Professor Jasson must have been 
  overtaken 
  by 
  some 
  form 
  of 
  killing 
  dementia,” he commented. “Yet why would 
  he be coming to your headquarters, Mr. 
  Savage?” 
  Doc Savage, as was his habit when 
  some great idea was beginning to take 
  shape in his marvelous brain, said nothing. 
  
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  4 
  He moved back beside the corpse on the 
  couch in the library. 
  The arms of the dead man were 
  sticking out stiffly. His legs were rigid. The 
  face was a cold, blood-drained mask. The 
  eyes were open and staring. 
  “Must have been dead some time, 
  the way he felt,” said Renny. 
  Professor Callus was looking at 
  Doc, but he did not see his lips move. But 
  Doc’s companions knew their bronze leader 
  was on the eve of some important 
  discovery. 
  “Yes, rigor mortis seems to have 
  set in,” said Doc, quietly. “It would mean 
  this Professor Jasson was dead some 
  hours ago. But the man died within the past 
  half hour.” 
  “Why, that would seem impossible!” 
  said Professor Callus. “I thought rigor 
  mortis would not take place for from two to 
  five hours?” 
  “This man has been killed instantly 
  by a poisonous injection,” stated Doc. “And 
  rigor mortis was artificially induced to make 
  it appear he had been dead for some time. 
  He must have been at the door only a short 
  time; perhaps a few minutes.” 
   
   
  Chapter II 
  WOMAN OF VIOLENCE 
   
  WHILE Doc Savage was examining 
  the 
  dead 
  man 
  and 
  finding 
  him 
  so 
  thoroughly equipped for violence, the 
  ungainly Monk was encountering another 
  form of violence. But this was very much 
  alive. It was in the form of a slender girl. 
  The girl’s face would have been 
  beautiful, under normal conditions. But 
  when the young woman encountered the 
  terrifying figure of Monk before her on the 
  stairway, her countenance was a strained, 
  desperate mask. 
  The girl was red-headed. The hair 
  was naturally and vividly red. Her deep-
  brown eyes were sparkling with menace. 
  Undoubtedly she was scared, but being 
  red-headed, she intended doing something 
  about it. 
  Monk had been unusually quiet 
  about ascending the stairs. No person had 
  recently descended by elevator. The arrival 
  of Professor Callus had apparently been 
  the only movement of a passenger to the 
  eighty-sixth floor. 
  The red-headed girl must have 
  seen Monk first. The apelike figure of the 
  chemist moved around an upward turn in 
  the stairs. The Cold steel of an automatic’s 
  snout jammed right into his hairy throat. 
  “Don’t move!” said a low, tense 
  voice. “You’re him, and I’ll shoot!” 
  Monk did not know who he was 
  supposed to be. But it seemed plainly 
  evident 
  the 
  girl 
  would 
  shoot. 
  The 
  automatic’s snout quivered against Monk’s 
  tough hide. 
  “Howlin’ calamities!” he squealed in 
  his childlike voice. “Where’d you come 
  from? You musta killed that guy upstairs!” 
  “I said, don’t move!” repeated the 
  girl. “So you know about the murder? You 
  were trying to get away, and you heard 
  Barton! Barton! Come on up here!” 
  The young man called Barton must 
  have been a floor or two below where Monk 
  had started to ascend the stairs. His feet 
  pounded quickly upward. He was a thick-
  browed, black-haired young fellow. When 
  he saw the position of the young woman, 
  his face became very pale. 
  “Lora!” exclaimed the young man. 
  “Who is he? Wait! Give me the gun!” 
  The red-headed girl shook her 
  head determinedly. 
  “You walk behind me, Barton,” she 
  directed. “Here, take this. If he makes a 
  break, you’ll have to shoot!” 
  Monk’s small eyes bulged. The red-
  headed girl produced another automatic 
  pistol. She pushed it into the young man’s 
  hands. 
  “But lady, dag-gone it!” yelped 
  Monk. “Whatcha think you’re doin’? What’s 
  the—” 
  “Shut up!” snapped the red-headed 
  girl, emphatically. “Now you just march 
  ahead of us up these stairs! Barton, be sure 
  about the safety catch! Perhaps Mr. 
  Savage will like to see this hoodlum!” 
  There was a metallic click. Monk 
  knew the sound of a safety catch on an 
  automatic when he heard it. The weapon 
  had been shifted around to the back of his 
  neck. It was no more reassuring there than 
  it had been against his throat. 
  Monk’s short legs jerked. Step by 
  step, he mounted toward the eighty-sixth 
  floor. At the first corridor above, which 
  
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  5 
  happened to be the eighty-fourth, the red-
  headed girl said, “Wait a minute!” 
  The automatic continued to bore 
  into his neck. The girl said, “Barton, put this 
  in your pocket!” 
  The object, Monk saw, was a 
  hypodermic syringe. Monk’s quick-working 
  olfactory sense detected an odor. He could 
  detect any known chemical almost instantly 
  by smell. His awkward body shivered. 
  For he had caught what might have 
  been the odor of burned almonds. That 
  hypo must contain hydrocyanic acid. 
   
   
  THE 
  door 
  of 
  Doc 
  Savage’s 
  headquarters was of plain metal. No lock or 
  knob appeared in view. It might have been 
  only an indentation in the wall. The red-
  headed girl halted, still prodding Monk’s 
  neck. 
  “Barton!” she said. “There must be 
  a buzzer button—”  
  She ceased speaking. The door 
  was silently opening. At some other time, 
  Monk would have enjoyed this immensely. 
  The electroscope mechanism in the door 
  had been operated by radio control. 
  The 
  red-headed 
  girl 
  breathed 
  quickly, but recovered herself. 
  “Go on in!” she directed. “All right, 
  Barton! You can put away your gun! I can 
  handle him!” 
  Doc Savage was standing in the 
  door of the library. Neither his features nor 
  his eyes expressed any surprise. But 
  behind him loomed the sharp features of 
  Ham, the lawyer. Ham let out a delighted 
  yell. 
  “Now isn’t that somethin’!” he said, 
  sarcastically. “Lady, where did you catch 
  it?” 
  “Doc” squawked Monk. “Willya tell 
  this redhead to take that gun outta my 
  neck! She’s likely to pull the trigger!” 
  “Lady,” drawled Ham, maliciously, 
  “go on and pull it. You’ll be doing the world 
  a great service. I’ve always said some one 
  would get the ape, if he was permitted to 
  run loose much longer.” 
  “Dag-gone 
  you, 
  Ham!” 
  howled 
  Monk. “You quit runnin’ off at the mouth!” 
  “Holy cow!” boomed big Renny. 
  “An’ Monk brought her up, he says!” 
   
   
  THE red-headed girl seemed to 
  have a disposition like flash powder. The 
  various remarks clearly had her puzzled. 
  Also they struck an angry spark. 
  “What’s so funny about all of this?” 
  she demanded. “You’re Mr. Savage?”—she 
  addressed Doc. “Well, I ran onto this ugly 
  baboon sneaking around on the stairway. I 
  was coming up to see you and—” 
  “Don’t believe anything the redhead 
  tells you!” interrupted Monk. “I caught her 
  and this other pasty-faced animal trying to 
  get away, Doc! She’s carryin’ two guns an’ 
  she’s got a hypo loaded with enough 
  poison to kill a hundred men! She gave it to 
  this guy with her!” 
  The young woman slowly removed 
  the automatic from Monk’s neck. 
  “Then he is one of your men, Mr. 
  Savage?” she said with disbelief. “I guess 
  I’ll have to say I’m sorry; I made a mistake. 
  I’ve heard about the one called Monk, but I 
  didn’t think any human being could look like 
  that.” 
  This elicited another howl from 
  Ham. 
  “Neither did any one else,” grinned 
  the lawyer. “You’ve got good judgment, 
  lady, even if he can’t help it.” 
  “Listen, 
  you 
  danged 
  shyster!” 
  squealed Monk. “I’ll make you eat them 
  words, or they’ll pack you outta here in 
  pieces!” 
  Doc 
  Savage 
  disregarded 
  the 
  apparent deadly hate of the chemist and 
  the lawyer. 
  “There seems to have been some 
  misunderstanding,” stated the man of 
  bronze. “Undoubtedly you can explain your 
  presence here? What is this about a hypo 
  filled with poison?” 
  The red-headed young woman 
  looked from one to the other of the men. 
  Professor Callus was observing her closely. 
  “A hypo of poison?” he said. “Then 
  perhaps my colleague has not been dead 
  as long as it appears, or—” 
  “If you mean the man who was 
  lying out in the corridor,” interrupted the 
  young woman, “I know nothing about that. I 
  was coming to see Mr. Savage, with my 
  brother. But when we saw the man—the 
  dead man—we thought perhaps it would 
  not be a good time to enter. We have a 
  hypodermic. I found it stuck into the wall of 
  the stairway between this floor and the one 
  
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  6 
  next below.” Doc did not say whether he 
  believed or disbelieved the young woman. 
  “You had some definite purpose in 
  coming to me?” he said. 
  “Yes, oh, yes!” exclaimed the red-
  headed girl. “You see Mr. Savage, I am 
  Lora Krants. This is my brother, Barton. We 
  were informed you were seeking the cause 
  of some unusual oceanic upheaval.” 
  “That 
  is 
  correct,” 
  stated 
  Doc 
  Savage. 
  Behind him, Ham murmured to 
  Renny, “And I thought this thing was 
  somewhat of a government secret.” 
  “Then you are the daughter of 
  Cyrus Krants,” said Doc, instantly. “We are 
  indebted 
  to 
  your 
  father 
  for 
  many 
  discoveries of importance. His new form of 
  bathosphere has penetrated to unusual 
  depths of the ocean.” 
  “Oh, I’m glad you do know about 
  him!” said the girl. “We have been told you 
  are informed on nearly all subjects. So 
  perhaps you can give us some information 
  that will help.” 
  The young woman had spoken the 
  truth. There were few subjects on which 
  Doc Savage was not fully informed. 
  “If you will tell me in what way I can 
  be of assistance,” Doc suggested. 
  The red-headed girl spoke more 
  softly and with deep feeling. 
  “It’s about my father,” she said. “He 
  has been missing now for more than a 
  week. The last word we had was a radio 
  message from his yacht in the vicinity of the 
  lower Florida Keys.” 
  “Yes?” said Doc. “We will go into 
  that in just a moment, Miss Krants. Long 
  Tom, you and Renny had better continue 
  checking at once on the radio short waves. 
  If you can fix the latitude and longitude of 
  the broadcasting blind spot, I’m sure we will 
  be getting close to something.” 
  Doc then spoke again to the red-
  headed girl. 
  “And if you’ll permit Monk here to 
  examine that hypodermic, we then may 
  know the character of the poison which 
  probably has been employed for murder.” 
  “You’ll have to trust the big ape,” 
  suggested Ham, dryly. “He is good for one 
  thing, Miss Krants, and that’s why we keep 
  him around.” 
  Monk glared speechlessly. Now 
  that her first fear and her anger had 
  subsided, Lora Krants was undeniably a 
  very pretty young woman. Monk was 
  extremely susceptible. 
  “That is strange about your father,” 
  said Professor Callus. “I am quite well 
  acquainted with him, Miss Krants. But I 
  never had the pleasure of meeting his 
  daughter, or his son.” 
  “Tell us more about this radio 
  message,” suggested Doc. 
   
   
  “THERE isn’t much more to tell,” 
  said Lora Krants. “More than a week ago, 
  we had a radio message. It seems the boat 
  engines were disabled then for no reason 
  the engineer could discover. And another 
  message said that while the trouble was 
  being traced, the motors suddenly resumed 
  functioning.” 
  “And you have not heard from the 
  yacht since then?” questioned Doc. “No 
  radio or other messages?” 
  “None, Mr. Savage. The yacht 
  seems to have vanished. We have wired all 
  possible ports.” 
  “I imagine he may be all right,” said 
  the man of bronze. “How did you know of 
  the work we are doing?” 
  “I have a friend employed in the 
  Coast and Geodetic Survey,” said the red-
  headed girl. 
  Monk appeared in the door of the 
  laboratory. 
  “It’s hydrocyanic, and plenty of it!” 
  he said. “And the needle has traces of 
  human blood. It has been used recently.” 
  Doc Savage’s short, trilling note 
  suddenly startled the girl and her brother. 
  Barton Krants had taken no part in the 
  conversation. His dark eyes had glowered 
  at every one. 
  The young man seemed to have a 
  suspicion his sister might not get fair 
  treatment. Only when he looked at Doc 
  Savage was there any hint of friendliness in 
  his features. And his face remained too 
  white and pasty to be natural. 
  Professor Callus apparently had 
  taken a deep interest in the young woman. 
  He moved to her side and engaged her in 
  conversation. 
  Long Tom came to the door of the 
  library. 
  “Doc, I believe we’ve got it,” he 
  announced. “We’ve eliminated everything 
  
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  7 
  but the blind spot in the short wave radio 
  contacts. It fixes an approximate latitude 
  and longitude.” 
   
   
  Chapter III 
  THE ABDUCTED COMMISSION 
   
  “COME into the laboratory,” invited 
  Doc Savage. “You will be interested in what 
  we may have discovered.” 
  It had been odd that Doc had made 
  little further comment on the manner of 
  Professor Jasson’s death. Nor had he as 
  yet informed the police. The body had been 
  covered in the library. 
  Miss Krants and her brother joined 
  Professor Callus in the laboratory. The 
  professor’s eyes gleamed with appreciative 
  interest. 
  “This is a treat,” he said. “I’ve heard 
  much of your equipment, Mr. Savage.” 
  Doc Savage produced several sets 
  of earphones. 
  “If you will listen,” he said, “you will 
  hear that which has upset the officials of 
  the 
  Coast 
  Survey. 
  Were 
  it 
  more 
  pronounced, it might be mistaken for the 
  ordinary 
  rumble 
  of 
  some 
  undersea 
  earthquake. But the seismograph has not 
  responded.” 
  Doc explained, after they had 
  listened to that faint murmuring. It was a 
  sound distinctly of the sea. It might have 
  been that peculiar roaring effect produced 
  when a conch shell is held over one ear. 
  The instruments showed there had 
  been no unusual weather anywhere. The 
  atmospheric conditions remained normal 
  practically all over the world. 
  “But 
  something 
  has 
  been 
  happening,” said Long Tom, the electrical 
  wizard. “Our own radio waves encounter a 
  blind spot at intervals.” 
  “And it seems to come from the 
  depths of the ocean itself,” explained Doc 
  Savage. “It is unlike anything the Coast 
  Survey has ever previously encountered. I 
  have been unable to trace it to any 
  manifestation of nature.” 
   
   
  THEIR 
  conversation 
  was 
  interrupted by the sharp buzzing of the 
  telephone. Doc took the call in the 
  presence of the others. The voice came 
  over long distance. 
  “This is the President of the United 
  States speaking,” came to Doc. “It is 
  important that you come to Washington at 
  once, for a confidential communication.” 
  “I understand,” stated Doc. “What 
  have you heard from the commission?” 
  There 
  was 
  a 
  few 
  seconds 
  hesitation. Then the president spoke again. 
  “That is part of it,” he said, gravely. 
  “The commission has not reached Calais. 
  The steamship Trafalgar Square has not 
  been reported for more than twelve hours. 
  The other part of it is too fantastic for 
  belief.” 
  “I shall communicate with you when 
  I arrive,” was Doc’s quiet reply. “The news 
  you give confirms a thought that may be of 
  some importance.” 
  His thought was indeed of the most 
  serious 
  importance. 
  Mention 
  of 
  the 
  commission was mingled with a growing 
  conviction on the part of the bronze 
  adventurer. The dead man outside his door 
  had pointed directly to something new, 
  some human agency connected with all this 
  strange business of the haunted ocean. 
  The armament of this dead man, 
  Professor 
  Jasson, 
  was 
  indisputable 
  evidence that Doc Savage’s present work 
  was unwanted by some one. It seemed 
  clear enough that a reputedly mild little 
  professor 
  had 
  arrived 
  at 
  Doc’s 
  headquarters for the purpose of killing, if 
  necessary, and most certainly with the idea 
  of destroying the bronze man’s extensive 
  equipment. 
   
   
  THE report of the disappearance of 
  a commission on its way to Calais was of 
  the greatest significance. Doc Savage was 
  among the very few persons who knew of 
  the commission. It might have been 
  correctly called a “war commission.” 
  But its real mission was to end war. 
  That is, the greater nations of the world had 
  decided on the most powerful of all treaties. 
  This was to be a pact that would 
  include not disarmament of any nation, but 
  the immediate super-armament of the six 
  member nations against all others. Six 
  governments had decided the time had 
  come for them to take a stand for peace 
  against the world. 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  8 
  In brief, they were planning such 
  powerful navies, air fleets and armies as to 
  make a war threat from others impossible. 
  The six great nations had decided to 
  become world police. 
  Doc Savage had much more than a 
  general interest in this war commission to 
  end war. William Harper Littlejohn, better 
  known as “Johnny,” the archaeologist and 
  geologist of Doc’s group, was one of the 
  commission. 
  The six war commissioners had 
  been in London. They were preparing to 
  meet with representatives of other nations 
  at Washington within a short period. The 
  commission had boarded the steamer 
  Trafalgar Square for the crossing of the 
  English Channel from Dover to Calais. That 
  crossing should have required only a few 
  short hours. 
  Now there had been no radio report 
  of the Trafalgar Square for more than 
  twelve hours. There had been no S O S 
  alarm. The weather had been of the 
  calmest for that usually stormy channel. 
  Yet the Trafalgar Square, one of 
  the newest and safest of Channel vessels, 
  had disappeared. 
  Doc checked over in his mind the 
  members of the commission. 
  Johnny, for the present at least, 
  was representing the United States. The 
  others were Sir Arthur Westcott, Great 
  Britain; Baron Calosa, Italy; Monsieur 
  Lamont, 
  France; 
  Herr 
  Schumann, 
  Germany, and Señor Torron, Spain. 
   
   
  DOC 
  SAVAGE 
  confronted 
  the 
  others. He spoke first to Professor Callus 
  and Miss Krants. 
  “We have been honored by your 
  interest,” he announced. “You are at liberty 
  to remain while Renny and Long Tom make 
  further observations.” 
  Then he issued quick directions. 
  “Renny, you and Long Tom will 
  confirm as closely as possible the locale 
  you already have fixed. Monk and Ham will 
  accompany me. We will be gone for only a 
  few hours.” 
  Drawing Renny to one side in the 
  library, Doc added instructions unheard by 
  the others. 
  “For the present, you will not notify 
  the police of the dead man,” Doc advised. 
  “But the circumstances are such, it might 
  be advisable to be sure that Miss Krants is 
  safely escorted to her home. Also, it is 
  possible you will have other visitors who will 
  be interested in what you are doing. Treat 
  them with every courtesy.” 
  “Holy cow!” muttered Renny. “And 
  all this was confidential stuff between us 
  and the Coast Survey! There’s a screw 
  loose somewhere, Doc!” 
  “There may be several, but that will 
  develop,” was all the man of bronze 
  explained. 
  Acting on Doc’s instructions, Ham 
  and Monk were fully armed when they left 
  the skyscraper headquarters. Which might 
  have seemed unusual for what could hardly 
  be other than a fast airplane trip to the 
  national capital. 
  In Doc’s special armored sedan, 
  the three sped rapidly toward what to most 
  persons appeared to be only a little-used 
  warehouse on the Hudson River. This bore 
  the simple sign: 
   
  HIDALGO TRADING COMPANY 
   
  The warehouse was a set of 
  hangars housing the world’s most modern 
  and 
  remarkable 
  planes, 
  dirigible 
  and 
  submarine. 
  At headquarters, Renny and Long 
  Tom continued their checking of the 
  instruments. 
  “The blind spot,” announced Long 
  Tom, “is somewhere in the vicinity of 
  Norway, in the North Sea.” 
  “Remarkable!” 
  commented 
  Professor Callus. 
   
   
  Chapter IV 
  THE MYSTERY GROWS 
   
  “I’VE lost Doc!” exclaimed Renny, 
  suddenly. “Now what’s gone haywire with 
  that radio?” 
  Long Tom, Professor Callus, Lora 
  Krants and her brother pushed forward with 
  eager interest. Doc’s plane was already 
  somewhere south of Baltimore, following 
  the coast line. Renny had been keeping in 
  touch with them by short wave. 
  Doc had replied only briefly to 
  Renny’s inquiries. Renny had started to 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx HAUNTED OCEAN xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  9 
  report an apparent change in the locale of 
  the ocean disturbance. Then the radio 
  speaker had squealed and squawked. After 
  sporadic bursts, it functioned imperfectly. 
  “Funny!” ejaculated Long Tom. 
  “Have a look at the light recorders!” 
  The needles in circles at the ends 
  of long steel cylinders were oscillating 
  rapidly. These were recording the refraction 
  and gyration of light atoms over a wide area 
  of the ocean. Despite the absence of the 
  sun, light appeared to be increasing over a 
  considerable section. 
  “Doc!” boomed Renny into the 
  broadcasting mike. “Can you hear me?” 
  “Um-bum-bum-bul-um!” 
  hummed 
  the speaker. 
  Undoubtedly, 
  Doc 
  had 
  heard 
  Renny. But likely his reception of the 
  engineer’s 
  voice 
  had 
  been 
  similarly 
  jumbled. 
  The light recorder showed rising 
  luminance somewhere much closer than 
  the hitherto located blind spot somewhere 
  in the North Sea. 
  “Do you think something might be 
  happening to Mr. Savage’s plane?” said 
  Professor Callus. 
  “Oh, I hope not!” exclaimed the red-
  headed girl, breathlessly. 
  “Nothing to worry about,” said Long 
  Tom. “This ocean haunt hasn’t been 
  serious in any way.” 
  Lora Krants’s expression showed 
  she doubted his words. 
  The corridor buzzer whined. It was 
  less strident than usual. Long Tom, with his 
  keen electrician’s sense, noted this. When 
  he applied the radio contact to work the 
  electroscopic 
  locks 
  of 
  the 
  doors, 
  it 
  responded more slowly than it should. 
  It was as if the available electrical 
  current had been lessened. 
   
   
  THE little man who came in bowed 
  obsequiously. His flashing white teeth 
  smiled at every one. His skin was of the 
  yellow darkness of an Oriental. But his 
  clothes were elegantly correct. His English 
  was faultless. 
  “I do not need to confirm the 
  information that this is the establishment of 
  Clark Savage,” he said. “I am Kama 
  Dbhana. It would be much simpler to call 
  me Kama, which is the family name.” 
  “Sure!” grunted Renny, who was 
  worrying about Doc. “Mr. Kama is all right 
  with us! What can we do for you?” 
  “Mr. Savage, he 
  is not now 
  present?” said Mr. Kama. 
  He glanced with sparkling black 
  eyes at Professor Callus. He had a passing 
  gleam of appreciation for the pretty Lora 
  Krants. 
  Renny explained that Doc was 
  absent. He introduced the others briefly. 
  “You haven’t said, Mr. Kama, what 
  we can do for you?” Renny then said. 
  Kama’s darting eyes lingered on 
  the variety of instruments. 
  “I have been informed,” he said, 
  “that Mr. Savage is tracing atmospheric 
  phenomena apparently of marine origin. I 
  hoped he might be able to divulge 
  something of its source.” 
  “Holy 
  cow!” 
  thundered 
  Renny. 
  “You, too! And I suppose you have a friend 
  in the Coast Survey, Mr. Kama?” 
  Mr. Kama, merely bowed and 
  smiled. 
  The buzzer whined again. It was 
  even fainter than when Mr. Kama had 
  entered. 
  The man who entered was big and 
  blond. He was a hearty, jolly fellow. His 
  words rolled with Scandinavian slowness of 
  speech. 
  “I 
  am 
  Hjalmar 
  Landson,” 
  he 
  announced. “My countryman, one of the 
  consular staff of Norway, asked of me that I 
  should have some conversation with Mr. 
  Savage.” 
  “Say!” rapped out Renny. “Have 
  you got a friend on the Coast Survey who 
  called you up and told you about it?” 
  Hjalmar Landson’s mild, blue eyes 
  went rather blank.  
  “I have no friend in what you call 
  this Coast Survey,” he said, slowly. “No, it 
  is not that. My countryman, he informed 
  me—” 
  “You haven’t met Mr. Kama, or 
  Professor Callus, or Miss Krants?” Renny 
  asked. 
  “I have seen this Mr. Kama,” said 
  Hjalmar Landson, unexpectedly. “But it 
  does not matter. The others I have not had 
  the pleasure—” 
  Renny introduced him. Then he 
  made another effort to contact Doc’s plane. 
  All he got was a louder squawling than 
  
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  10 
  before. Other instruments were beginning 
  to oscillate. But those recording the 
  weather showed no atmospheric changes. 
  Professor Callus seemed to take 
  Mr. Kama under his wing. Now he was 
  explaining 
  also 
  to 
  Mr. 
  Landson 
  the 
  purposes of the variety of gadgets. 
  Renny heard Mr. Kama say he 
  came from San Tao. The engineer had 
  heard of San Tao while he had been 
  supervising a great tunnel in western 
  China. He recalled San Tao was an 
  isolated, 
  little 
  known, 
  but 
  immensely 
  wealthy, mountain province of southern 
  China. 
   
   
  THE telephone buzzed. Long Tom 
  took the call. He looked up with quick 
  suspicion. 
  “It’s for you, Miss Krants,” he said. 
  “So others know you came here?” The red-
  headed girl smiled calmly. 
  “Oh!” she said. “I was hoping 
  perhaps a cable might come from my 
  father! I left word with the telegraph 
  company!” 
  A few seconds later, she replaced 
  the telephone. 
  “There’s been a steamer report of 
  father’s yacht,” she said. “I must go at once 
  to pick up the message. If I leave a 
  telephone number and anything happens, 
  would you call me?” 
  Though the instruments were in 
  increasing confusion, Renny put on his 
  coat. 
  “I shall go with you,” he announced. 
  “You can give me the telephone number 
  later.” 
  “Why—” began Lora Krants. “You 
  are so busy here—I had thought that—” 
  “I could very well escort Miss 
  Krants to her home,” offered Professor 
  Callus. “There seems nothing more to be 
  learned just now. I have my car.” 
  “Thanks,” said Renny. “But I think I 
  had better take her home.” 
  The engineer was following Doc’s 
  instructions to see Miss Krants safely 
  home. Also, the big engineer, who wasn’t 
  usually susceptible, liked this snappy red-
  headed girl very much. 
  “Very 
  well,” 
  bowed 
  Professor 
  Callus. “I shall be leaving soon, anyway.” 
  “I should like very much to have the 
  honor of remaining,” said Kama, “but I have 
  other urgent matters to which I must 
  attend.” 
  “Me, 
  too,” 
  grunted 
  Hjalmar 
  Landson. 
  The very blond Norwegian and the 
  very dark Oriental followed Renny, the girl 
  and her brother closely, as they got to the 
  lower floor. 
   
   
  ONE of Doc’s armored roadsters 
  provided ample space for Renny, Miss 
  Krants and her brother. The thick-browed 
  brother did not talk. The red-headed girl 
  chattered her hope the message at the 
  telegraph office might mean something. 
  Renny’s hands looked big and 
  clumsy on the steering wheel. But the girl 
  gasped at the speed with which the car 
  flicked past the steel pillars of the elevated 
  tracks. The telegraph office from which the 
  notification to the girl had come was about 
  ten blocks from Doc’s headquarters. 
  In the fourth block, Renny shaved a 
  steel pillar. He swung at high speed around 
  a street car on the wrong side. His eyes 
  were fixed on the rear-view mirror. 
  At the next corner, Renny twisted 
  suddenly into a wider street and drove fast 
  through a block. He rounded through the 
  city canyons and came back to the elevated 
  tracks. 
  “Thought so!” he grunted. “We’ve 
  got company, Miss Krants!” 
  “What do you mean?” said the red-
  headed girl. 
  “Closed car, sedan, has been 
  following us,” announced Renny. “Now we’ll 
  show that driver something.” 
  For the next minute or two, the 
  redhead let out occasional gasps. Her 
  brother swore under his breath. 
  There was little traffic. But even 
  that didn’t seem to make seventy miles an 
  hour safe. Elevated pillars swished past like 
  a row of close-set fence pickets. 
  If the girl or her brother said 
  anything for the next few seconds, it 
  couldn’t be heard. The motor of the car was 
  only a sibilant rush, but the pillars crashed 
  sound with their speed. 
  Renny grunted with satisfaction. 
  The pursuing sedan apparently hadn’t the 
  speed to overtake them. Then they whizzed 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx HAUNTED OCEAN xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  11 
  into a new block. Just ahead was a 
  lumbering truck. 
  “Look out!” cried the red-headed 
  girl. 
  Renny twisted desperately on the 
  steering wheel. His strength almost tore it 
  from the post. The big truck was squarely 
  across both car tracks. 
  The roadster brakes squawled. The 
  red-headed girl clutched convulsively at 
  Renny’s thick arm. Her hand slipped off. 
  The tires of spongy rubber bit into the 
  pavement. The rubber burned. 
  The long hood took the impact. The 
  side of the big truck splintered. Lora Krants 
  screamed. 
   
   
  THE girl’s cry was short. Renny’s 
  bulky arm was across her body. He was 
  attempting to prevent her being hurled 
  through the windshield. That glass would 
  not shatter. Likewise, it was bulletproof. 
  Renny’s giant strength undoubtedly 
  saved the girl’s life. But she struck the glass 
  with force enough to knock her completely 
  out. Barton, her brother, flew from the side 
  door. He was lucky in skidding, feet-first, on 
  a smooth stretch of asphalt. 
  Renny was only slightly stunned. 
  He attempted to get the girl back into the 
  seat. Behind them a sedan skidded to an 
  abrupt stop. Men poured from this car. 
  Others were springing from the truck. 
  The murdered man at Doc’s door 
  had some dire meaning. But it was all a 
  deep mystery to Renny. The snub-nosed 
  gun suddenly shoved under his arm was 
  definite. Not many men would have done 
  other than lift their hands. 
  But Renny really liked this red-
  headed girl. Almost as much as he liked a 
  good scrap. Renny had less caution than 
  man power. 
  He hit the man holding the gun so 
  hard and so unexpectedly, the weapon flew 
  out of his hands. His fists were mauling 
  sledges as he sprang into the street. 
  One of the attackers made a 
  serious mistake. 
  “Don’t shoot!” he growled. “She 
  said to take him alive!” 
  Renny was not pausing to think 
  about who she might be. 
  The engineer picked out the man 
  who had spoken. One fist traveled in a wide 
  arc. It was a haymaker that landed the man 
  five yards away. Renny backed up to the 
  truck. 
  The giant had no special rules 
  about fighting. In less than half a minute he 
  had piled six or seven men in a heap. 
  Renny downed two more men with 
  sickening smashes. He waded toward the 
  roadster. 
  A long arm reached out. It was 
  lengthened by the snubnosed machine gun 
  it held. The steel barrel rapped cruelly upon 
  Renny’s tough skull. 
  Renny went to his hands and 
  knees. He thought the asphalt had heaved 
  up and struck him. Then he was out. 
   
   
  WHEN Renny awoke, he was 
  bound hand and foot. A tight blindfold 
  covered his eyes. But the warmth about 
  him informed him he was in some 
  apartment. His head was aching. But his 
  hearing was unimpaired. 
  He strained at the cords binding 
  him when he heard the husky, and clearly 
  angry voice of Lora Krants. Then he 
  abruptly ceased his effort. 
  “Holy cow!” he grumbled. “I mighta 
  known it was something like that! Darned if 
  you can ever trust a woman!” 
   
   
  Chapter V 
  THE STRANGE REDHEAD 
   
  “FOOLS!” spoke the voice of Lora 
  Krants. “He is the wrong man! You ought to 
  have known that. Why didn’t you wait for 
  my signal?” 
  Renny 
  was 
  greatly 
  puzzled. 
  Anyway, he thought grimly, he was the man 
  who had got this headache out of it. Then 
  the girl added a few words. 
  “Doc 
  Savage 
  has 
  gone 
  to 
  Washington by plane!” 
  So that was it, judged Renny. The 
  charming redhead had been only a decoy. 
  She had been sent to bait Doc Savage into 
  this trap. 
  Then Renny was more amazed. 
  Barton, the brother of Lora Krants, had 
  spoken. 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  12 
  “We’ll turn him loose then,” he said. 
  “We haven’t any time to waste. Anything 
  might happen in the next hour or two.” 
  Men came into the room. They 
  pulled Renny to his feet. 
  “Think you’re able to navigate?” 
  said one. 
  “Untie my hands and you’ll think I 
  can!” boomed Renny. 
  “Guess he’s all O.K.,” said another 
  man. 
  “It would be best to gag him until 
  you are out of the way,” said the cool voice 
  of Lora Krants. “We don’t want to get the 
  police in on this. They’ll be tracing those 
  smashed cars right now.” 
  A gag was slapped over Renny’s 
  mouth. He was carried down several flights 
  of stairs. After a short ride in a car, he was 
  rolled out onto a grassy plot. A knife slid 
  along the cords around his arms. 
  Renny was compelled to waste 
  time untying the knots around his legs. He 
  pulled the gag from his mouth. The tape 
  blindfold took some hairs with it. A car 
  purred away. 
  Renny stood up and blinked. He 
  was in the approximate middle of Central 
  Park. The car had made only two turns. 
  Renny fixed a location that might be the 
  apartment house from which he had been 
  brought. 
  That would have to keep. He 
  considered it more important to get back to 
  headquarters. Long Tom was probably 
  alone now. Professor Callus had said he 
  would be leaving soon. 
  Renny wished he knew why Doc 
  had insisted he escort Lora Krants to her 
  home. Well, anyway, he reflected grimly, he 
  had carried out the order. Hailing a taxicab, 
  Renny headed for the midtown skyscraper. 
   
   
  THE buzzer at Doc Savage’s 
  headquarters sounded faintly. It was but a 
  few minutes after Renny and Lora Krants, 
  with the others, had departed. Long Tom 
  had been unsuccessfully trying to make 
  something out of the radio jumble. 
  “Good 
  gosh!” 
  he 
  exploded 
  impatiently. “More visitors?” 
  Professor Callus wagged his shiny 
  head and smiled. 
  “It would seem that secrecy no 
  longer attaches to this investigation of the 
  disturbed ocean,” he said. 
  The man who came in was tall and 
  of the same Oriental coloring as the 
  recently departed Kama Dbhana. His teeth 
  flashed in a pleased smile. 
  “I have been informed only tonight,” 
  he said, “that Clark Savage has been 
  investigating—” 
  “Sure, I know!” snapped Long Tom. 
  “Your friend in the Coast Survey told you! 
  Now what do you want?” 
  The 
  dark-skinned 
  Oriental 
  continued to smile. Long Tom stepped back 
  suddenly, slowly putting up his hands. The 
  outside door had remained open. Other 
  men with yellow faces seemed to glide in 
  without walking. 
  There were six of these men. All 
  were smiling. But the guns in their hands 
  brought no smile to Long Tom’s face. The 
  electrical expert made a quick movement to 
  reach for a pocket. 
  But he was not quick enough. Six 
  unwavering guns were fixed upon his 
  middle. Combined fire could have sliced 
  him to pieces. 
  “We know you are alone here, with 
  only this man who is not one of Doc 
  Savage’s companions,” stated the dark-
  skinned leader. “You will not be harmed.” 
  Professor Callus sputtered. But he 
  was seized with Long Tom. Steel cuffs of 
  intricate design clinked onto their wrists 
  behind their backs. Damp cloths were 
  slapped over their faces. 
  The drug was not chloroform. Long 
  Tom 
  had 
  never 
  before 
  smelled 
  this 
  perfumed odor. He did not puzzle over it 
  long. He and Professor Callus were 
  bundled to one side. Both were peacefully 
  sleeping. 
  Directed by their still smiling leader, 
  the six dark men went to work methodically. 
  Strangely, they seemed to be acquainted 
  with the most vital parts of all the delicate 
  apparatus with which Doc had been 
  seeking the origin of the ocean haunt. 
  In less than five minutes, the 
  wreckage was as complete as if one of 
  Professor Homus Jasson’s bombs had 
  been touched off. 
  Weather 
  instruments, 
  light 
  recorders, the radio were ripped apart and 
  smashed. The Orientals touched nothing in 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx HAUNTED OCEAN xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  13 
  the laboratory except the gadgets used 
  directly in the checking up on the haunted 
  ocean. 
  They moved out as silently as they 
  had come. The leader pulled the cover from 
  the face of Professor Homus Jasson. The 
  dead man still had a look of horror in his 
  eyes. 
  The Oriental smiled with his white 
  teeth. 
  “The 
  master 
  will 
  be 
  greatly 
  pleased,” he said. “This makes all perfect 
  for the one who would sell.” 
   
   
  DOWNSTAIRS, 
  Renny 
  alighted 
  from his taxicab. He saw seven men getting 
  into a closed car. They had yellow, Oriental 
  skins. 
  “Good 
  grief!” 
  he 
  muttered. 
  “I 
  suppose we’ve been having some more 
  visitors! Looks like that guy Kama’s friends 
  or—” 
  Renny whipped into the building. 
  He shot upward in Doc’s own private 
  elevator. This rocketlike lift passed seventy 
  floors at a speed that would have projected 
  it through the tower of the imposing mass of 
  steel and marble. 
  Cushioned apparatus slowed it at 
  the eighty-sixth floor.  
  Doc Savage’s outside door was 
  standing open. Renny proceeded with 
  infinite caution. At the door of the laboratory 
  he halted with a deep groan. 
  “I might have known something like 
  that would happen,” he murmured to 
  himself. “I wonder where—” 
  A dull thumping came from one 
  side of the room. Renny sprang to what 
  seemed to be only the smooth wall. A panel 
  swung open. 
  Professor 
  Callus 
  rolled 
  out, 
  groaning. His big head seemed to be 
  attached to his body by only a thin rag. But 
  his neck was not broken. As Long Tom 
  staggered to his feet, Professor Callus 
  arose. 
  “This is terrible—terrible!” said the 
  professor. “Everything has been smashed! I 
  thought we were done for!” 
  “What 
  happened?” 
  demanded 
  Renny. “I saw men who looked like that 
  Kama guy!” 
  “That’s right,” said Long Tom, 
  mournfully. “We didn’t have a chance! We 
  were drugged and put into the cabinet.” 
  The cabinet was one of the 
  ventilated spaces in which Doc Savage 
  sometimes imprisoned individuals he might 
  want to question later. 
  “Set up the emergency,” said 
  Renny. “We’ve got to find out what 
  happened to Doc.” 
  Professor Callus opened his eyes. 
  From what appeared to be a blank wall 
  space emerged the complete equipment of 
  an intricate radio and television set. This 
  was a set maintained by Doc Savage for an 
  emergency. 
  But when it went into service, the 
  squawking and bumbling had become more 
  intense. The apparatus was useless. 
  Renny had an idea. He went to the 
  telephone. Thumbing through the book, he 
  found the number of Cyrus Krants, the 
  bathosphere man. 
  It must have been the voice of a 
  caretaker or some servant replying to 
  Renny’s call. 
  “I would like to speak with Miss 
  Krants, Miss Lora Krants,” said Renny. “It is 
  important. I have news of her missing 
  father.” 
  The reply was instant, unhesitating. 
  “Sorry, but Miss Lora Krants is 
  visiting friends in California. You said her 
  father is missing? There must be some 
  mistake. Cyrus Krants has been in touch 
  with his home every day. Who is this 
  speaking?” 
  Renny did not say who was 
  speaking. His sudden liking for the red-
  headed girl had completely evaporated. 
   
   
  Chapter VI 
  DAWN AT MIDNIGHT 
   
  DURING 
  the 
  wrecking 
  of 
  his 
  Manhattan 
  weather 
  instruments, 
  Doc 
  Savage had been holding his silver-winged 
  plane to a line closely bordering the Atlantic 
  coast. Ham and Monk were engaged in one 
  of their usual caustic exchanges. 
  “An’ a red-headed woman made a 
  fool out of me,” chanted Ham, with tuneless 
  sarcasm. 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  14 
  “Dag-gone it!” piped Monk. “An’ 
  you’ll shut up or I’ll be makin’ mincemeat 
  outta you!” 
  Doc was watching the lights of 
  Baltimore, a mile below. 
  A shrill grunt accompanied Monk’s 
  irate exclamation. An animal that looked to 
  be all ears and legs, seemed to sympathize 
  with the apelike chemist’s remarks. This 
  was Habeas Corpus, Monk’s pet pig. 
  “That shote’s a fine thing to be 
  taking to a conference at Washington,” 
  grinned Ham. “At that, he’ll probably make 
  about the same impression as his master.” 
  “Is that so?” sputtered Monk. “If you 
  had his brains, you danged shyster, you’d 
  talk a lot less and think more!” 
  Doc 
  interrupted 
  the 
  pleasant 
  exchange. 
  “That’s strange,” he said, quietly. “It 
  is just after midnight, but it would seem the 
  sun has decided to come up. Look over to 
  the eastward.” 
  “Howlin’ 
  calamities!” 
  exploded 
  Monk. “Looks like daylight’s bustin’ on us, 
  an’ comin’ fast! What’s happened to the 
  radio, Doc?” 
  “Um— 
  um— 
  bum— 
  ulbum— 
  ulbum!” squawked the loudspeaker in the 
  plane. 
  “It has been going bad for some 
  time,” remarked Doc. 
  The man of bronze had figured he 
  would make Washington well within two 
  hours. Suddenly he was not so sure about 
  it. 
  The eerie dawn at midnight was 
  spreading. The east took on a brighter hue. 
  But it was not as if the sun were rising. 
  Usually, an ocean sunrise is varied in color. 
  This was much like a white fan spreading 
  across the horizon. 
  “Looks something like the northern 
  lights,” suggested Ham. 
   
   
  HABEAS CORPUS, the pig Monk 
  had picked up in Arabia, was an animal of 
  acute instincts. Now he was standing 
  rigidly. He sniffed and quivered. 
  “Something 
  about 
  it 
  Habeas 
  Corpus don’t like,” said Monk. 
  “I don’t like that hog, but he is 
  smarter than any ape,” grinned Ham. 
  The radio squawking suddenly was 
  cut off. There had been a sound like a 
  tremendous burst of static. Then silence. 
  “I don’t like that,” stated Doc. 
  “Sounds as if something has smashed 
  things at headquarters.” 
  From the plane’s motor came a 
  sputter. The engine of finest alloy metal 
  seemed to hesitate. But its cylinders picked 
  up again. Doc’s hand moved a lever. This 
  closed shutters around the motor. 
  These shutters were of a special 
  material made to resist magnetic influence. 
  It was insulated against any known form of 
  interference by any of the rays thus far 
  invented. 
  More than just a false sunrise had 
  become apparent over the ocean. The 
  plane was passing over a vast expanse of 
  shore marshes. No human habitations 
  showed. 
  Above the hissing of the plane’s 
  motor, a low humming became audible. 
  Doc Savage had been hearing this for 
  some time. His ears were easily three times 
  as acute as those of Ham and Monk. 
  “It might be well to put on the 
  ‘chutes,” advised Doc. “Those bogs provide 
  a poor footing for setting the plane down.” 
  “Are we going to land out here?” 
  piped up Monk.  
  The 
  plane’s 
  motor 
  gave 
  the 
  answer. Its muffled explosions ceased 
  suddenly. 
  Doc Savage stared at the switch for 
  a few seconds. The propeller rotated 
  slowly. The man of bronze pushed a button. 
  This should have lighted the instrument 
  board. There was no light. The electrical 
  current had been lost. 
  “Something wrong with the wires?” 
  questioned Ham. Doc did not reply. The 
  interior of the cabin now had no lights. They 
  were not needed while daylight had flooded 
  the space. In the uneven line of the shore, 
  the low caps of the ocean swells, a fishing 
  launch sprang into view. 
  Monk and Ham had hastily slipped 
  their 
  arms 
  through 
  the 
  harness 
  of 
  parachutes. The skilled hand of Doc 
  Savage kept the plane winging in a wide, 
  descending spiral. 
  They 
  were 
  in 
  daylight. Broad 
  daylight at the hour of midnight. The plane 
  was as silent as if it never had been 
  
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  15 
  powered. Wind whistled through the wings 
  in its descent. 
  “Bale out!” Doc ordered the others. 
  The man of bronze had made no 
  effort to don a parachute. 
  “You coming, Doc?” said Ham. 
  “I will be with you presently,” said 
  Doc. 
  Ham and Monk opened the door. 
  Monk seized one ear of the pig Habeas 
  Corpus. They went out and dropped. 
  Doc was sticking with the plane. 
  The silver ship flashed down. The man of 
  bronze had picked out a boggy hammock. 
  Monk groaned. 
  Less than a hundred feet above the 
  marsh, Doc leveled off. The wind shrieked 
  as the wings pancaked. The air cushioned 
  the descent. The plane struck, settled into 
  the boggy ground. 
   
   
  DOC and his two companions 
  found themselves in a wide space of mucky 
  ground. They sank over their knees. The 
  going was tough enough for Doc and Ham. 
  Monk’s short legs made it worse for 
  him. The weight of the pig was a handicap. 
  Monk set Habeas Corpus on his 
  feet. 
  Doc, walking ahead, rubbed one 
  hand over his smooth hair. Sparks flashed. 
  The atmosphere was charged with some 
  strange force. They came to the shore 
  rocks. 
  In the marsh, birds were whistling. 
  Some were shrill-voiced, as they greeted 
  the dawn. 
  Doc climbed the rocks. Ham and 
  Monk followed. Habeas Corpus was still 
  struggling to break away. 
  Voices of men came from the 
  ocean. Three fishermen on a small launch 
  were tramping their deck and swearing 
  lustily. They were working furiously to get 
  their motor going. 
  “I surmise we are face to face with 
  whatever has been haunting the ocean,” 
  stated Doc. “That launch has no power.” 
  The launch drifted broadside onto 
  the rocks. Doc and the others waded in and 
  helped the fishermen beach the boat. 
  “What in Hades is all this?” growled 
  one of the fishermen. “Is it the horn of 
  Gabriel or something?” 
  “Well, it might be at that,” replied 
  Ham, cheerfully.  
  A smudge of smoke showed at 
  sea. It rolled upward from just below the 
  horizon. 
  “That 
  vessel 
  seems 
  to 
  have 
  stopped,” said Doc. 
  “Yes,” replied one of the fishermen. 
  “We were out there when this thing started. 
  It’s a coastal passenger steamer. They had 
  to drop their hooks. Their engines quit 
  suddenly.” 
  Doc Savage mounted a point of 
  rocks. All around he was looking at what 
  appeared to be the circular curtain of night. 
  Darkness had been thrust back only a few 
  miles. They were in the center of the eerie 
  midnight illumination. 
  It was possible to mark three 
  different boats. Two of these were drifting. 
  The other had anchored. 
  “We must procure some new 
  means of transportation,” advised Doc. “It is 
  important that we get to Washington 
  quickly.” 
   
   
  THE three fishermen accompanied 
  them around the rim of the wide marsh. 
  On the first paved road no traffic 
  was moving. An electric railway was close. 
  The building of a power substation bulked 
  ahead. In the doorway were four men in 
  overalls. 
  “What is all this?” said one of the 
  men. “Our own power went off, and when I 
  tried to telephone, it was dead!” 
  Doc Savage said nothing. He led 
  the way toward a farmhouse. A puzzled 
  countryman and his wife were standing in 
  their yard. 
  “I ain’t never seen the like o’ this!” 
  grumbled the farmer. “Even the derned 
  chickens thinks it’s mornin’! But there ain’t 
  no sun!” 
  Doc smiled. “I judge the sun will be 
  along at its usual time.” 
  Two roosters were crowing at top 
  pitch. They were greeting the morning. 
  “Have you a car?” Doc asked the 
  farmer. “If so, I will pay you well to get to 
  some other means of transportation.” 
  Doc smiled as he asked the 
  question. 
  Two minutes later, the farmer 
  learned the meaning of this smile. His best 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  16 
  efforts got no results. The battered farm 
  machine had no power. The farmer looked 
  up with an oath. Once more, he whirled the 
  crank savagely by hand. 
  Then something happened. It was 
  like some one suddenly switching off a 
  brilliant flashlight. The darkness of midnight 
  shut in the countryside. The small motor of 
  the car started so suddenly it backfired and 
  kicked the farmer onto his haunches. 
  Night had returned. From the 
  direction of the railway substation came the 
  sudden humming of a dynamo. The power 
  was on. The three fishermen shouted and 
  started back toward the shore. 
  Doc produced a roll of bills. 
  “We won’t bother to hire the car,” 
  he said. “We’ll buy it.” 
  Ham and Monk piled in. Monk 
  dragged Habeas Corpus aboard. The 
  rickety vehicle rattled out onto the highway. 
  Doc pushed the old motor to the 
  limit. In less than half an hour he had 
  reached an airport and chartered a fast 
  plane. This arrived in Washington after a 
  hop of a few minutes. 
   
   
  Chapter VII 
  THE WORLD THREAT 
   
  THE 
  meeting 
  between 
  the 
  president and Doc Savage was secret and 
  informal. The president stated he had 
  sought this conversation with the man of 
  bronze because of his vast scientific 
  knowledge. 
  “The whole thing is fantastic,” 
  stated the president, “but it suggests such 
  great possible calamity, it cannot be 
  overlooked! We seem to be threatened by 
  such a power as none of our government 
  scientists 
  and 
  technicians 
  have 
  ever 
  believed could exist.” 
  “Practical science has progressed 
  in an incredible manner during the past few 
  years, Mr. President,” stated Doc Savage. 
  “None can say what vast force may be 
  discovered at any time. Unfortunately, the 
  discoveries are not always made by those 
  of balanced and straightforward minds.” 
  They were discussing the affair that 
  had begun with the queer disturbance of 
  Coast and Geodetic Survey equipment. 
  Doc had cautioned his companions against 
  mentioning, for the present, the occurrence 
  on the coast. 
  But they had arrived in Washington 
  to find themselves confronted with several 
  new and serious angles. Not only had the 
  haunted ocean become apparent, but the 
  phenomenon was being used as a direct 
  threat. 
  The purpose of that threat was of 
  such fabulous character as to border upon 
  the incredible. 
  The 
  government 
  had 
  been 
  informed that it must disarm. Further, it had 
  been stated that all other nations would be 
  similarly compelled to dispense with all of 
  their armed forces. 
  “We received the communication in 
  such manner as to make it untraceable,” 
  said 
  the 
  president. 
  “The 
  message 
  apparently originated somewhere in the 
  Northern Atlantic. It was relayed by radio 
  from one ship to another.” 
  “And you say the purpose of this is 
  declared to end all war in the world?” 
  mused Doc Savage. “I would say the object 
  is a most worthy one. At the same time, 
  such force as is threatened would not for 
  long be confined to such a benevolent 
  purpose. If the machinery of any nation, 
  any 
  great 
  city 
  could 
  be 
  paralyzed 
  indefinitely, then this force would soon be in 
  the hands of rascals.” 
  The president nodded his head. 
  “That is correct, Mr. Savage,” he 
  said, gravely. “But this whole thing savors 
  of a disordered mind. It would seem some 
  lunatic has isolated himself in The Land of 
  the Midnight Sun.” 
  “Howlin’ calamities!” rapped Monk. 
  “The lunatic’s ideas of yesterday 
  often become the great inventions of 
  today,” interrupted Doc, quickly. “You say 
  this unknown sender of the message 
  demands complete disarmament at once? 
  He declared he has the power to control the 
  destinies of all other countries?” 
  “Yes,” said the president. “And to 
  prove it, he declares he will demonstrate 
  this power. He has set eight o’clock this 
  morning. If he can do it, all of the New York 
  area will be rendered inactive from the hour 
  set until noon.” 
   
   
  “WON’T that be something for the 
  anti-noise boys?” said Ham. “Imagine New 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx HAUNTED OCEAN xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  17 
  York City without a wheel turning. No 
  thunder of the subway, no roar of the 
  elevated, no grind of traffic—” 
  “Anyway,” said the president, “the 
  whole thing can hardly be other than the 
  ravings of a lunatic. The whole thing is 
  probably unworthy of our serious attention.” 
  Doc Savage said nothing. He was 
  thinking of The Land of the Midnight Sun. 
  Back there on the Maryland coast there had 
  been daylight. 
  “I 
  believe 
  with 
  you 
  that 
  this 
  threatener may be unbalanced,” said Doc. 
  “But I also believe he will do exactly as he 
  says.” 
  The president tried to laugh. His 
  mirth had a hollow sound. 
  “And we have received no further 
  word of the war commission or the 
  steamship Trafalgar Square,” he stated. 
  A secretary presented a message 
  to the president. 
  “Then there is something, Mr. 
  Savage! Some ships were stopped off the 
  Maryland coast! A naval destroyer was 
  without power for nearly an hour! They 
  report a mysterious light like daylight!” 
  “Yes,” observed Doc. “One of my 
  best planes is bogged down in a Maryland 
  marsh.” 
  The president stared at the bronze 
  man bleakly. 
  “You hadn’t mentioned that,” he 
  said, gravely. “I wish we had Arne Dass 
  with us.” 
  “I knew Arne Dass was missing,” 
  stated Doc. “His knowledge would indeed 
  be most valuable.” 
  “Yes,” said the president. “Dass 
  has been gone for more than six months. 
  His scientific work with the navy department 
  was invaluable. We fear some foreign 
  agency may have had a hand in his 
  disappearance.” 
  The work of Arne Dass, an aged 
  scientist, was a high spot in the history of 
  the navy department. He had developed 
  some of the most effective weapons of 
  warfare. 
  “What steps would you advise we 
  take?” said the president. 
  “I know of none that might be 
  effective before eight o’clock this morning,” 
  stated Doc. “That is now barely six hours 
  away. We shall fly back to New York at 
  once.” 
   
   
  DOC SAVAGE was back in his 
  eighty-sixth floor laboratory at dawn. The 
  man of bronze had been busy for nearly an 
  hour. One telephone call had been a 
  contact with an electro-chemical company 
  plant on the Hudson River. 
  The man of bronze owned a 
  controlling interest in this works. For ten 
  minutes 
  he 
  talked 
  with 
  one 
  of 
  the 
  machinery designers. The plan for what he 
  desired was being copied by the designer 
  in elaborate detail. The intricate design had 
  been evolved and mapped in the amazing 
  brain of the bronze giant. 
  “Put all the men necessary on this 
  to have it ready within twelve hours,” 
  instructed Doc. 
  The man of bronze returned to 
  chemical experiments he had been making. 
  He was clad in a cloak of gray rubberized 
  fabric. His head was encased in what might 
  have been a diver’s helmet of crystal. 
  The chemicals Doc was employing 
  were of a deadly character. It lacked two 
  hours until eight o’clock. 
  A red light glowed and a buzzer 
  whined. Doc removed the glass helmet and 
  picked up the telephone. 
  “The White House speaking,” said 
  a voice. “We have received word of two 
  lifeboats from the Trafalgar Square being 
  picked up. Our information says they were 
  in the vicinity of the Lofoten Islands, off the 
  coast of Norway.” 
  “The islands are a thousand and 
  more miles north of the English Channel,” 
  stated Doc. “It sounds rather fantastic. But 
  the commission? What have you learned?” 
  “Very little. Washington is trying to 
  get a clear story of what happened to the 
  Trafalgar 
  Square. 
  The 
  steamer 
  was 
  abandoned. And it is reported the war 
  commission has been abducted. A lifeboat 
  carrying them vanished into the north. That 
  may be only a wild tale.” 
  “I fear you will find it is true,” stated 
  Doc. 
  The conversation was terminated. 
  Doc summoned the others to the 
  laboratory. 
  “Whatever affairs you may have at 
  hand should be adjusted quickly,” he 
  stated. “Brothers, we are soon to journey 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  18 
  into 
  the 
  Arctic 
  regions, 
  so 
  equip 
  yourselves.” 
   
   
  DOC had left off his helmet. The 
  door buzzer whined. Doc threw a switch. A 
  square of frosted glass was illuminated. In 
  that glass was a man crawling. Scarlet 
  liquid oozed from his mouth and dripped 
  slowly from his chin. 
  The frosted glass gave a detailed 
  view of the corridor in front of Doc Savage’s 
  door. 
  “Great 
  Scott!” 
  rasped 
  Ham. 
  “Another one!” 
  Renny and Long Tom were staring. 
  “It’s that fellow who said he was a 
  Norwegian,” declared Long Tom. “He left 
  here with that fellow, Kama.” 
  Hjalmar 
  Landson, 
  the 
  blond 
  Norwegian, 
  had 
  staggered 
  from 
  the 
  elevator. Likely he had fallen after the car 
  started downward. For he now was making 
  a second effort to reach the door. Doc 
  glided through the library into the outer 
  room. The door opened by the radio 
  contact. 
  The big Norwegian half arose to his 
  feet. His eyes were like hard, blue ice. But 
  they were beginning to glaze a little. One 
  big hand wiped the oozing blood from his 
  lips. 
  “Doc—Doc 
  Savage—” 
  he 
  mumbled. “You must—must know about 
  this—Knut Aage—he will—” 
  Hjalmar Landson slid forward on 
  his face. The ornamental handle of a 
  dagger stuck gruesomely from between his 
  shoulders. Nearly all of a queerly curved 
  blade had been sunk beside his spine. 
  Doc Savage made a quick injection 
  from a syringe. Hjalmar Landson appeared 
  to come back from death itself. 
  “They’ll get it—find Knut Aage—
  Salten Fjord—Moskenes—north passage in 
  Satan’s 
  Gateway—this 
  professor—who 
  died—Kama wanted to buy—my country—
  go there—” 
  The Norwegian’s last words were 
  only liquid gurgling. What he might have 
  meant by his reference to the dead 
  professor, Homus Jasson, he now could 
  never reveal. 
  Stretched 
  in 
  death, 
  Hjalmar 
  Landson more than ever resembled a blond 
  Viking of the Far North. 
  “Whatever he might have been, he 
  was loyal to his country to the last,” stated 
  Doc Savage. “Moskenes is one of the 
  Lofoten Islands.” 
  “Kama!” exclaimed Ham. “That 
  would be his murderer!” 
  “Thunderation!” growled Renny. “I 
  wouldn’t be so sure! There is that bogus 
  red-headed Krants girl!” 
  But at this moment, Doc and his 
  companions had another matter to claim 
  their attention. 
  The heart of Hjalmar Landson, the 
  Norwegian, had ceased beating at precisely 
  eight o’clock in the morning. 
  And with it, the heart of Greater 
  New York City also halted its loudly pulsing 
  stroke. 
   
   
  Chapter VIII 
  WHEN A CITY STOPPED 
   
  NEW YORK CITY, Manhattan and 
  all of its environs, had been warned from 
  Washington. Several million persons were 
  cautioned to be on their guard. 
  Trains might stop. Ferries might be 
  disabled. Subways could become unsafe. 
  Elevated tracks might cease to thunder. 
  In 
  other 
  words, 
  advised 
  Washington by radio and early edition 
  newspapers, a few million persons should 
  be careful of their activities at eight o’clock 
  this morning. 
  New York at eight o’clock in the 
  morning was going about its customary 
  business. 
  In 
  the 
  eighty-sixth 
  floor 
  headquarters of Doc Savage could be 
  heard the humming thunder of the active 
  city. 
  So great and constant is this roar of 
  traffic, its beat ceases to be recorded by the 
  ears of the average New Yorkers. These 
  waves of sound were rolling up when 
  Hjalmar Landson staggered to his death in 
  Doc Savage’s corridor. 
  Now another wave arose. More 
  appalling perhaps than anything else that 
  could happen. It was an abrupt wave of 
  silence. 
  Comparative 
  silence, 
  but 
  an 
  absence 
  of 
  sound, 
  nevertheless. 
  For 
  shouting voices, even screaming crowds in 
  suddenly halted subway trains, on stopped 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx HAUNTED OCEAN xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  19 
  elevated coaches, flowing from thousands 
  of automobiles blocking the streets, hardly 
  registered after the customary thunder of 
  traffic had died. 
  New York had stopped. Stopped, 
  paralyzed. 
  Congestion 
  and 
  panic 
  in 
  the 
  subways were the worst. The trains had 
  stopped. All lights went out. Thousands of 
  workers were trapped in Stygian darkness. 
  Perhaps thousands would have been killed 
  here and on the elevated, where they were 
  pouring from halted trains, had the third 
  rails still been working. 
  Motormen 
  and 
  guards 
  tried 
  ineffectually to prevent the maddened 
  crowds from seeking to escape along the 
  tracks. The guards were overwhelmed. 
  Crowds streamed toward the stairs leading 
  to the streets. 
  Doc Savage and his companions 
  looked from a window down into the canyon 
  of the street far below. 
  “Looks like one of those slow 
  motion pictures,” observed Ham. “Look, 
  Doc! Every automobile has stopped!” 
  Bewildered masses crowded into 
  doorways. Their white faces were lifted 
  toward the blue sky. Many seemed to 
  believe this might be Judgment Day. 
  “The thing is complete,” stated Doc. 
  “Our lights are gone. All electrical current 
  has been stopped.” 
   
   
  THE man of bronze whipped into 
  the laboratory. He returned with one of their 
  generator 
  flashlights. 
  Even 
  the 
  small 
  generator in this device refused to respond. 
  “Doc!” exclaimed Long Tom. “We’re 
  locked in! The electroscope is out of order!” 
  The main doors which had been 
  closed, failed to operate. There was no 
  radio contact. However, there were various 
  exits available from the headquarters. 
  Doc Savage’s emergency radio 
  was dead. So much a part of modern life 
  had the radio become, that this one feature 
  alone of the paralyzed city was perhaps the 
  most terrifying. Bewildered housewives, 
  seeking to ascertain why their vacuum 
  cleaners, their automatic refrigerators, their 
  lights and their telephones had gone dead, 
  turned the knobs of their radios. 
  Within the first half hour, even the 
  voices of the crowds became silenced. The 
  words of individuals were being spoken in 
  whispers. Their natural voices sounded 
  unearthly loud without the accustomed 
  background of the city’s clamor. 
  “Brothers, no such power has ever 
  before appeared,” stated Doc. “We are 
  informed this threat is made to force an end 
  to all war. It is a good purpose. But even 
  now, I more than suspect this force is 
  known and desired by fiendish brains.” 
  The murderer of Professor Homus 
  Jasson and of Hjalmar Landson were 
  convincing evidence this was true. 
  Because it was a clear day, the 
  difference in the quality of light did not 
  appear to the casual millions. But in Doc’s 
  laboratory 
  the 
  light 
  recorders 
  were 
  mysteriously agitated. 
  And in the most acute ears was 
  that low, throbbing hum, as if the air 
  suddenly had become filled with billions of 
  invisible, buzzing insects. 
   
   
  EXACTLY at the noon hour, New 
  York City came to life. The transition from 
  powerless machinery to a sudden surge of 
  returned energy was more disastrous than 
  the stopping of the city had been. 
  Now 
  trains 
  were 
  starting. 
  Thousands of motors started unexpectedly. 
  Hundreds were caught and injured. 
  Radios squawked. Every telephone 
  was immediately seized upon by the person 
  nearest. The flood of calls overwhelmed the 
  exchanges. The automatic lines were 
  choked. 
  In 
  some 
  of 
  the 
  skyscrapers, 
  elevators shot up or down. They had been 
  abandoned with power on by some of the 
  terrified operators. 
  Yet such was the influence of Doc 
  Savage, he was one of the first persons to 
  put through a call. Having been fully 
  informed of the dubious standing of the red-
  headed girl who had said she was Lora 
  Krants, the man of bronze was making 
  contact with a banker. 
  “You have the handling of the 
  affairs of Cyrus Krants?” said Doc. “The 
  information 
  I 
  seek may 
  be 
  of 
  vital 
  importance.” 
  “Yes, I am in touch with the 
  personal affairs of the Krants family,” stated 
  the banker. “If I can be of assistance, I will.” 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  20 
  “We have been told Miss Lora 
  Krants is in California and her father is in 
  daily touch with his home,” said Doc. “Is 
  that true?” 
  “There must be some mistake,” 
  replied the banker. “Miss Lora Krants is 
  here in New York. I happen to know she 
  appeared to you for help last night. Her 
  father has been unheard from for several 
  days. Our firm would regard it as a personal 
  favor if you would do what you can, Mr. 
  Savage.” 
  As Doc replaced the telephone, the 
  exotic trilling of sudden discovery reached 
  his companions. Renny had been listening 
  to the conversation. 
  “The young lady appears to be 
  Miss Krants,” stated Doc. “My informant is 
  most reliable.” 
  “Holy cow!” boomed Renny. “Doc, 
  when can we get started for the North Pole, 
  or wherever we’re going? In a minute, I’ll 
  wake up and discover I dreamed all that 
  happened this morning.” 
   
   
  DOC made no reply. He was again 
  on the telephone. In a few minutes he had 
  put through a call to the Pacific coast. He 
  held a short conversation with a person in 
  Del Monte, in southern California. When he 
  replaced the instrument, he made no 
  explanation. 
  During this conversation, a visitor 
  had arrived. He was the massive-headed 
  Professor Callus. 
  “Another one!” he exclaimed in a 
  shocked voice, as he saw the body of 
  Hjalmar Landson. “What in the world can 
  this terrible thing mean, Mr. Savage? Could 
  all of this incredible phenomena of this 
  morning, these murders, be related to our 
  haunted ocean?” 
  “It would seem that is the case,” 
  stated Doc. “Have you ever had any 
  contact with this man Landson, or the man 
  called Kama, before they appeared here 
  last night, Professor Callus?” 
  “I never saw either of them before,” 
  said the big-headed man. “I returned today, 
  hoping to learn what their interest might 
  have been in the ocean disturbance. I did 
  see Landson at an early hour this morning 
  on Fifth Avenue near Central Park.” 
  “Was he alone at that time?” 
  Professor Callus shook his shiny 
  head, as if with reluctance.  
  “No,” 
  he 
  said, 
  slowly, 
  “but 
  I 
  hesitated to speak of it. Probably it has no 
  relation to what might have happened later. 
  Landson was riding in a sedan early this 
  morning with Miss Krants and the brother 
  she called Barton.” 
  “We might’ve known it!” spilled 
  Renny. “What time was that, professor?” 
  “As nearly as I can recall, it was 
  between seven and eight o’clock.” 
  “And he reached here and died just 
  when the city went dead,” said Ham. “That 
  seems 
  to 
  provide 
  a 
  clear 
  case 
  of 
  circumstantial evidence.” 
  “Dag-gone it!” piped up Monk, 
  unexpectedly. “That girl wouldn’t have done 
  it! She wouldn’t go around stickin’ a knife in 
  anybody’s back!” 
  “Or an automatic in your neck,” said 
  Ham, sarcastically. “Or maybe a hypo in 
  that other dead man.” 
  Doc Savage changed the subject 
  suddenly. 
  “As I told you before, prepare for 
  Arctic conditions. You will proceed at once 
  to the Hudson River hangars. I shall join 
  you within a short time. Renny, describe for 
  me the approximate location of that 
  apartment near Central Park where you 
  were taken.” 
   
   
  Chapter IX 
  DOC IS TRAPPED 
   
  DOC SAVAGE arrived at the 
  address given by Renny. 
  “The Krants’s servants left early 
  this morning,” said the janitor of the Central 
  Park apartment house. “There was only the 
  housekeeper and her husband. They’ve 
  been taking care of the apartment.” 
  Doc Savage exhibited no surprise 
  at the apparent absence of the Krants 
  family. Seemingly, the man of bronze left 
  the apartment house. Five minutes later he 
  was ascending the tradesmen’s stairway at 
  the back of the building. 
  The man of bronze had little 
  difficulty in obtaining an entrance. The 
  Krants apartment contained five bedrooms. 
  Doc glided from one room to 
  another. None of the rooms showed 
  
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  21 
  evidence of having been occupied within 
  the past few days. The big living room had 
  been converted partly into a library. 
  Doc’s flaky gold eyes stirred with 
  little whirlpools. Two crossed daggers had 
  been crossed above a big table. One 
  dagger was still in place. The mark on the 
  wall showed the other had been removed 
  recently. 
  The 
  handle 
  of 
  the 
  remaining 
  dagger was ornamented and inlaid with 
  jewels. The design was a replica of that 
  which had been buried in the back of 
  Hjalmar Landson, the Norwegian. 
  Doc crossed to a window facing 
  Central Park. He pulled back the heavy 
  drapery a part of an inch. His face was 
  inscrutable as he watched a sedan arrive 
  and park in the avenue below. 
  From the time he had left his 
  headquarters Doc had known he was being 
  shadowed. He was not surprised when a 
  man got out of the sedan and crossed the 
  street to a point where he could best keep 
  an eye on the apartment house. 
  The watcher had a yellowish skin. 
  He 
  was 
  immaculately 
  dressed. 
  His 
  movement was the glide of an Oriental. 
  From the description given by Long Tom, 
  Doc identified the man as Kama Dbhana, of 
  San Tao. 
   
   
  DOC was turning from the window. 
  His movement ceased. His remarkable 
  senses were not of an occult character. But 
  his ears could detect the ticking of the finest 
  watch. 
  Somewhere in the apartment a 
  watch was ticking. That watch was not 
  hidden in a drawer. For the sound had 
  moved. It was still moving. 
  Doc kept close to the wall. He 
  glided noiselessly toward the large room 
  adjoining the living room. In the doorway, 
  he halted and listened. 
  A telephone on the table had been 
  shifted since he had entered. A picture on 
  the wall had been moved. But few men in 
  the world would have noted these minor 
  details. Doc Savage never entered any 
  room without instantly fixing the position of 
  each object. 
  Doc apparently had not noticed 
  anything unusual. He walked slowly across 
  the room toward an inner door. Except for 
  the door which he had entered, all windows 
  and doors were closed. 
  The window drapes were closely 
  drawn and the room was in semidarkness. 
  This did not prevent Doc from seeing 
  moving figures. 
  Doc stood in the middle of the room 
  and waited. Into his hands had come two 
  small 
  glass 
  objects. 
  Each 
  contained 
  enough anaesthetic gas to have overcome 
  a dozen men. 
  The rush toward him came from the 
  shadows. There was hardly a whisper of 
  movement and no voice of command. But 
  Doc saw there were eight or ten figures. All 
  wore clumsy-appearing masks. 
  More strange than the masks, was 
  the fact that none of the figures seemed to 
  be armed. Their hands were empty. 
  Perhaps they counted on the weight of 
  numbers. 
  The little glass capsules hardly 
  tinkled. They were crushed on the rug at 
  Doc’s feet. The man of bronze had inhaled 
  a deep breath, then had expelled some of 
  it. He was capable of some three to four 
  minutes without breathing. 
  The gas should have put these 
  attackers to sleep instantly. But they 
  remained erect. And none touched the 
  bronze man. He was simply ringed in by the 
  menacing masks. The figures might have 
  had queer weapons not now displayed. 
  A slender figure separated from the 
  others. The husky, muffled voice of a 
  woman spoke. It was so disguised as to be 
  unidentifiable. The woman was calm. 
  “You are powerful enough to defeat 
  some of us, Doc Savage,” advised the 
  voice. “But you could not overpower all of 
  us. I would advise you to surrender. Your 
  devices are useless against us. We are 
  doing this for your own good. We would 
  save 
  the 
  lives 
  of 
  you 
  and 
  your 
  companions.” 
  In addition to her mask, the woman 
  wore an enveloping hood. 
  “I seem to have no choice,” replied 
  Doc, quietly. “But you should put up your 
  hair more carefully. Where it shows, it is 
  red.” 
  There was no red hair showing. But 
  the 
  woman’s 
  hand 
  whipped 
  instantly 
  upward, feeling the hood. At once, she 
  laughed huskily. 
  
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  22 
  “I’ve been informed you are very 
  clever, Doc Savage,” the woman said. “It 
  seems you live up to your reputation! But 
  that cannot save you now. We are—” 
  Doc expelled his breath slowly. The 
  anaesthetic gas had dissipated into the air. 
  It was only effective for a lesser time than 
  Doc could hold his breath. 
  His symmetrical body moved with 
  flashing speed. The arc of the bronze fists 
  could not have been followed by any 
  human eye. 
  Most certainly the blows could not 
  have been dodged. Knuckles crunched into 
  masked faces. The figures massed in a 
  combined 
  rush. 
  Doc’s 
  twisting 
  hands 
  caught up one man and hurled him 
  broadside against others. Four men went 
  down in a heap. 
  Only four figures were on their feet. 
  A sinewy arm went around Doc’s throat. His 
  effort to free himself from the grip caused a 
  gun to be shoved into his neck. At least one 
  attacker was armed. 
  Doc realized the odds were against 
  him. He relaxed his fight. They bound him 
  and carried him with them when they 
  departed. 
   
   
  “ONLY by the certain removal of 
  Doc Savage can our enterprise be made 
  safe,” spoke a voice. 
  “I agree with you perfectly,” spoke 
  a woman. “I am glad you have come to see 
  it my way. He tricked me into betraying 
  myself. He undoubtedly knows who I am. 
  When will he be removed? They say he has 
  powers that amount to black magic!” 
  A macabre laugh came from the 
  invisible man. 
  “That has all been arranged,” he 
  said. “The automatic device on the death 
  tank will work in fifteen minutes. By then we 
  will be conspicuously in another place 
  some distance from here.” 
  Doc 
  Savage 
  heard 
  this 
  conversation. He had been dumped on the 
  bare floor of what appeared to be a large 
  room in some deserted loft building. There 
  are hundreds of such lofts located along the 
  Hudson and the East Rivers. 
  Doc could tell this building was 
  close to the river. Boats were passing not 
  far away. The man speaking might be 
  Kama. At least, the voice was the same. 
  All of his devices had been stripped 
  from his body. Knowledge of his many 
  secrets was indicated. Even his bullet-proof 
  skullcap of metal had been removed. His 
  feet were bare. False toenails were 
  missing. Hollow shells worn over some of 
  his teeth had been taken out. 
  It was the most thorough job of 
  rendering the bronze giant helpless he had 
  ever encountered. The bonds held him 
  rigid. He could only wait. 
  The 
  woman 
  laughed 
  again, 
  harshly. 
  “Well, let’s be on our way,” she 
  said. “You will be going to Washington 
  tonight?” 
  “I’m not so sure of that,” replied the 
  man’s voice. “Perhaps it would be best to 
  hold out for greater returns.” 
  Their feet beat hollowly on the bare 
  floor of another room. A distant door was 
  slammed. Doc could hear the thudding of 
  their feet on stairs. 
  Doc’s acute senses picked up a 
  ticking. He judged it was some device for 
  timing. There was not so much as a table or 
  chair in the room. Doc had tried all of the 
  muscular contortions that would have freed 
  him from ordinary bonds. He met with no 
  success. 
  Thick dust of the abandoned loft 
  choked his nostrils. It was useless to call for 
  help in this empty building. He rolled in the 
  direction of the ticking. 
  A bright aluminum tank was set in 
  an alcove of the big room. All of the 
  windows were tightly closed. Some cracks 
  had been carefully sealed with strips of 
  paper to make more certain it would be a 
  death chamber. 
  A timing device was affixed to an 
  ordinary alarm clock at the top of the tank. 
  The ringing of the alarm would release a 
  spring. This in turn would release the valve 
  at the top of the tank. Doc had no doubt but 
  that the cylinder contained some deadly 
  gas. 
  A small vial contained a colorless 
  liquid. It was set to fall and break on the 
  floor. Doubtless it contained an inflammable 
  chemical which would be set off by the jar 
  of the vial. Perhaps the gas in the tank 
  would be combustible. Or it might merely 
  kill. 
  The fire chemical on the dry floor of 
  the loft would start an immediate blaze 
  
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  23 
  either way. Before the fire would be 
  discovered, the identity of a body would be 
  almost entirely destroyed. 
  Doc rolled close to the tank. His 
  first thought was to break the timing device. 
  Then he saw that any disturbance of the 
  tank would cause the spring to release the 
  death valve. 
  Likewise, a touch would send the 
  fire chemical to be broken on the floor. 
  More 
  than 
  five 
  minutes 
  had 
  passed. Doc rolled to the window. By 
  tremendous effort he again got to his feet. 
  He teetered forward and his bronzed head 
  crashed the glass and the frame. But only a 
  small aperture was made. 
  Below was the river, down ten 
  stories. Boats were passing, far out in the 
  stream. Doc attempted to break out another 
  section of the heavy sash with his head, but 
  the effort threw him on his back. 
  Then the alarm clock device rang. 
  Immediately, there came a low hiss of 
  escaping gas. There was a slight thud and 
  a tinkling of glass. 
  Bluish vapor rolled into the room. 
  As it struck the air, it seemed converted into 
  writhing, bloated globes. 
  A quick, bright flame was spreading 
  on the floor of the alcove. A tongue of fire 
  darted up the wall. 
   
   
  DOC fought to his feet. He jammed 
  his head and shoulders into the space of 
  the broken window. That way, he would 
  have fresh air for the maximum of time. He 
  knew the death gas was filling the room 
  behind him. 
  The alcove had become a flaming 
  mass. Doc looked intently at the river far 
  below. But he could not force his body 
  through the small window space. 
  Behind Doc, the room was being 
  converted into a fiery furnace. The bronze 
  man’s clothes smoked. The back of his 
  neck was being blistered. Only his face 
  being jammed into the window saved him 
  from breathing the deadly gas. 
  There came a great crashing. Doc 
  thought at first a part of a wall had fallen. 
  But it was the door which bulged on its 
  hinges. It might have been a sledge 
  hammer that struck it. At the second blow, 
  a stout panel cracked. 
  The third blow smashed the panel 
  altogether. It was no hammer. A great, 
  knuckled fist projected into the room. 
  Another 
  fist 
  struck. The 
  whole 
  door 
  buckled. A voice boomed. 
  “Hey, Doc! Holy cow! You in 
  there?” 
  Doc called, “Keep back, Renny, 
  keep back! Poison gas!” 
  “Howlin’ calamities!” howled the 
  voice of Monk. “Lemme get at them 
  windows, Renny!” 
  Side by side, the giant Renny and 
  the grotesque, apelike chemist shouldered 
  into the room. The draught from the door 
  fanned the fire. Their clothes smoked. 
  But they took the windows. They 
  smashed them with their big fists. Sashes 
  and glass disintegrated. Renny and Monk 
  were holding their breaths. So were Ham 
  and Long Tom. The latter two were freeing 
  Doc. 
  Within forty seconds after the door 
  had been smashed by the great fists of 
  Renny, Doc and the others were clumping 
  down the stairs. Above them, the top of the 
  loft building was an inferno. A dense cloud 
  of flame and smoke rolled out over the 
  river. 
  Fire apparatus was wailing into the 
  street. Doc led the way from a side door. 
  So 
  far 
  as 
  outside 
  information 
  was 
  concerned, he desired it to be believed he 
  had perished in the burning loft. 
   
   
  AGAIN it was night. 
  Doc Savage was directing the 
  stowing away of a strange contrivance 
  aboard the speediest of his tri-motored 
  planes. The plane was fueled for four 
  thousand miles. Not that it carried an 
  extraordinary amount of gas and oil. The 
  new motors, more modern than any other in 
  the world, consumed a minimum of fuel. 
  Doc’s companions saw a new 
  machine had been placed aboard. The 
  machine was in the form of an immense 
  snubnosed cylinder. Part of its construction 
  must have been a new combination of the 
  vitreous elements of glass. Coils of pipes 
  and a few tanks could be seen plainly 
  through the outer shell. 
  
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  24 
   
  By   tremendous   effort,   Doc  got  to  his  feet.  He  teetered  
  forward and his bronze head crashed the glass from its frame. 
   
  This 
  machine 
  had 
  just 
  been 
  delivered 
  from 
  the 
  electro-chemical 
  machine plant. It had been constructed 
  within twelve hours. 
  Doc had inquired what had brought 
  his companions to the burning loft building. 
  “A woman called us,” had been 
  Renny’s reply. “The phone was ringing at 
  the hangar when we arrived. The woman 
  said to be on the top floor of that loft 
  building at six o’clock, just at sunset. We 
  made it just in time.” 
  All of the signs at the now burned 
  loft building indicated Doc had been 
  conveyed there by several men. A woman, 
  and Doc believed a red-headed woman, 
  had been in command of the crowd that 
  had taken him prisoner. 
  Was there still another woman 
  involved? 
  The man of bronze had arrived at 
  one definite conclusion. Already several 
  foreign countries were in the market for the 
  power that had paralyzed New York, 
  
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  25 
  haunted the ocean. And most nations find 
  women, pretty women, valuable for this 
  class of intrigue. 
  The big plane was ready to taxi 
  from the hangar onto the wide Hudson 
  River for its take-off. Doc Savage made a 
  telephone connection with Washington. 
   
   
  FROM the White House came new 
  and startling news. 
  The crew of a rescued lifeboat from 
  the missing Trafalgar Square had talked. 
  “Men in the boat say they were 
  hauled at tremendous speed by some 
  invisible force,” Doc Savage was informed. 
  “That might account for their being 
  in the vicinity of the Lofoten Islands,” stated 
  Doc. “The boats were picked up not far 
  from Moskenes Island, near Salten Fjord.” 
  “How did you know that?” came the 
  amazed voice from the White House. 
  “Mere surmise,” stated Doc. “You 
  have no word of the war commission, but 
  you 
  probably 
  have 
  received 
  a 
  new 
  message.” 
  “Yes. Another relayed radio. I’ll 
  read it: ‘The United States must disarm. So 
  must all other nations. You have five days 
  to decide. The navy must be laid up. The 
  army must be disbanded. All armament 
  must be destroyed. The same order applies 
  to all nations of the world. Peace will be 
  applied at any price.’” 
  “Sounds as if the sender knew 
  definitely what can be done,” stated Doc. 
  “Yes,” said the White House. “If we 
  only had Arne Dass here to advise us. He 
  knew a great deal about atomic energy he 
  never revealed.” 
  “Perhaps we may find Arne Dass,” 
  said Doc. 
  He gave no reason for his belief. 
  As the conversation ended, Monk 
  was dragging Habeas Corpus aboard the 
  plane. The Arabian pig already was 
  shivering. He had seen the queer suit of fur 
  Monk had provided for him. 
  “We leave at once for the Lofoten 
  Islands off the coast of Norway,” Doc 
  announced. “Perhaps we shall soon have a 
  trace of the war commission and Johnny.” 
  On the open sea, far in the north, at 
  least one man in a lifeboat would have 
  been gratified to know Doc Savage’s plan. 
  At the time the bronze man’s speedy plane 
  took off from the Hudson River, the position 
  of Johnny and those with him was hardly 
  enviable. 
   
   
  Chapter X 
  THE MIDNIGHT SUN 
   
  EIGHT men occupied the open 
  lifeboat. Two were in the uniform of sailors. 
  The other six wore plain business attire. 
  Luckily they had heavy-collared overcoats. 
  These they had with them for the chilly 
  crossing of the stormy English Channel. 
  None of the six had suspected 
  what extremes of cold these same coats 
  would be called upon to resist. 
  The faces of the six men indicated 
  they were uncomfortable, and completely 
  mystified. 
  The lifeboat was now speeding 
  through the calm, green water of an inner 
  channel under towering ice cliffs. At first 
  glance, it would have appeared the lifeboat 
  was moving by black magic. No propeller 
  swirled at its stern. Its bow cut the water on 
  a rising crest. 
  One of the men was a skeletonlike 
  figure. He shook in his big coat as if his 
  long, skinny body would fall apart. He had 
  the fine, intelligent face of a scholar. 
  He was the fifth man of Doc 
  Savage’s highly trained group, William 
  Harper Littlejohn. Once he had occupied a 
  chair of applied science in a leading 
  university of America. But since he had 
  shared the adventures of the great bronze 
  giant, he had come to be known simply as 
  “Johnny.” 
  Now Johnny said, “In no other 
  locale has there ever been such opalescent 
  radiation, even in the summer. At that time, 
  the continuous solar suspension above the 
  horizon produces streams of light from all 
  parts of the periphery which diffuses 
  vertically over the hemisphere.” 
  “Jolly well put, Mr. Littlejohn!” 
  replied a ruddy-faced man with a drooping 
  gray mustache. “If I were not feeling so 
  fearfully peckish, I might appreciate the 
  thought. By jove, it will go tough with these 
  blighters when His Majesty’s navy arrives!” 
  The man was Sir Arthur Westcott, 
  British member of the abducted war 
  commission. He had not the slightest idea 
  
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  26 
  what Johnny had been talking about. But 
  he had everlasting faith in the British navy. 
  Johnny seldom used a short word 
  when he could find a longer one. Just now, 
  he had been speaking of the effect of the 
  Midnight Sun. In the summer season, the 
  sun never dropped below the horizon. At 
  this season it did not rise above the rim. 
  Yet, where there should have been 
  darkness, relieved only by the northern 
  lights, the big lifeboat was speeding 
  through daylight of a strange white quality. 
   
   
  JOHNNY spoke in simple English 
  the others could understand. 
  “If only we had some way of getting 
  in touch with Doc Savage,” he said, 
  thoughtfully. “But we had no warning. No 
  time. And now we’ve got no radio. We are 
  in a dead world, except for that mysterious 
  monster with the horns. But Doc Savage 
  would know what to do.” 
  “You seem to have a lot of 
  confidence in this person Doc Savage, old 
  fellow,” said Sir Arthur, pulling at his long 
  mustache. “I would prefer to rely upon His 
  Majesty’s navy. After all, old chap, the 
  British navy goes everywhere.” 
  “I’m inclined to believe Doc Savage 
  has been places even the British navy 
  never will see,” smiled Johnny. 
  He 
  thoroughly 
  respected 
  His 
  Majesty’s sea force. But Johnny had his 
  doubts about British warships chasing a 
  mechanical undersea monster into the 
  treacherous channels and fjords inside the 
  Lofoten Islands. 
  Johnny’s other companions were 
  Baron Calosa, of Italy; Monsieur Lamont, of 
  France; Herr Schumann, of Germany, and 
  Señor Torron, of Spain. 
  None had evolved any theory 
  which might have explained the four 
  mysterious prongs drawing their boat closer 
  to the icy polar region. The prongs might 
  indeed have been the horns of some 
  underwater monster. 
  The eerie daylight bathed the blue, 
  icy water. The intense radiation obscured 
  the customary northern lights, the aurora 
  borealis. 
  Perhaps a hundred yards ahead of 
  the big lifeboat projected the four prongs. 
  These cut through the calm sea. No turmoil 
  of whirling propellers was apparent. 
  From the bow of the lifeboat 
  extended a slender steel cable. This drew 
  the 
  boat along at great speed. All 
  instruments with which this cable might 
  have been cut had been removed. The 
  lifeboat bore the name, “S. S. TRAFALGAR 
  SQUARE, DOVER, ENG.” The steel cable 
  ran down into the sea. 
  “I’d jolly well like to know if the 
  blighters down there can see us through 
  those queer eyes?” complained Sir Arthur. 
  The four prongs traveled a few feet 
  apart in a straight line. The eyes were like 
  great mirrors. They reflected the strange 
  daylight 
  with 
  dazzling 
  radiation. 
  This 
  sometimes nearly blinded the eight men in 
  the lifeboat. 
   
   
  GREAT, glittering bergs of ice 
  came floating over the horizon from the 
  north. This horizon now appeared to be 
  defined by a definite circle of the daylight. 
  “If we only could guess what all this 
  means,” added Johnny. “Here we are a war 
  commission bent on ending war. We are 
  bundled out of our berths in the middle of 
  the night. We don’t see the men with the 
  guns, but evidently they forced every one to 
  leave the Trafalgar Square. Do 
  you 
  suppose the other lifeboats have been 
  brought up here?” 
  None of the others had any answer 
  to this. 
  Undoubtedly, the projecting prongs 
  were attached to some new and incredible 
  undersea craft. Yet it never had descended 
  far enough to submerge the rearing prongs. 
  Johnny was shrewd enough to deduce that 
  these horns and the mirrorlike eyes had 
  something to do with the motion of the craft. 
  If there were motors of tremendous 
  power, then why was the progress of the 
  submarine so noiseless? 
  Again Sir Arthur Westcott affirmed 
  his faith in the British navy. 
  “They’ll jolly well have a hundred 
  boats searching for us,” he declared. 
  “They’ll find us if they have to send out the 
  whole British navy!” 
  Doubtless the whole British navy 
  would have been turned out if necessary to 
  rescue the war commission. But just now 
  His Majesty’s sailors were having a puzzle 
  all their own in the North Sea. 
  
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  27 
  Daylight had struck at an unearthly 
  hour. In all of a vast area, every vessel from 
  fishing trawlers to patrol destroyers had 
  become powerless. On all of the wide 
  expanse through 
  which the strangely 
  abducted commission had moved, not 
  another boat was capable of motion. 
   
   
  Chapter XI 
  WHEN GUNS FAILED 
   
  HIS MAJESTY’S farthest north 
  submarine was in the vicinity of the Lofoten 
  Islands. Its presence was by the chance of 
  having been sent to investigate the drift of 
  ice along the Norwegian coast. The 
  influence of the Gulf Stream to some extent 
  kept this shore clear of solid freezing. 
  The commander of the submarine 
  had been exploring the hundred-mile shelf 
  of the ocean along the northern Norway 
  coast. This shelf, having a depth of five 
  hundred to six hundred feet, extended for 
  some hundred miles from the mountainous 
  shore. 
  The submarine had been cruising 
  on the surface during the night. The craft’s 
  radio had picked up the broadcast of the 
  apparent disaster overtaking the Trafalgar 
  Square in the English Channel. The 
  commander made note of this. 
  The Channel crossing between 
  Dover and Calais was too distant to cause 
  concern to a submarine crew in the vicinity 
  of the Lofoten Islands. 
  But now, when there should be 
  only the dark sea above, the surface had 
  taken on the glowing aspect of daylight. 
  The commander ordered the submerging 
  tanks pumped out. His Majesty’s submarine 
  nosed slowly upward. 
  The commander himself was at the 
  periscope glass. The slender tube poked 
  above the calm water. 
  “Well, by jove!” he exclaimed. “I’m 
  seeing things! That could not possibly be a 
  lifeboat sailing along like that under its own 
  steam! Crickety! Have a look, lieutenant! 
  It’s a boat from the steamer Trafalgar 
  Square!” 
  “You’re 
  jolly 
  well 
  right, 
  sir!” 
  exclaimed the lieutenant. Then he muttered 
  darkly, “But I do not believe in sea 
  serpents, and if those are not the horns of 
  some monsters, I’m crazy!” 
  The commander rapped out a 
  hurried order. The submarine tanks hissed. 
  The undersea craft was coming up. 
   
   
  “MAYBE you’re right, after all, Sir 
  Arthur,” said Johnny. “His Majesty’s navy 
  does seem to get around.” 
  He was forced to speak loudly 
  because of the whistling wind. Sir Arthur 
  exclaimed jubilantly and tugged at his 
  mustache. The periscope of the submarine 
  had come into view. 
  The submarine was moving at 
  good speed. 
  “Britannia still rules the waves, old 
  chap!” said Sir Arthur. 
  The 
  towing 
  prongs 
  with 
  their 
  flashing mirrors had suddenly lessened 
  their speed. The moving periscope was 
  possibly less than one hundred yards away. 
  The submarine did not seem to have had 
  its power affected as had surface craft. 
  Johnny and those in the lifeboat 
  had 
  no 
  means 
  of 
  knowing 
  of 
  the 
  suspension of power. If they had, they 
  would not have been so confident that help 
  had arrived. 
  Those operating the craft of the 
  four mysterious prongs apparently had 
  known of the submarine’s approach. The 
  speed of the prongs lessened to about the 
  same movements as the British boat. 
  “Good grief!” exploded Johnny. 
  “You don’t suppose our friends are planning 
  to fight?” 
  “The blighters will be handled 
  expeditiously,” assured Sir Arthur. “They 
  are under His Majesty’s guns.” 
  The submarine was taking the 
  surface. It headed directly for the lifeboat. 
  The long black hull was only a hundred 
  yards or so away when it broke the water. 
  The conning tower thrust its round shape 
  into view. The submarine reversed its 
  engines. The propellers sucked in tons of 
  water. 
  Machinery clanked. The hatch of 
  the conning tower was opening. Gilt-
  braided officers came onto the iron-back 
  deck. 
  Again the mirrored prongs moved 
  more rapidly. They started pulling the 
  lifeboat away from the submarine. 
  
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  28 
  “Heave to, in the name of His 
  Majesty!” bellowed a British voice from the 
  submarine. 
   
   
  THE prongs started in a tantalizing 
  circle of the British sub. 
  Another sharp order was barked. It 
  gained no attention. 
  Then a rapid-firing deck gun swung 
  from the conning tower. The submarine still 
  was moving slowly. Its motors had not yet 
  felt the effect of the mysterious power 
  which seemed to accompany the eerie 
  daylight. 
  The 
  sub’s 
  deck 
  gun 
  barked 
  viciously. The shot skipped across the 
  green water. Whether by accident or 
  intention, the shell clipped squarely into one 
  of the moving prongs. The horn snapped 
  off. Its mirror reflector vanished into the 
  sea. 
  Instantly, the other three prongs 
  moved faster. 
  Johnny had no long words now. 
  “My gosh!” he exploded. “They 
  shoot off its horns, and still it doesn’t stop! 
  Look! What’s happened?” 
  There was apparent consternation 
  aboard the British sub. The officers were 
  waving their arms. Voices shouted. The 
  submarine had ceased to move. Its engines 
  had been suddenly paralyzed. 
  “I wonder about that!” muttered 
  Johnny. “That sub seemed all right until it 
  came up. Remember, the engines of the 
  Trafalgar Square were stopped suddenly, 
  just before they grabbed us?” 
  The submarine commander was 
  barking more orders. Apparently, he had 
  the thought to close the hatch of the 
  conning tower. But the motor operating the 
  machinery was also dead. 
  “And that apparently washes up 
  your British navy,” declared Johnny. “Now 
  what?” 
  From 
  under 
  the 
  submarine 
  emerged a slender, fishlike shape. It was a 
  long, deadly torpedo. The quick-witted 
  commander had ordered the explosive in 
  an effort to halt the strange prongs. 
  The torpedo had been shot from its 
  compartment deep under the water. Its own 
  motive power sent it streaking across 
  between the lifeboat and the mirrored 
  prongs. 
  “Get set!” yelled Johnny. “We’re all 
  due for a cold bath! When that thing hits, 
  we’ll have to jump!” 
  The torpedo was perhaps halfway 
  from the sub to the three moving prongs. 
  Johnny wondered if it were traveling at a 
  depth sufficient to strike the mystery craft. 
  Then he ceased to wonder. 
  The torpedo seemed to expire like 
  a fish suddenly harpooned. It floated to the 
  surface without forward motion. It became 
  very much of a dud. The strange power of 
  this daylight in The Land of the Midnight 
  Sun had killed the torpedo motor. 
   
   
  THERE was no explosion. An effort 
  to release another torpedo from the British 
  sub failed. Orders were barked. From the 
  waving of arms, it was indicated the 
  commander 
  wished 
  to 
  submerge 
  immediately. Perhaps he imagined his 
  disabled engines could work underwater. 
  But there was no clanking of 
  machinery. 
  The 
  conning 
  tower 
  hatch 
  remained open. The British sub floated as 
  helplessly as the dead torpedo. 
  The three pronged mirrors were 
  speeding up. The lifeboat resumed its 
  northern course at a fast pace. 
  And the war commission of six 
  great nations was again on its way to an 
  undetermined destination. 
  “Anyway,” declared Johnny, “I’m 
  now sure of one thing. This whole 
  incredible happening has been too big for 
  Doc Savage to miss. We’ll be hearing from 
  him.” 
  Johnny was partly correct. Doc 
  Savage’s plane was not far away. But it 
  would be some time before this would be of 
  any help to Johnny and his companions. 
   
   
  Chapter XII 
  NEW SKY POWER 
   
  DOC SAVAGE’S plane motors 
  were probably the most noiseless of any in 
  the world skies. The big cabin ship was 
  being held at an altitude of only a thousand 
  feet above the shifting surface of the North 
  Sea. 
  Though it was night, Doc Savage 
  was scanning the ocean intently. Every 
  
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  29 
  wave crest and every floating object was 
  clearly revealed. Yet no visible light 
  projected from the plane toward the dark 
  water. 
  Doc was wearing a pair of oversize 
  goggles with complex lenses. From under 
  the plane shot an invisible beam, which 
  spread over a wide area. In the radius of 
  this beam everything became outlined in 
  stark black and white, much like a motion 
  picture. 
  The beam was an infra-red ray. 
  The goggles worn by Doc and his four 
  companions made the beam serve as a 
  great light. 
  “We’re on another blind spot,” 
  announced Long Tom from the radio, which 
  he was handling. “And, Doc, this location 
  doesn’t seem to check with the position we 
  fixed back in New York. Anyway, the dead 
  area seems to be in motion.” 
  The radio reception was highly 
  static. Yet it picked up stuttering reports. 
  From Washington came, “Still no 
  word has been received of the missing war 
  commission.” 
  From London more exciting news 
  was being broadcast. 
  “Warning 
  to 
  all 
  ships—strange 
  disturbance in North Sea—many boats 
  disabled—queer light has appeared—”  
  Then came an extra flash. 
  One of His Majesty’s submarines 
  was unreported in the Far North, in the 
  vicinity of the Lofoten Islands. 
  “Doc,” exclaimed Monk, “isn’t that 
  where we’re headed?” 
  “That would seem to be our 
  immediate destination,” stated Doc. “The 
  other report is not surprising. Our radio 
  blind spot is in that vicinity.” 
  “This 
  daylight 
  thing 
  they’re 
  reporting, Doc?” questioned Ham. “After 
  what happened to us in Maryland, suppose 
  the same thing smashes us down away up 
  here? Then what do we do?” 
  Doc 
  merely 
  smiled 
  and 
  said 
  nothing. 
  “Ham, you’re gettin’ to be as big a 
  calamity 
  howler 
  as 
  Monk!” 
  grumbled 
  Renny. 
  Doc’s 
  companions 
  had 
  been 
  intensely curious concerning the immense 
  glass-like cylinder aboard the plane. But 
  Doc had explained nothing of its purpose. 
  Suddenly Doc sighted a drifting 
  ship. It showed like a silent, ghostly 
  silhouette in the infra-red beam. 
  “We have reached the Trafalgar 
  Square,” Doc announced. “The steamer 
  has been wrecked on the rocks.” 
   
   
  THE abandoned Trafalgar Square 
  was solidly wedged in the rocks of the 
  forbidding coast. Its bow plates had been 
  crumpled. 
  Doc brought the plane to a smooth 
  landing close to the ship. It became 
  necessary to use one of the rubber pontoon 
  boats to reach the vessel. Monk was 
  dragging the pig along. 
  When they reached the high side of 
  the ghostly steamer on the rocks, Habeas 
  Corpus stiffened. He resisted Monk’s effort 
  to drag him aboard. 
  “Dag-gone 
  it, 
  Doc!” 
  exclaimed 
  Monk. “I don’t like this! That pig knows 
  something’s screwy about all this!” 
  Doc was carrying a square, black 
  box with a lense that looked like black 
  glass. This was a fluoroscope. The man of 
  bronze walked along the tilted side deck of 
  the Trafalgar Square. He passed the lense 
  of 
  the 
  box 
  along 
  various 
  stateroom 
  windows. 
  Suddenly there was a curious blue 
  glowing on one window pane. Words 
  leaped into view. 
  “I hoped Johnny might find time to 
  leave some message,” said Doc. 
  But 
  the 
  words 
  furnished 
  little 
  information: 
   
  Doc, if you see this, the war 
  commission is being taken into a lifeboat by 
  armed men—our engines stopped—all of 
  the crew and passengers are taking to the 
  boats—  
   
  This was all. The message had 
  been written with a chalky substance that 
  fluoresced 
  under 
  the 
  ultra-violet 
  ray, 
  sometimes called “black light.” 
  Doc led the way to the big engine 
  room. There was no sign of life about the 
  passenger 
  steamer. 
  Nor 
  was 
  there 
  evidence of violence. 
   
   
  
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  30 
  DOC wasted no further time aboard 
  the Trafalgar Square. The passenger 
  steamer was doomed to break up on the 
  rocks with the first storm. 
  The 
  tri-motored 
  plane 
  headed 
  again into the north. Almost immediately, 
  the radio sputtered and ceased functioning. 
  The stark, rocky headed coast of Norway 
  was picked up. Doc Savage set the controls 
  immediately to gain altitude. 
  “It’s 
  the 
  same 
  thing, 
  Doc!” 
  exclaimed Ham. “Only this time it’s coming 
  out of the north! This isn’t such a hot spot to 
  be forced down!” 
  “Into all of your heaviest stuff,” 
  instructed Doc. “We are approaching what I 
  had feared. See that you have all of our 
  equipment. We have many other things 
  already aboard.” 
  These final words were somewhat 
  of a mystery. 
  But the swiftly increasing dawn in 
  the north was no mystery to Ham and 
  Monk. It was the same white daylight they 
  had witnessed off the Maryland coast. Only 
  the plane was headed directly into the area, 
  and this dawn seemed to be arriving more 
  swiftly. 
  The motors labored in the higher 
  altitude. Doc opened a switch. There was a 
  slight hissing from the sides of the cabin. 
  The ventilators had been tightly closed. 
  Oxygen was now filling the cabin. It was 
  necessary at this great height. 
  Then from the night around the 
  plane came the steady humming of power. 
  Motors droned in the sky. It was as if 
  unknown ships of the stratosphere were 
  thundering down to intercept their own 
  plane. 
  “Planes!” 
  boomed 
  Renny. 
  “An’ 
  listen to them motors! Boy! They sound like 
  thunder itself!” 
  “There are only three planes,” Doc 
  announced. “They are tri-motored like our 
  own plane, but they have a different sound 
  from any I have ever heard.” 
  Apparently the pilots of the three 
  mysterious planes at this unusual altitude 
  had no intention of intercepting Doc 
  Savage’s ship. Or perhaps they had missed 
  it altogether in the darkness. 
  Slowly, the thunder of the strange 
  motors died away. 
  “Well,” breathed Long Tom, “I 
  guess we’re out of that one, all right! Now I 
  wonder—” 
   
   
  THE electrician did not complete 
  his question. 
  With the suddenness of a bursting 
  Very flare, daylight struck the sky. It was an 
  enveloping whiteness that gathered the tri-
  motored plane into its band of illumination. 
  The big trio of motors were instantly 
  silenced. Possibly six miles above the 
  earth, Doc Savage’s plane had lost all 
  power. 
  “Be prepared to leave quickly, 
  when we land,” advised Doc, as calmly as if 
  they were about to alight from some 
  automobile on land. “Have everything 
  ready. We may have little time.” 
  That mysterious northern light was 
  not the aurora borealis. Yet it illuminated all 
  of the bleak, hard coast in infinite detail. 
  Back from the inlet of the ocean stretched 
  the great plateau of Norway. 
  Closer to the ocean, wide glaciers 
  moved inexorably down upon the scores of 
  fjords to be seen from this great height. 
  Some of these sea channels extended for 
  many miles inland. 
  This land now was intensely cold. 
  The insulated walls of the big plane 
  excluded the chill. But the temperature 
  ranged far below the zero mark. The 
  wisdom of Doc Savage in ordering Arctic 
  outfits was proved. 
  “Habeas Corpus won’t like this,” 
  complained Monk. “I oughta got him some 
  blinkers. He’ll get snow blindness.” 
  “And if he gets some kind of 
  permanent blindness, it will be perfectly all 
  right with me,” retorted Ham, ironically. 
  Doc Savage was gliding as slowly 
  as possibly with the weighted plane. 
  “Look, comrades!” he directed. 
  “Those blue shadows over there are the 
  Lofoten Islands. One of those is Moskenes 
  Island. That is what Hjalmar Landson spoke 
  of just before he died.” 
   
   
  BETWEEN the blue shadows and 
  the mainland was an expanse of smooth, 
  green water. At different points, three dark 
  blots seemed to be motionless. 
  
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  31 
  Doc’s keen eyes saw more than 
  those of his companions.  
  “Fishing 
  boats 
  and 
  they 
  are 
  powerless,” he said. “Two of the crews 
  have rigged up crude sails. They are 
  making for shore and there must be a 
  village.” 
  Between two ice walls near a fjord 
  appeared a dark spot. Smoke eddied 
  upward. 
  “Perhaps we are in luck,” stated 
  Doc. “Anyway, that is a Norwegian or 
  Laplander fishing village. These folk are 
  usually friendly.” 
  “Holy cow!” boomed Renny. “I hope 
  they’re friendly! This would be a tough spot 
  to be on our own!” 
  They were to discover these simple 
  fishermen were not friendly. The welcome 
  signs had been taken off this particular 
  village. 
   
   
  Chapter XIII 
  THE FACE OF A WOMAN 
   
  PERHAPS there were other fliers 
  who could have made that landing on the 
  icy sea. But few indeed could have set the 
  loaded plane on that green surface without 
  either dragging off the tail assembly or 
  nosing over. 
  Doc Savage slid the pontoons onto 
  the surface as if they were greased. The 
  plane settled deeply, but remained upright. 
  Against the strange daylight, the 
  mountains of the coast bulked like huge, 
  blue cathedrals. Glaciers filled the valleys. 
  As the plane settled, Doc’s men 
  poured out onto the wings.  
  “It won’t be much of a job to get 
  ashore 
  here 
  in 
  the 
  rubber 
  boats,” 
  commented Long Tom. “We can make 
  several trips and take off what supplies we 
  may need.” 
  Doc Savage stood outlined against 
  the fuselage. He was looking into the north. 
  Up there, the area of daylight seemed to be 
  banked solidly against a black curtain. For 
  a few seconds the other four men heard the 
  bronze man’s weird trilling note. 
  Habeas Corpus was standing on 
  the wing of the plane. His body had 
  become rigid. His long nose pointed 
  northward. 
  “Dag-gone it!” advised Monk. “The 
  pig smells something!”  
  “I might suggest you move away 
  from him,” grated Ham. Clearly the pig was 
  scared. Then Doc turned quickly.  
  “I’ve been afraid of that all the 
  time,” he remarked. “This haunted ocean 
  has two-way power. Force to disable and 
  another force to supply motor energy.” 
  The 
  bronze 
  man’s 
  meaning 
  became all too apparent.  
  Out of that black curtain to the 
  northward flashed three objects. From 
  specks, they speedily took on the shape of 
  speeding planes. 
  And they approached with flashing 
  speed. They must have been hitting three 
  hundred miles an hour. For they were 
  directly above the plane floating on the sea 
  almost before Doc’s men had started to 
  move. 
  “It would be just as well to stay 
  outside until they pass over,” advised Doc. 
  “The results would be the same.” 
   
   
  HIS judgment was quickly proved. 
  The three planes were flying low. They 
  passed over at a height of barely one 
  hundred feet. 
  “Holy cow!” grunted Renny. “Doc, 
  did you notice? All you can hear is the wind 
  of their props! Their motors aren’t makin’ 
  any noise at all!” 
  “That made itself quite evident,” 
  stated Doc. “But when they passed us in 
  the night up above, their motors were noisy 
  enough. I would suggest they are not now 
  flying with the same motors.” 
  Monk was dancing around on the 
  wing. His short legs and long arms made 
  him look surprisingly like an excited 
  chimpanzee. 
  “It was her, Doc! That red-headed 
  dame!” Monk was shouting. “An’ I thought 
  maybe she was O. K.! But she’s in one of 
  them planes! I saw her face an’ her red 
  hair!” 
  “He’s right,” drawled Long Tom. 
  “And that fellow Kama was in the same 
  plane. They were looking down. Doc, we’ve 
  been trailed all the way across the Atlantic.” 
  “So I surmised,” said Doc, calmly. 
  “Yes, it was red-headed Lora Krants and 
  that fellow who says he came from San 
  
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  32 
  Tao. Now get inside. They’ll be coming 
  back.” 
  Only the two faces had been 
  observed in the flashing planes. It could 
  only be guessed who the other occupants 
  of the ships might be. 
  The three planes vanished quickly 
  to the southward. But they were not absent 
  long. 
  Doc and his men were back inside 
  the cabin. The man of bronze pulled levers 
  at the end of the big glasslike cylinder. A 
  tight-fitting cover slid smoothly open. Inside 
  there was only room for a few persons. 
  “We’ll wait for a moment,” advised 
  Doc. “But be prepared to get in quickly. We 
  are about to be attacked.” 
  Almost 
  immediately, 
  the 
  three 
  planes again whispered in the sky. They 
  were flying back over their course. This 
  time they had lifted a few hundred feet. 
  Long Tom and Renny already were 
  squeezing into the close spaces inside the 
  glasslike cylinder. 
  “But what is the thing, Doc?” said 
  Ham. “You don’t mean—That won’t go 
  under the water, will it?” 
  “That is the purpose for which it 
  was designed,” stated Doc, calmly. “It may 
  accomplish more than just going under the 
  water.” 
  The three planes again passed 
  over. 
  “I noticed something funny, Doc,” 
  said Ham. “Those planes didn’t have any 
  shadows when they passed the first time.” 
  “Without direct light from above, 
  shadows could not be expected,” stated 
  Doc. 
  Ham shivered, then said quickly, 
  “One of ‘em’s banking, Doc. It’s coming 
  back!” 
   
   
  ONE 
  of 
  the 
  swift 
  planes 
  of 
  mysterious power had separated from the 
  others. Directly over the floating Doc 
  Savage ship, it tipped its wings in a 
  descending spiral. 
  Doc and his men did not see the 
  shining object flash toward the water. By 
  sheer luck, the aim of the pilot was poor. 
  The object struck more than fifty 
  yards from Doc’s plane. The erupting 
  explosion geysered tons of water. A huge 
  wave threatened to wreck the pontoons. 
  “Inside, all of you!” ordered Doc. 
  “He will probably have his distance better 
  gauged the next time.” 
  The glasslike cylinder provided just 
  enough room for the five men and little 
  more. They were surrounded by a variety of 
  metallic tanks. 
  “Holy cow!” growled Renny. “It’s 
  going to be plenty dark!” 
  Doc said nothing. He ran his hand 
  along a panel. This uncovered long tubes. 
  The tubes suddenly glowed with a weird 
  blue 
  light. 
  The 
  emanation 
  was 
  phosphorescent in character. It provided 
  illumination. 
  Doc did not say what chemicals 
  had been employed. It was apparent the 
  lighting system did not depend on electrical 
  current. 
  The entrance lid of the big cylinder 
  slid into place. Doc turned some knobs and 
  a slow hissing came from some of the 
  tanks. Oxygen was being slowly released. 
  “Now if we only had some power, 
  we’d being going places,” said Ham. “I 
  suppose our next stop will be the bottom. 
  And the shelf along this coast, they say, is 
  nearly six hundred feet deep!” 
  The faith of Doc’s companions 
  assured them that the contrivance they now 
  occupied probably had been provided with 
  everything. Everything, but power, they 
  imagined. 
  Habeas Corpus grunted. His long 
  nose poked into Ham’s neck. Ham made a 
  move as to withdraw his sword cane. 
  “You 
  get 
  that 
  crossed-up 
  quadruped out of my neck,” he yelled, “or 
  I’m slicing off one of his ears!” 
  Monk only grinned and grunted. 
  The floor of the cabin sagged and tilted. 
  One of the pontoons had been cracked by 
  the exploding bomb. The three planes still 
  whispered above them. 
  “Probably the next one will be 
  better directed,” stated Doc. “I think it is 
  time we are leaving.” 
  There was a grinding noise. The 
  floor of the cabin seemed to dissolve under 
  the big cylinder. It dropped by its own 
  weight into the green water. Hardly had it 
  submerged under the floating plane before 
  concussion threatened to cave in its 
  glasslike sides. 
  The second bomb above had made 
  a direct hit. Doc Savage’s ship had been 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx HAUNTED OCEAN xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  33 
  destroyed with a blast that scattered its 
  parts. No person could then have been in 
  the cabin and remained alive. 
   
   
  IN one of the planes overhead, a 
  man’s voice spoke. 
  “The great Doc Savage is finished!” 
  he said, venomously. “His knowledge was 
  the only thing in the world we had to fear. If 
  he had been given time, he would have got 
  to the bottom of the mystery.” 
  “Dot iss goot!” spoke a voice with a 
  broad accent. “Ven do ve haff der price to 
  puy?” 
  “Perhaps the sale still rests on the 
  figures of the highest bidder,” said the other 
  voice. “No nation has a treasury too big to 
  risk all of it for this power. A few men alone 
  could control the world.” 
  “Dot is vot makes der vun man to 
  slit anoder man’s throat,” suggested the 
  other voice. 
  “Yes, and the throat-slitting will be 
  well taken care of,” said the first man. “Any 
  nation will buy. Which one, will be for me to 
  decide. We no longer have Doc Savage to 
  fear.” 
  The three mystery planes streamed 
  again into single line. In one of these 
  planes sat Lora Krants, the red-headed 
  young woman. She was staring at the 
  green sea as they passed over where Doc 
  Savage’s plane had rested. 
  Nothing of the metal ship still 
  floated. But all about was a multi-colored, 
  rainbow spread of oil. 
  “He is gone,” the girl whispered. 
  “Yes, 
  that’s 
  the 
  end 
  of 
  Doc 
  Savage,” said the dark-browed young man 
  beside her. 
  A yellow-skinned man showed his 
  flashing teeth. 
  “Those who tamper with the will of 
  the infinite invite their own destruction,” he 
  remarked, cheerfully. 
  Apparently, the man called Kama 
  was not grievously affected by the evidence 
  of Doc Savage’s swift and gruesome death. 
   
   
  THOUGH 
  crowded 
  into 
  the 
  compact space of the cylinder, Doc’s crew 
  was comfortable. For several minutes, the 
  cylinder remained suspended like a toy 
  balloon floating in air. The last bit of the 
  wrecked plane had slowly sifted toward the 
  bottom of the sea. 
  Now the cylinder started sinking 
  again. It reached a depth where the 
  pressure must have been terrific. But the 
  material of which the strange diving affair 
  was constructed was capable of resisting. 
  “This feels like being in a coffin,” 
  complained Renny. “Doc, this makes some 
  hide-out, but it seems to be a little too 
  good.” 
  Doc Savage smiled and said 
  nothing. His bronze hands were busy. 
  “It is advisable to wait a little while,” 
  stated Doc. “We are in conflict with more 
  than one clever brain. Many nations are in 
  the market for this white light of the haunted 
  ocean. It is a power that would make the 
  smallest of countries absolute.” 
  The man of bronze was waiting 
  until he was convinced the men in the three 
  planes could not possibly suspect his men 
  and himself had survived. 
  Now Doc moved a small lever. To 
  his companions’ amazement, the cylinder 
  was instantly filled with the throb of power. 
  A small control steered the craft. Close to 
  the murky bottom of the ice-cold sea, the 
  cylinder moved like a great fish seeking for 
  food. 
  “Holy cow!” exploded Renny. “What 
  a submarine! Now maybe we can go 
  places! Have you discovered the power that 
  kept those planes in the air, Doc?” 
  The bronze man shook his head. 
  “Perhaps we shall find that out 
  later,” he said. “For the present, we are 
  moving by the release of compressed air.” 
   
   
  Chapter XIV 
  A HOT RECEPTION 
   
  HABEAS CORPUS didn’t like his 
  close quarters. Even in the face of deadly 
  danger, Ham had discovered a means of 
  annoying Monk. When the fur-clad pig 
  squeezed too close to Ham, the lawyer 
  jabbed the point of his signet-ring knife into 
  the animal’s tough hide. 
  The pig grunted. Monk swore at 
  Ham. The fur on the pig was not intended 
  for inside wear. The Arabian misfit became 
  most malodorous. 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  34 
  The cylinder might have been 
  moving toward the shore.  
  “If we have to break out of this 
  thing down here, we’ll be pulverized,” said 
  Ham. 
  “It 
  isn’t 
  big 
  enough 
  to 
  have 
  submerging tanks, so we can’t expel any 
  water to rise to the surface.” 
  This was somewhat of a grisly 
  thought to the others. The oxygen in the 
  tanks could not last forever. The time 
  during which they could breathe was now 
  being reduced to minutes.  
  Doc Savage made no reply. From 
  flat alloy containers, he was pouring three 
  powdered chemicals into an odd-shaped 
  retort. A tube extended from this vessel into 
  the side of the cylinder. 
  The cylinder had been constructed 
  with a double wall. Between the skins was 
  considerable space. This space had been 
  made a vacuum. 
  The envelope of the cylinder was 
  filling. The contrivance was being given 
  buoyancy. The cylinder started toward the 
  surface. 
  “Holy cow!” exclaimed Renny. “Now 
  we’re all set! That gang run by the red-
  headed dame believes we’re dead! Doc, we 
  can land at that fishing village! It won’t be 
  any trick at all to find out about this haunted 
  ocean stuff!” 
   
   
  DOC SAVAGE was watching a 
  small compass. The rocks of the shore 
  loomed under water like a black wall. The 
  man of bronze set a course along these 
  rocks. Soon the cylinder was nosing into a 
  fjord. 
  “Your idea is not bad, Renny,” said 
  Doc. “But I have a feeling our appearance 
  may prove somewhat of a shock to these 
  fishermen. That will be especially true if 
  they are Laplanders.” 
  A sandy spit projected between two 
  bulking rocks. At its end was a small wharf. 
  The glass cylinder was only a few yards 
  under the surface. A queer figure stood at 
  the end of the little wharf. His garb was that 
  of some shaggy animal. The skins had 
  been sun-cured with the fur on. 
  The man’s face was furrowed by 
  weather and sun. Beady, black eyes were 
  peering down into the water. The man 
  emitted a yell. He shouted two words. Then 
  he caught up a long-handled walrus 
  harpoon and hurled it downward. 
  The words were in the Laplander 
  tongue. “Sea devil!” 
  The point of the harpoon bumped 
  the cylinder. Doc and the others saw the 
  weapon flash downward. 
  “You said they were a very primitive 
  people, Doc,” remarked Ham. “I have a 
  feeling our arrival is inauspicious.” 
  “More than possibly there will be 
  some misunderstanding,” said Doc Savage. 
  “Have your weapons ready, but don’t use 
  them unless compelled to do so.” 
  Monk, Long Tom and Renny were 
  armed with their super-firing pistols. These 
  weapons had huge drums loaded with 
  mercy bullets. Doc Savage and his men did 
  not 
  kill 
  unless 
  it 
  was 
  absolutely 
  unavoidable. The bullets in these queer 
  guns would render men unconscious. 
  The cylinder’s nose was pushed 
  into the frozen sand. Doc snapped open the 
  door. He was the first to slide out. Before 
  the others could emerge, the air was filled 
  with angry, frightened shouting. 
  Doc Savage understood the tongue 
  of the Northland. So did Ham. From a score 
  of places in the rocks came the booming of 
  guns. Harpoons and spears hurtled toward 
  them. Lesser crackling explosions were the 
  more dangerous. 
  The booming weapons were old-
  fashioned, muzzle-loading guns of the type 
  used for shooting birds with small shot. The 
  others were rifles. 
  The shouts were repeated. 
  “Kill the devils of the sea!” they 
  meant. “Kill the devils of the sea! They 
  make dead men float!” 
  This last was a remarkably queer 
  statement. 
  Doc and Ham slid to the temporary 
  cover of a big rock. Renny, Monk and Long 
  Tom found another rock. The pig, Habeas 
  Corpus, had been plastered with fine shot. 
  He let out an unearthly squeal. 
  Perhaps a hundred fur-clad figures 
  showed among the rocks of the shore. 
  Behind them was a circle of huts, made of 
  skins stretched on poles. Thick, greasy 
  smoke poured from vents in the top of 
  these. 
  Shooting 
  stopped 
  for 
  a 
  few 
  seconds. One strange figure in skins was 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx HAUNTED OCEAN xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  35 
  pointing at Habeas Corpus. His words 
  were, “Spawn of the sea devil! Kill! Kill!” 
  It looked bad for Habeas Corpus. 
  The pig stood shivering. The heavy half of a 
  harpoon struck the apelike Monk across the 
  forehead. He fell down and rolled into 
  cover. For a minute, the chemist was 
  stunned. 
  There seemed no hope for the 
  trembling hog. The pig’s big ears waved. 
  “That miserable pig’s my own 
  personal meat! I’ve been saving him!” 
  asserted 
  Ham, 
  suddenly. 
  Two 
  squat 
  Laplanders were rushing upon Habeas 
  Corpus. They held long harpoons. The 
  slender 
  figure 
  of 
  Ham 
  moved 
  with 
  incredible speed. There was a whirling 
  gleam of steel. 
  “You come asking for it!” yelled 
  Ham. 
  The 
  Laplanders 
  turned 
  their 
  harpoons upon him. The fighting lawyer 
  was between the weapons. His sword 
  moved too fast to be followed. Its needlelike 
  point flicked through the fur of one man. A 
  harpoon struck the rocks. 
  The Laplander only grunted once. 
  Then he apparently went to sleep. The 
  other harpoon struck sidewise and knocked 
  Ham to his knees. His sword point jabbed 
  the fur-clad wrist of the wielder. This 
  Laplander, too, dropped on his face. 
  With an expression of utter loathing 
  on his ascetic face, Ham grabbed one of 
  the pig’s long ears. Shot whistled around 
  him as he dragged the hog to safety. 
  Though some of the villagers 
  looked grotesquely small, others were of 
  giant size. In their skin clothes, they looked 
  like the real Vikings of a past century. 
  Doc arose and began speaking in 
  their own language. 
   
   
  Chapter XV 
  HOODOO OF THE SEA 
   
  “WE come in peace,” stated Doc 
  Savage. “You have had some trouble. For 
  that, you have united.” 
  The man of bronze had quickly 
  analyzed an unusual situation. Some of the 
  men of this queer village were the dark, 
  squat Lapps. Others were the huskier, 
  blond Norwegians. 
  Only some common danger could 
  have drawn them together. They were of 
  different speech, habits, dress and thought. 
  Even now, a commanding figure was 
  stepping into view. 
  Doc had spoken in the Norwegian 
  language. 
  “Vaer 
  god! 
  Vaer 
  god!” 
  the 
  commanding figure shouted to the Lapps 
  and his own fellow Norwegians. 
  The words meant simply, “Be 
  good!” This tall leader was open to 
  argument. The Lapps were the more 
  numerous. They did not heed. 
  “Na! Na! Na!” some shouted. 
  Another rain of harpoons showered 
  from among the rocks. Guns exploded. 
  Some poorly aimed shot blasted the face of 
  the Norwegian leader. Blood flowed from 
  his torn cheek. 
  Perhaps 
  others 
  imagined 
  the 
  wound had been inflicted by Doc’s men. A 
  strange, small figure appeared on a rock. 
  He was as small as a half-grown boy. But 
  white locks of matted hair framed his 
  diminutive, wrinkled face. 
  Doc Savage instantly identified him 
  as a jarl, one of the sub-chiefs of the 
  coastal clan. 
  “Na! Na! Na!” this old man shrilled, 
  joining the angry Lapps. 
  Again were uttered the words 
  meaning “sea devils.” 
  The man of bronze was forced to 
  drop behind a rock. Plainly the fishermen 
  had been terrorized. 
  Lapps and Norwegians jabbered. 
  Their eyes were fixed in fear upon the 
  glasslike cylinder. 
  Doc 
  Savage 
  knew 
  the 
  many 
  legends of the Edda. Norwegian fishermen 
  were a superstitious lot. The Lapps perhaps 
  were worse. They believed in huldrefok, evil 
  fairies of the fjords. 
  Recalling 
  these 
  legends, 
  Doc 
  Savage realized the fishermen would not 
  feel safe unless they exterminated these 
  men they believed to be sea devils. 
  Doc spoke to his companions in 
  ancient Mayan. 
  “Do not kill any of these people 
  under any circumstances,” said the bronze 
  man. “They are harmless, but greatly 
  frightened.” 
  
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  36 
  “Howlin’ calamities!” yelped Monk. 
  “We 
  won’t 
  last 
  long 
  unless 
  we 
  do 
  something!” 
  Steel-headed harpoons clanged on 
  the rocks. Shotguns continued blasting. 
   
   
  AGAIN the bronze man spoke 
  quickly in Mayan. Then he sprang from 
  behind the rock. With a striding glide, he 
  was close to the nearest group of 
  fishermen. 
  From his garments, Doc flipped 
  four of the usually effective anaesthetic 
  capsules. The fragile glass tinkled on the 
  rocks. The nearest Lapps subsided in 
  grotesque heaps of furs. 
  But the winter air was clear and 
  cold. A chill wind swept by. Lapps and 
  Norwegians rushed upon the bronze man. 
  The gas capsules were not effective over 
  enough area. 
  For several seconds, the Lapps 
  armed with harpoons must have imagined 
  they had been struck by a cyclone. Doc 
  narrowly escaped being impaled. But his 
  bronzed fists were moving too fast for the 
  eye to follow. 
  Fishermen armed with harpoons 
  tumbled and groaned.  
  The point of a harpoon caught 
  Doc’s right arm. That whirled him from his 
  feet. Half a dozen weapons were aimed at 
  his body. He was for the moment helpless 
  to ward these off. 
  “Holy cow!” thundered Renny. “Let 
  ‘em have it!”  
  There arose a deep humming like 
  giant bullfiddles. The superfirers streamed 
  mercy bullets from the hands of Renny, 
  Monk and Long Tom. 
  Fishermen were piled in a heap 
  around Doc Savage. Doc’s men rushed out. 
  Warm liquid gushed from Doc’s wounded 
  arm and dripped from his fingers. 
  There were too many fishermen 
  scattered about to be reached by the mercy 
  bullets. Doc and his men were in one of the 
  tightest spots of their career. 
  The half of a heavy harpoon 
  cracked Renny’s skull. The big engineer 
  grunted and fell down. Ham’s sword was 
  broken in his hand by the blast of a 
  shotgun. 
  Then Doc’s men were given respite 
  from an unexpected source. 
  The uncanny daylight winked out. 
  The eerie illumination was shut off as 
  abruptly as if some one had pulled a switch. 
  There was no lingering twilight. Only the 
  shadowy fingers of the aurora borealis 
  beyond the mountain. 
  Comparatively, the darkness was 
  intense. The fishermen fled into the rocks. 
  They seemed to fear the shutting off of the 
  inexplicable daylight. 
   
   
  RENNY was reviving. Doc ordered 
  the others again into shelter. For several 
  minutes, there was a lull in the attack. 
  Oil torches flared. What appeared 
  to be a big pot of blazing whale blubber 
  suddenly rolled into the open space. 
  Against this smoky glare the fishermen 
  were crouching shadows, waiting. 
  “We must undertake a bold move,” 
  stated Doc. “All will walk into the open and 
  throw down your weapons. We must end 
  this misunderstanding or we will be killed by 
  some of the very people we must free.” 
  The surprise of Doc’s strategy must 
  have awed the fishermen for the moment. 
  Renny and the others walked 
  boldly into the glare of the whale oil pot. 
  They threw their superfiring pistols with 
  their drums of bullets in a heap. Ham 
  contributed the hilt of his broken sword. 
  Doc Savage himself was not armed 
  with any gun. He believed men who went 
  armed came to rely too much upon 
  mechanical force and not enough on their 
  own wits and strength. 
  Doc walked out with the others. His 
  hands were raised.  
  “Now 
  shelter 
  yourselves,” 
  he 
  admonished the others. The figure of the 
  shriveled, ancient Jarl was outlined by a 
  torch. For several seconds, the surprised 
  sub-chief did not speak. Doc Savage was 
  striding straight toward the jarl and the 
  largest group of fishermen. 
  Then 
  the 
  jarl 
  shrilled 
  out 
  a 
  command. 
  The bronze giant understood the 
  words. They were an order to kill. Doc kept 
  his hands uplifted. 
  From 
  the 
  rocks 
  guns 
  started 
  snarling. Some were rifles that cracked 
  viciously. Leaden shot and bullets hailed 
  into the space. 
  
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  37 
  Doc Savage held his head in a 
  bowed position to protect his face. Lead 
  pounded onto his bared bronze head. 
  Bullets whammed into his magnificent 
  torso. 
  But the bronze man’s pace was 
  unaltered. He must have seemed to the 
  simple, superstitious fishermen like a real 
  devil, or a god of the sea. He was 
  impervious to their bullets. 
  Doc’s body was sheathed in bullet-
  proof garments of finest chain mesh. This 
  extended to his knees under his other 
  clothing. 
  The bronze hair in view was on the 
  outside 
  of 
  a 
  skullcap 
  of 
  thin, 
  but 
  impenetrable metal alloy. The leaden 
  bullets and fine shot flattened on this 
  surface. 
  It was terrifying. This immense 
  bronze giant walking toward them. One 
  charge of shot blasted from an old-
  fashioned gun. All of it splattered squarely 
  into Doc’s breast. Yet he neither faltered 
  nor staggered. 
  This was a little too much for the 
  nerves 
  of 
  the 
  Lapps. 
  They 
  began 
  squawking. It sounded like, “Wha! Wha! 
  Wha!” 
  Doc knew this signified one of their 
  spirits of the Skager-Rack. The Skager-
  Rack was the devilish turmoil of tides 
  between the North Sea and the Baltic Sea. 
  Because this claimed so many victims, the 
  Lapps had peopled it with their own 
  conception of a devil. 
  The fishermen were throwing down 
  their weapons. The ancient jarl shrilled 
  commands without effect. 
  It seemed for the moment as if the 
  bronze man would be able to parley. 
  But a harpoon whistled from a high 
  rock. A retreating Norwegian had hurled it 
  as he fled. It was a walrus harpoon and 
  heavy. Unfortunately, it struck with violent 
  impact across the bone of Doc’s leg below 
  the knee. 
  Doc was thrown off balance and he 
  fell. 
  Cries of fear immediately changed 
  into 
  yells 
  of 
  menace. 
  Lapps 
  and 
  Norwegians united in a rush. Doc was 
  crushed to the ground. He made no 
  resistance. 
  “Let yourselves be taken,” he 
  instructed his companions. 
   
   
  THE bronze man permitted thongs 
  of walrus skin and reindeer hide to be 
  wrapped about his limbs. 
  The bronze man’s companions 
  were 
  similarly 
  bound. 
  The 
  fishermen 
  apparently had changed their minds about 
  an immediate killing. 
  Outside the edge of the whale oil 
  flare had arisen another commotion. Many 
  of the fishermen were rushing down to the 
  shore of the fjord. Their oil torches flared 
  across the blue water beyond the glass 
  cylinder. 
  “They’re about to put our new 
  submarine out of business,” said Ham. “It 
  doesn’t look so cheering.” 
  Doc and the others were now lying 
  on the ground near the whale oil pot. They 
  could see the smooth surface of the fjord.  
  “Another matter may be to our 
  advantage, temporarily,” stated Doc. “I 
  heard them speak of dead men floating. It 
  seems a dead man has come to our 
  rescue.” 
  The others now could see the body 
  in the fjord. It was a floating man. The 
  figure was not half submerged, as a 
  drowned man might be. Instead, the body 
  floated high on the surface. 
  The dead man appeared to be 
  buoyant, as if made of cork. 
   
   
  Chapter XVI 
  SATAN’S GATEWAY CURSE 
   
  ROUGH hands bore Doc Savage 
  and his men toward a building of outlandish 
  appearance. The structure was blackened. 
  It appeared to be very ancient. 
  “Looks like a place that might be 
  inhabited by some of the devils they’ve 
  been talking about,” grunted Ham. 
  “On the contrary,” advised Doc, “it’s 
  the reverse of that. It is one of the oldest of 
  churches, called a stavekirker.” 
  The building was without windows. 
  It jutted into many square towers and sharp 
  gables. On the gables were the blackened 
  prows of ships that had been wrecked. 
  The faces of the towers were 
  carved with legendary figures.  
   
  
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  38 
   
  Cries of fear immediately changed into yells of menace. Lapps and Norwegians united in a rush. 
   
  The structure was composed of 
  heavy timbers. There was only 
  one 
  massive door. 
  Inside was a nave, a shrine and a 
  single broad aisle. 
  Their captors dumped Doc and the 
  others unceremoniously on the floor of 
  earth. All but two armed Lapps rushed out 
  again. The excitement indicated the arrival 
  of the floating dead man was of greater 
  importance for the moment than the 
  prisoners. 
  Doc and his men were left to 
  themselves. Two voices were disputing 
  loudly near by. They were speaking in a 
  queer 
  conglomeration 
  of 
  languages. 
  Occasionally, 
  they 
  said 
  something 
  in 
  broken English. 
  Doc disregarded these for the 
  moment. 
  “All of us saw the phenomenon of 
  the dead man floating in the fjord,” the 
  bronze giant stated. “Brothers, it is not 
  remarkable 
  these 
  people 
  have 
  been 
  frightened to killing terror. Dead men do not 
  arise to the surface in these ice-cold waters 
  for many days, often weeks. Then they are 
  not perfectly preserved, as was that 
  corpse.” 
  “Do you think it has something to 
  do with the haunted ocean?” said Ham. 
  “I am sure of it,” declared Doc. “I 
  believe we are close to the source of this 
  power. Floating dead men would be an 
  effective 
  means 
  of 
  driving 
  curious 
  fishermen away.” 
  The quarreling voices beyond the 
  wooden bench were silent for a few 
  seconds. Then one spoke in broken 
  English. 
  “Amerikaner!” it exclaimed. “You 
  haff also put yourselves into dis trap!” 
  Two men rolled into view. They 
  were bound with strips of hide. 
  “Zarkov,” stated Doc, instantly. 
  “And Larrone. The haunt of the ocean 
  seems to be a magnet for many parts of the 
  world.” 
  “Doc 
  Savage!” 
  exclaimed 
  the 
  bearded little man called Zarkov. “So you 
  haff come here also! But you would not haff 
  come for buying, maybe?” 
  Larrone spoke in good English, but 
  with an angry snarl. 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx HAUNTED OCEAN xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  39 
  “It is not so that Doc Savage would 
  buy anything!” he said with disgust. “If he 
  has his way, none will buy!” 
  “By that, I infer you have come for 
  the purpose of purchasing this power,” 
  stated Doc. “I recall both of you were once 
  detained in my country for attempting to 
  purloin some secret of the navy. By the 
  way, those secrets were those of Arne 
  Dass, 
  the 
  aged 
  scientist, 
  who 
  has 
  disappeared. Perhaps you would know 
  something of Arne Dass?” 
  The eyes of the pair met briefly. 
  “We know nothing of this Arne 
  Dass,” said Larrone. “We are engaged in a 
  legitimate mission.” 
  “I have no doubt of that, from your 
  point of view,” stated Doc. 
   
   
  THE man of bronze desired more 
  information. 
  “Perhaps you could inform us about 
  what these fisherman seem to fear so 
  greatly?” he suggested. “Before you were 
  taken prisoners, did you know of these 
  floating dead men?” 
  Zarkov explained quickly. 
  For several weeks, fishermen on 
  the coast had been dying mysteriously. 
  Only the week before, a fishing boat had 
  entered 
  the 
  fjord 
  known 
  as 
  Satan’s 
  Gateway. This fjord was one of those below 
  the great Jostedalsbrae glacier. 
  This was the greatest live glacier in 
  Europe. For many thousands of years, its 
  mountainous ice had covered more than 
  three hundred and fifty square miles. Ages 
  old, parts of the Jostedalsbrae were 
  covered with many feet of ice dust. 
  The great, living glacier was forever 
  moving. Its icy arms reached into gouged-
  out valleys. It was believed to have 
  hollowed out immense caverns under the 
  mountains. 
  Five men had been aboard the 
  fishing sloop which had entered Satan’s 
  Gateway, Zarkov informed Doc Savage. 
  Four of the five men had died mysteriously 
  before the boat returned. 
  But the fishing sloop had come 
  back strangely. For the craft had come 
  floating into this fjord against a rip tide. 
  One man, said Zarkov, had lived a 
  short time. And he had spoken of men who 
  went naked. Naked at a temperature of 
  forty to fifty below zero. Men who seemed 
  impervious to the cold. 
  And when all of these five men 
  were dead, their bodies had seemed to 
  become of the lightness of cork. 
  Since then, a few other fishermen 
  had lost their boats. 
  They returned, 
  however, without them. Came back floating 
  like lightest wood, high on the surface. 
   
   
  FROM outside came cries of 
  lamentation among the fishermen. 
  Now four women entered the 
  stavekirker that was serving as a prison. 
  They bore wooden platters of food. 
  It seemed the woman had been 
  sent to feed the prisoners. Doc’s men, 
  Zarkov and Larrone were fed like children. 
  The women were Lapps. Their dark faces 
  had little expression. They filled their hands 
  with what appeared to be a hard, black 
  bread and strips of dried codfish. 
  “Holy cow!” grunted Renny. “If this 
  ain’t somethin’! How’d they think we—” 
  A greasy hand stuffed his open 
  mouth full of the black bread. 
  “Dag-gone it!” gulped Monk. “Them 
  dames has been sent to choke us to death! 
  You don’t suppose they’re feedin’ this junk 
  to Habeas Corpus?” 
  Ham chuckled through a mouthful 
  of tough fish. 
  “That’s the only thought that makes 
  this meal bearable,” he asserted. 
  “An’ I hope you choke first, so you’ll 
  quit talkin’,” chirped Monk. 
  When the women left, Zarkov 
  declared the fishermen now would send no 
  boats near Satan’s Gateway. 
  Only the two guards remained at 
  the single doorway. Doc Savage had been 
  working at the tough rawhide around his 
  arms. But his right arm was wounded. The 
  hide cut into his flesh. 
  The interior of the stavekirker was 
  lighted by only two of the smelly whale oil 
  torches. 
  Ham rolled close to Doc. 
  “If we could get all of these cords 
  cut at once, we might be able to make a 
  break for it,” he suggested. “I can get at all 
  of you, one at a time.” 
  The lawyer worked fast. The large 
  signet ring had not been removed from his 
  middle finger. From inside it sprang a razor-
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  40 
  edged knife blade. With this he worked first 
  on the thongs around Doc’s wrists and 
  ankles. When he had finished, the hide was 
  cut almost through. 
  Ham went to work on the others. 
  Renny’s bonds were cut to the point where 
  he could have heaved himself loose. 
  But none were then to go free. 
  Wails arose outside. 
  “Knut Aage! Knut Aage! Awai! 
  Awai!” 
   
   
  “HOWLIN’ 
  calamities!” 
  squealed 
  Monk. “Now it’s something else! Sounds 
  like a funeral!” 
  “Knut Aage!” said Zarkov. “He is 
  the one big man of these fishermen. We 
  heard he was going alone to investigate 
  this Satan’s Gateway.” 
  “Holy cow, Doc!” boomed Renny. “I 
  remember! Knut Aage! That’s the name 
  that fellow Hjalmar Landson spoke just 
  before he died!” 
  “That is true,” said Doc. “Then 
  perhaps Hjalmar Landson came from this 
  place.” 
  The two guards rushed outside. 
  Doc started to free his hands. A rush of feet 
  thudded over the rocks. 
  “This Knut Aage is the brother of 
  that skinny little old man they call the jarl,” 
  volunteered Zarkov. “I’ll bet he’s come 
  floating back.” 
  The ancient jarl led the men 
  entering the stavekirker. 
  “Don’t let it appear we might free 
  ourselves,” Doc advised.  
  “Howlin’ 
  calamities!” 
  squealed 
  Monk. “Wouldja look who’s here!” 
  “Now this is something!” agreed 
  Renny. 
  The “something” was the red-
  headed woman, Lora Krants. She was 
  being conducted into the gloomy prison. 
  Beside her walked Barton, the heavy-
  browed young man she had called her 
  brother. And behind her was the dark-
  skinned Kama. 
  The fishermen were jabbering. Doc 
  interpreted their excited conversation. 
  “Our friends seem to have been 
  forced down in their plane a short distance 
  at sea,” he interpreted. “They were picked 
  up by one of the fishing boats. Perhaps 
  they were depending on the power of the 
  haunted ocean, and it failed them.” 
  “But look, what’s that?” exclaimed 
  Ham. 
  Four Norwegian fishermen were 
  bearing between them what appeared to be 
  a crude boat of split bark. In this boat lay 
  the nearly nude figure of a man. His body 
  was magnificently proportioned. His rugged 
  face was hewn in the lines of a Viking of 
  old. 
  “Knut Aage, he came back like the 
  others,” said Zarkov. “Only for him they 
  seem to have built a boat.” 
  Lapps 
  and 
  Norwegians 
  were 
  wailing in a mingled chorus. The ancient jarl 
  walked beside the strange bier from the 
  sea. His white locks draped around his 
  pinched face. 
  Doc Savage was studying the rigid 
  outlines of the body on the bark boat. 
  “Frozen,” he said, quietly. “And 
  frozen alive. Like those naked men the 
  fishermen reported who did not seem to 
  feel the intense cold. It is possible this man, 
  Knut Aage, still lives.” 
   
   
  THERE 
  was 
  an 
  interruption. 
  Because of the poor illumination in the 
  stavekirker, Doc and the other prisoners 
  had not been immediately visible to Lora 
  Krants and the others being brought in. 
  The red-headed girl apparently 
  heard Doc Savage’s voice for the first time. 
  In the whale oil flare, the young woman’s 
  face went ghastly white. 
  “You! Why, it couldn’t be!” she 
  murmured, then cried in a louder voice. “It 
  is! Mr. Savage, and the one called Renny! 
  All of you! Oh, I’m so glad—so glad! But 
  how—” 
  “Holy cow!” thundered Renny. “I’ll 
  bet you’re some surprised!” 
  “Oh, please, please!” cried the red-
  headed girl. “You don’t know how much I 
  mean it! I’m overjoyed at seeing you here!” 
  Kama, from San Tao, was staring 
  at Doc and the others. His eyes seemed 
  dark, for the moment, with hate. But he 
  spoke in a suave voice. 
  “Evidently the infinite ocean has 
  been overcome by some superior magic. 
  Let me congratulate and felicitate you, Doc 
  Savage, on your escape. We happened to 
  
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  41 
  come upon your plane after it was wrecked, 
  and we feared you had perished.” 
  Doc Savage was watching the red-
  headed girl. He apparently was reading 
  much deeper than the others. Perhaps he 
  really believed the girl was sincere. 
  The 
  dark-browed 
  brother 
  was 
  sullen. He said nothing.  
  Zarkov seemed to be keeping his 
  face averted. Suddenly the ancient jarl 
  stood before the prisoner. One skinny hand 
  gripped Zarkov’s shoulder. The prisoner’s 
  face showed in the light. 
  The 
  jarl 
  was 
  speaking 
  in 
  Norwegian, 
  which 
  Zarkov 
  seemed 
  to 
  understand. 
  Doc and Ham also caught his 
  words. 
  “My brother, Knut Aage, he is not 
  dead,” said the jarl. “He is not old enough to 
  die. It is some black magic of Satan’s 
  Gateway.” 
  Doc Savage looked at the rigid 
  form of Knut Aage. The bark boat, which 
  had become a coffin, had been set upon 
  one of the wooden benches. Trembling 
  hands placed lighted candles beside the 
  dead man’s head. 
  Suddenly, 
  the 
  interior 
  of 
  the 
  stavekirker 
  was 
  filled 
  with 
  an 
  eerie, 
  fantastic trilling. The hands of some 
  fishermen flew to their weapons. None 
  could determine from where the rare, 
  almost tuneless melody had come. 
  Doc’s companions knew he was on 
  the verge of some discovery, or that some 
  plan had come to him. The bronze man 
  spoke slowly, impressively, in Norwegian. 
  He was talking for the jarl. 
  “Your brother is only in the frozen 
  sleep,” Doc announced. “We of the sea 
  know that he is not dead. He can be 
  awakened. If I am freed, I will see if the 
  magic of life cannot be applied.” 
   
   
  Chapter XVII 
  DOC’S MIRACLE 
   
  THE ancient jarl was not easily 
  convinced. But he must have had some of 
  the fear of the others for Doc Savage and 
  his men. Had they not come up out of the 
  sea, in the strange, transparent tube? 
  The jarl’s sunken eyes had a 
  piercing brightness. Suddenly, his thin 
  voice pronounced his decision. 
  “You shall be given the chance. If 
  my brother lives, all shall go free! If he is 
  dead, then all of these prisoners shall die at 
  once! There is no alternative.” 
  Doc Savage indicated this was 
  agreeable. The bronze man knew that 
  Renny’s thongs had been cut. The big 
  engineer could free himself at any time. 
  Doc indicated Ham, and said, “I 
  must have this man to help me.” Then he 
  pointed to Monk. “And this man must be 
  permitted to bring me the magical potions 
  from the glass fish.” 
  This aroused much jabbering. But 
  the jarl consented. Monk was cut loose. 
  Doc directed him to bring the portable 
  laboratory which had been stored in the 
  cylinder. The hands and feet of Ham were 
  freed. 
   
   
  THE man of bronze stood beside 
  the still figure of Knut Aage. He had no 
  illusions about any supernatural ability to 
  revive a man who had been frozen. Very 
  evidently, Knut Aage had been frozen while 
  alive. There was no mark of violence. 
  The rugged face was like chiseled 
  marble. The eyes were closed as if the 
  Norwegian leader were only sleeping. 
  Doc Savage said nothing. Guarded 
  by half a dozen fishermen, Monk was 
  bringing in the portable laboratory. 
  The man of bronze proceeded 
  slowly with his preparations. None there 
  would have believed a human hand could 
  be quicker than the eye. But the hands of 
  Doc Savage were performing a miracle 
  which had nothing to do with bringing Knut 
  Aage to life. 
  From 
  Monk’s 
  laboratory, 
  Doc 
  produced a shallow, flat vessel. Solemnly, 
  he placed this near the head of the dead 
  man in the bark boat. At the same time, his 
  incredible hands were concealing various 
  devices from that same laboratory about his 
  clothing. 
  “Oh, you can’t do it—you can’t do 
  it!” breathed the red-headed girl. “All of us 
  will die! Mr. Savage, I want to tell you about 
  the plane and—” 
  The dark-browed brother, Barton, 
  caught the girl’s wrist. Doc did not seem to 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  42 
  notice this. But Lora Krants winced with 
  pain. 
  The dark-skinned Kama moved 
  close to the pair. Words he believed none 
  but the girl and her brother could hear, 
  were hissed. Doc Savage’s trained ears 
  caught them. 
  “The boss man will come, you fool! 
  A loose tongue may fasten a noose around 
  the whitest throat!” 
  Doc Savage was pouring three 
  chemical powders together from containers. 
  He mixed them slowly with a glass rod. The 
  chemical reaction produced a blaze of 
  reddish blue. 
  The 
  man 
  of 
  bronze 
  seldom 
  displayed any great amount of ceremony. 
  But now he was as solemn as any priest of 
  a temple. He began a slow chanting, a 
  singsong of apparently meaningless words. 
  These were in the ancient Mayan which 
  only he and his men understood. 
  “Monk, Ham and Renny, your 
  hands are free—you will first cut the thongs 
  on Long Tom—for the others we have no 
  time—lead them out—Renny and Ham will 
  get to the weapons by the door—when I 
  pour on the chemicals, cover your eyes—it 
  will be less than five seconds—be certain to 
  lead all the others from the stavekirker—” 
  “Lead that redhead out?” growled 
  Renny. “And that Kama? Why, they 
  would—” 
  Doc gave no sign that he had 
  noticed. His chant continued. “Lead all 
  out—perhaps there is much you cannot 
  understand—” 
   
   
  THE 
  singsong 
  chant 
  had 
  impressed even the ancient Jarl. The 
  monkeylike small figure was tense. His 
  sunken eyes were fixed on the mixture in 
  the flat vessel beside Knut Aage’s head. 
  Doc Savage picked up the fourth 
  container. He held it above the blue flame 
  as if to filter it slowly into the blaze. But his 
  powerful fingers closed in a terrific grip. 
  The strong glass containing the 
  chemical was crushed. All of it dropped and 
  spread at once upon the blaze. 
  Instantly, 
  the 
  interior 
  of 
  the 
  stavekirker was illuminated with a blinding 
  flare. Doc was pressing the balls of his 
  hands over his eyes. His own men were 
  doing the same. 
  The jarl and his crowding fishermen 
  were perhaps too amazed to act at once. 
  Then, too, they might for a few seconds 
  have imagined this was part of the 
  ceremony of producing life from death. The 
  regard of the jarl for his Viking brother was 
  intense. 
  “See—as the light comes—Knut 
  Aage will live!” 
  The bronze man’s words gave 
  them a few seconds more of time. With 
  hands still pressed over their eyes, Ham 
  and Renny were moving toward the 
  weapons near the door. Long Tom was 
  freed. 
  Zarkov 
  and 
  Larrone 
  had 
  not 
  understood what was transpiring. At Doc’s 
  word, Long Tom had sliced the thongs 
  around their ankles. 
  “Come with us!” muttered Long 
  Tom. 
  It was Monk whose furry hand 
  fastened on the wrist of the red-headed girl. 
  “Keep your mouth shut and come 
  along!” ordered the apelike chemist. “An’ if 
  you let out a squawk, I’ll smack you down!” 
  “Oh!” gasped Lora Krants. “I’m 
  blind! I can’t see!” 
  Doc Savage himself seized the 
  blinded Kama. 
  “You’re coming with us,” said the 
  bronze man. “You will be unable to see for 
  an hour or more. It is well for you, and it 
  may help answer some questions. Anyway, 
  you’re taking us to where they landed your 
  plane.” 
  “Those in darkness have no choice 
  of paths,” said Kama, mockingly. “However, 
  I shall not lead you to the plane, for it is 
  sunken in the fjord. You are not clever 
  enough, Doc Savage.” 
   
   
  THE 
  Lapps 
  and 
  Norwegians 
  became aware of the truth. They heard the 
  voices 
  of 
  their 
  prisoners. 
  Completely 
  blinded, 
  the 
  fishermen 
  were 
  groping 
  around. They started jabbing with their 
  harpoons. 
  The 
  bronze 
  man 
  and 
  his 
  companions aided the others to evade the 
  futile attack. The interior of the dimly lighted 
  stavekirker became a bedlam. In the midst 
  of this, Doc suddenly released his hold on 
  Kama. 
   
  
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  43 
   
  The man of bronze . . . began a slow chanting, a singsong of apparently meaningless words. 
   
  A miracle was taking place. The 
  nearly nude figure of Knut Aage was no 
  longer rigid. One great arm was slowly 
  lifting. The blond head was being raised. 
  Doc Savage knew he had nothing 
  to do with what might be happening. His 
  chemicals had been mixed for the sole 
  purpose of creating a temporary blindness. 
  They had no potency either for illness or 
  death. 
  Perhaps it was the warmth of the 
  stavekirker’s interior. Or, more likely, it was 
  the condition in which Knut Aage had been 
  placed by the mysterious men of Satan’s 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  44 
  Gateway. Apparently, the Norwegian had 
  been frozen. 
  Could it have been some new form 
  of suspended animation? 
  The bronze man’s sensitive hands 
  touched Knut Aage’s heaving breast. The 
  flesh was uncannily cold. It might well have 
  been frozen. But Doc detected a slow, 
  pulsing beat. It was the heart. But this was 
  the slowest throbbing of a heart Doc 
  Savage had ever encountered. 
  The strokes could not have been 
  above twenty to the minute. This was out of 
  accord with all medical science. Life blood 
  could not flow through any man’s veins at 
  this sluggish rate. 
  But Knut Aage’s eyes had opened. 
  They were as glinting blue as the clean ice 
  of some new glacier. The white lips were 
  attempting to form words. 
  None but Doc’s own men could 
  have observed this apparent miracle. And 
  Doc’s men were otherwise engaged. Ham 
  and Renny had scooped up the weapons 
  near the door. Some of the Lapps started a 
  blind rush in the bedlam created by their 
  own voices. 
  The superfiring pistols whoomed 
  suddenly, 
  steadily. 
  A 
  whole 
  line 
  of 
  harpooners pitched to their faces. They 
  would be out for at least two hours under 
  the mercy bullets. 
  From his clothing, Doc Savage 
  produced a hypodermic syringe. In this was 
  perhaps the most powerful heart stimulant 
  in the world. The man of bronze carried it 
  always. Its contents could put unconscious 
  men on their feet. 
  A small part of the mixture was 
  adrenalin. The rest of it was the result of 
  Doc’s extensive surgical and medical 
  knowledge. The man of bronze plunged the 
  needle into the seemingly frozen flesh of 
  Knut Aage’s breast. The needle penetrated 
  to the heart muscles. 
  Knut Aage’s heartbeat may or may 
  not have quickened. But the seeming dead 
  man who had returned in a coffin of bark 
  sat up. Then he spoke. Because they had 
  been closed, his eyes had not been 
  blinded. 
  “Doc Savage,” were his first slow 
  words. “Hjalmar Landson said you would 
  come.” 
  Doc Savage spoke quickly. 
  “We must get out at once, Knut 
  Aage. But if possible, I shall return in a 
  short time.” 
  Doc again gripped Kama’s wrist. 
  “I have heard the voice of Knut 
  Aage,” spoke Kama. “The renowned Doc 
  Savage undoubtedly will fancy he has 
  performed amazing magic. But there are 
  more remarkable forces of which the world 
  never before has been aware. It is no 
  miracle.” 
  Doc impelled the dark-skinned man 
  of San Tao toward the single door. Renny 
  had ceased using his superfirer. The giant 
  engineer 
  was 
  standing 
  waist-deep 
  in 
  writhing bodies. Each time he struck with 
  one of his tremendous fists, another body 
  was added to the heap. 
  Monk was howling, “Dag-gone it, 
  Doc! C’mon! I can’t hold onto this redhead 
  much longer!” 
  One long arm of the apelike 
  chemist was sweeping around. It was 
  helping Renny and Long Tom clear a space 
  to the outside. Monk’s other hand was still 
  fastened to the read-headed girl’s wrist. 
  Barton, the dark-browed brother, remained 
  close to the young woman. 
  Zarkov and Larrone were among 
  the first out of the stavekirker. 
  When they 
  were 
  outside, the 
  interior of the stavekirker still resounded to 
  wild 
  cries. 
  The 
  blinded 
  Lapps 
  and 
  Norwegians were fighting each other. 
  With Kama close beside him, Doc 
  Savage led the way up a sloping, icy trail. 
  Ahead 
  was 
  the 
  monster 
  glacier 
  of 
  Jostedalsbrae. 
  Somewhere 
  in 
  the 
  wilderness of ice was Satan’s Gateway. 
   
   
  Chapter XVIII 
  MEN OF ICY BLOOD 
   
  DOC SAVAGE and his men had 
  undertaken a Herculean task. The ascent of 
  the 
  rugged 
  mountain 
  toward 
  the 
  Jostedalsbrae glacier was a feat for the 
  strongest man. In this case it became the 
  job of each one of the five to lead one 
  blinded person. 
  With 
  Kama 
  beside 
  him, 
  Doc 
  Savage led the way. The fleeing party 
  crossed the mountain between spitted 
  peaks. Suddenly, they were floundering in 
  
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  45 
  mingled snow and the dust of centuries. 
  The man of bronze was forced to seek a 
  trail of harder ice. 
  He found such a pathway. Here 
  steps seemed to have been cut into the ice. 
  “This could be no other than the 
  work of men,” announced Doc. “We are 
  ascending what was once a great wall.” 
  Kama only chuckled evilly. Then 
  Monk let out a howling complaint. 
  “Howlin’ calamities! I gotta go back! 
  I’ve got to get Habeas Corpus!” 
  “Good heavens!” exclaimed the 
  red-headed girl. “Who could have a legal 
  name like that?” 
  “It isn’t a “who,’” rasped Ham’s 
  sarcastic voice. “It’s a pig!” 
  “A pig?” said the red-headed girl. 
  “Goodness gracious! You want to go back 
  for a pig?” 
  “Dag-gone it!” yelped Monk. “I wish 
  I’d ‘a’ let you go an’ brought him along!” 
  Doc was leading the way up the 
  roughly hewn steps of the ice wall. Zarkov 
  and Larrone were disputing. They were 
  accusing 
  Doc 
  Savage 
  of 
  deliberately 
  blinding them to prevent the carrying out of 
  their mission. 
  Kama still was saying nothing. The 
  ice stairway led up a wall where the top 
  was invisible. 
  Suddenly the steps ahead were 
  obscured by ice blink. This was a dense fog 
  which was composed of minute particles of 
  blowing snow and ice. 
  Doc Savage projected Kama ahead 
  to where another step should have been. 
  The step was not there. The bronze man’s 
  feet slid onto a smooth slope. Still gripping 
  Kama’s wrist, the man of bronze felt himself 
  sliding rapidly downward into the fog. 
   
   
  “HOLY cow!” boomed Renny. “I 
  knew there’d be a trap in this somewhere! 
  Now where are we headed?” 
  No one bothered to reply. Each 
  was busy trying to slide feet foremost down 
  the slippery grade. Doc Savage attempted 
  to set his heels. This indeed might be a 
  trap. The ice slope possibly would end in a 
  glacier crevasse. 
  Doc’s 
  men, 
  who 
  were 
  blind, 
  thumped into a heap on clear, flat ice. As 
  they gained their feet there was a moment 
  of intense silence. 
  Then somewhere in the fog above 
  them sounded a peculiar clop-clopping. The 
  sound was like the iron-shod hoofs of a 
  horse slowly pounding on hard ice or rock. 
  “Some one is passing over us,” 
  stated Doc. “it is perhaps some person in a 
  stolkjaerre, one of the native carts. Roads 
  among the most ancient in the world have 
  been carved out of some of these 
  mountains.” 
  “Maybe we’d better give the fellow 
  a hail,” suggested Ham. 
  “It would hardly be advisable,” said 
  the man of bronze. “At this moment, we are 
  being rapidly surrounded by many men.” 
  There 
  had 
  been 
  a 
  rustling 
  movement from four directions. This was as 
  if moccasined or skin-packed feet were 
  shuffling over the glacier. 
  Now there came a clink of metal. It 
  was like the snapping of a safety catch on a 
  pistol. 
  The slowly moving horse on the 
  road above was still clanking his iron-shod 
  hoofs. Steel tires squealed in grittily cold 
  snow. 
  Doc Savage pushed the blinded 
  five into the middle of a small ring. He and 
  his own men stood about them. 
  Like the throwing of an electrical 
  switch, the ice blink and the darkness was 
  swept away. Uncanny, white daylight 
  enveloped them. 
   
   
  THE little party was huddled on a 
  wide, flat plain of the great glacier. Here the 
  constant wind had kept the blue ice clear of 
  dust and snow. The space was perhaps a 
  mile in extent. Beyond it rose a sheer black 
  wall of rock. 
  It was on a high, winding road of 
  this precipice the horse had passed with 
  the stolkjaerre. The cart had vanished. 
  “Holy 
  cow!” 
  grunted 
  Renny. 
  “Wouldja look at them! Doc, we ain’t got a 
  chance!” 
  “Fifty below zero, and they don’t 
  seem to have any use for clothes!” 
  exclaimed Long Tom. 
  Between forty and fifty strange 
  figures ringed the party. They had halted 
  perhaps a dozen yards from Doc Savage 
  and his men. All appeared to be white men 
  of normal size. 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  46 
  And at first glance, it seemed all of 
  the men were naked. Then it was to be 
  observed that each man wore what might 
  have 
  been 
  a 
  breechcloth 
  of 
  skin. 
  Otherwise, their bodies were fully exposed 
  to the rigorous temperature. All of Doc’s 
  men and the others were thickly clad in 
  furs. 
  The strangely naked, and equally 
  strangely silent men were blond and tall. 
  Each held a modern rifle across one arm. 
  One man spoke in the Norwegian tongue. 
  “If you understand our language, 
  you will make no resistance,” he said, 
  calmly. “We have been sent to conduct you 
  to the Man of Peace under the mountain. 
  You have not strong enough force to do us 
  any damage.” 
  “Oh!” cried Lora Krants. “The Man 
  of Peace! At last!” 
  “Now what do you suppose is on 
  her mind?” growled Renny. 
  Doc Savage made no answer to 
  Renny; he spoke quietly to the naked men. 
  “It would seem we can do no other 
  than accompany you,” he said. 
  The tall leader of the naked men 
  stepped closer. Then it was that Kama, of 
  San Tao, cried out sharply in his own 
  language. The Oriental must have regained 
  his sight more quickly than the others. 
  Also, it was apparent he knew 
  something of this place. His flowing 
  command rapped across the glacier. Men 
  clad in furs poured from what appeared to 
  be the mouth of a cavern. 
   
   
  NO time was given for an order 
  from Doc Savage. 
  Guns started cracking venomously. 
  These were in the hands of the new 
  arrivals. These men were short, and dark of 
  face. 
  Three or four of the naked men fell 
  at the first volley. Kama, of San Tao, was 
  running. He darted across the ice toward 
  the new party. His voice shouted a new 
  command. 
  Though the naked men had been 
  taken by apparent surprise, they acted. 
  Their rifles belched fire. 
  The impetuous Renny opened up 
  with his superfirer. Three or four men went 
  down before the mercy bullets. Doc Savage 
  took the weapon from Renny’s hand. 
  “It would be advisable for us to 
  keep out of this,” stated the man of bronze. 
  “Wisdom directs us to retreat while we have 
  opportunity.” 
  Kama was now among the new 
  crowd of men. Plainly they were from his 
  own country. They were like those who had 
  appeared at Doc Savage’s headquarters in 
  Manhattan and attacked Long Tom and 
  Professor Callus. 
  Zarkov cried out with pain. His 
  hands were flung out and his body pitched 
  to the ice. He would not speak again. A rifle 
  bullet had bored into his skull over one ear. 
  Larrone yelled, and started running 
  in a circle. He still could not see. 
  The illuminated glacier was all 
  white daylight. Doc Savage was looking up 
  the wall of black rock. Close to this wall, in 
  the distance, were what appeared to be 
  streaming rays of light. 
  It was clear to the bronze man that 
  this uncanny daylight must be coming from 
  this source. Doc could make out what might 
  have been described as short stacks of 
  steel. 
  At the top of each stack appeared 
  to be an eye. A luminous globe. The 
  glowing daylight was greater than the light 
  of the aurora borealis. 
  Doc directed the others to crouch 
  close to the ice. The naked men and the 
  dark men were about evenly matched in 
  numbers. The naked men moved toward 
  near-by ice ridges. 
  Eight or ten of the nearly nude 
  figures lay on the ice. Doc made note of a 
  queer circumstance. Though these men 
  were dead or seriously wounded, no blood 
  had flowed from the bullet holes. 
  Kama now was leading his group 
  toward Doc and his men. The dark men 
  switched the object of their fire. Bullets 
  buzzed off the ice. Some thudded into 
  Doc’s bulletproof garments. 
  From one of his many pockets Doc 
  produced two small metal globes. On each 
  of these was a small lever. Doc moved 
  these levers. He tossed both objects toward 
  the oncoming men of Kama’s. 
  Between Doc’s party and Kama’s 
  attackers the glacier split into a wide 
  crevasse. Two explosions drowned out the 
  cracking of the rifles. 
  Kama’s dark men were blown from 
  their feet. But none seemed to be seriously 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx HAUNTED OCEAN xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  47 
  injured. Their advance would only be 
  temporarily impeded. 
  The man of bronze had refrained 
  from 
  killing 
  with 
  the 
  high 
  explosive 
  chemicals in the tiny bombs. He hoped only 
  to break up the glacier between them and 
  provide respite by which they might escape. 
  Kama was shouting. The leader of 
  the nearly naked men was trying to halt the 
  flight of his force. 
  “We will try and get back to the 
  stairs of the icy causeway,” said Doc. “It is 
  certain Kama does not want us to live. We 
  do not know what might happen in the 
  hands of the others.” 
  The red-headed girl still was unable 
  to see. She attempted to rise. One foot 
  slipped and she fell back. Her face was 
  very white. 
  “I’m afraid I’ve twisted my ankle!” 
  she moaned. “All of you get away. Don’t 
  wait for me.” 
  The man of bronze caught up the 
  red-headed girl as easily as if she were a 
  small child. Renny and Ham pushed her 
  brother and Larrone in the right direction. It 
  seemed they would have time to get back 
  up the icy slope to the stairway. 
  As suddenly as it had come, the 
  eerie daylight was switched off. The fog 
  from the ice had not been dissipated. All 
  were groping in a darkness. Visibility had 
  been reduced to a few feet only. 
   
   
  SOMETHING new happened in 
  that darkness. The nearly naked men 
  rallied. They surrounded Doc and the 
  others. They made no effort to use their 
  rifles. 
  Doc Savage was hemmed in by 
  men of as great size as himself. Their 
  movements were slower. The man of 
  bronze let the red-headed girl slip to the 
  ice. His incredibly fast fists struck at 
  shadowy figures. 
  Three or four men pushed him to 
  the ice with their weight. Doc’s bronze 
  fingers fastened on the neck of one. His 
  thumb pressed a nerve center. The man 
  should have become unconscious instantly. 
  But the paralyzing hold seemed to have 
  little effect. 
  Doc 
  Savage 
  had 
  the 
  queer 
  sensation of having pressed his fingers into 
  dead flesh. It yielded. The skin was as cold 
  as ice. The usual nerve reaction failed to 
  take place. 
  “Dag-gone it! Lemme go!” howled 
  Monk. 
  “Holy cow!” boomed Renny’s voice. 
  “I didn’t know it was you!” 
  They had exchanged blows in the 
  fog. Renny’s fist must have knocked Monk 
  out. The chemist said nothing more. 
  Doc Savage 
  was fighting the 
  weight of numbers. From a distance, he 
  could hear the cracking of Kama’s rifles. 
  But they did not seem to have crossed the 
  blasted crevasse. The bullets were flying 
  wild. 
  The man of bronze attempted to 
  get at some of the anaesthetic capsules. 
  Cold, heavy arms pinned him to the ice. 
  The bronze giant was being held down by 
  what seemed to be the relentless weight of 
  men whose flesh seemed frozen. 
  A blow from the hard butt of a gun 
  rapped across the base of his skull. Doc’s 
  senses faded out. 
   
   
  Chapter XIX 
  THE WANDERING PROFESSOR 
   
  DOC SAVAGE came to his senses 
  with the queer feeling of having been 
  carried and then dropped roughly. He put 
  out one hand and it touched bare flesh. 
  This was very cold. 
  The 
  bronze 
  man 
  was 
  still 
  enveloped in the glacial fog. He could hear 
  two voices faintly. 
  The man he had touched was one 
  of 
  the 
  largest 
  of 
  the 
  nearly 
  naked 
  Norwegians. Doc produced his small pencil 
  flashlight. The spring generator hummed 
  inside. The ray widened on the white body 
  of the man on the ice. 
  The man was dead. Without doubt, 
  he had been carrying Doc Savage. An ugly 
  hole 
  appeared 
  between 
  the 
  man’s 
  shoulders. A bullet had gone in through his 
  spine. 
  Doc got to his feet. From near by 
  came a low moan. A few yards away lay 
  another of the Norwegians. His skull had 
  been clipped by a slug. But he was still 
  breathing. His head had only been creased. 
  The man of bronze wondered what 
  had happened to the others. The last he 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  48 
  could recall was battling with a weight of 
  cold flesh. Then he had been knocked 
  unconscious. 
  Apparently these men, carrying him 
  away, had been attacked. Or they might 
  have been hit by bullets fired from some 
  distance. 
  The voices Doc had heard grew 
  more distinct “Dag-gone it!” piped Monk’s 
  voice. “They’ve got Doc, and I think you 
  know something about it! I oughta make 
  you walk!” 
  “Please, oh, please!” came the 
  voice of Lora Krants. “I don’t know what 
  happened! There were men all around! Mr. 
  Savage was knocked down! I thought I saw 
  them taking him away, but I couldn’t walk!” 
  “Over this way, Monk!” called out 
  Doc, flashing the pencil light. 
  The big chemist let out a whoop of 
  delight. 
  “An’ it’s a good thing for you I found 
  him!” he squealed at Lora Krants. “I was 
  just about to let you find your own way 
  outta this mess!” 
  Monk’s ungainly figure came into 
  the circle of light. For all of his threats, the 
  apelike chemist was carrying the young 
  woman in his arms. He set her carefully 
  down on the ice. 
  “I’m glad we found you, Mr. 
  Savage,” exclaimed the girl. “I was afraid 
  something awful had happened! And my 
  brother’s gone, too!” 
  “Where are the others?” asked 
  Doc—”Renny, Long Tom, Ham, Larrone.” 
  Monk shook his head dubiously. 
  “The last I remember, Renny 
  cracked me one and I hit my head on the 
  ice,” he said. “When I woke up, I heard the 
  redhead crying. Doc, I don’t trust her any 
  more.” 
   
   
  MONK was being quite frank about 
  Lora Krants. The girl spoke suddenly. 
  “The 
  circumstances 
  are 
  unavoidable,” murmured the girl. “I am 
  here, it is true, but I cannot tell you why. 
  Not now. I hope everything will come all 
  right, then you will know.” 
  Doc Savage turned to the wounded 
  Norwegian. The nearly naked man was still 
  groaning. 
  “Dag-gone 
  it,” 
  Doc!” 
  exploded 
  Monk. “She knows something about this 
  fellow that naked guy called the Man of 
  Peace!” 
  Doc seemed not to have heard 
  Monk’s protesting statement. He was 
  examining the wounded Norwegian. 
  “It is strange,” said the man of 
  bronze, “that blood should not flow from a 
  wound. The man’s flesh is cold, like all of 
  the others.” 
  “They’re not frozen, they’re—” 
  The red-headed girl seemed to 
  have spoken involuntarily. She ended her 
  speech by stuffing the back of one furred 
  mitten over her red lips. 
  “I knew it!” yelped Monk. “I’ll bet 
  this dame knows all about this, too!” 
  “Perhaps that is true,” assented 
  Doc. “But I’m sure Miss Krants will talk 
  when the time comes.” 
  “Thank 
  you, 
  Doc 
  Savage,” 
  murmured the girl. 
  Doc had extracted an instrument 
  from 
  his 
  clothing. 
  It 
  looked 
  like 
  a 
  combination stethoscope and sick room 
  thermometer on a miniature scale. The man 
  of bronze attached it to the man’s breast 
  with a slender, piercing needle. 
  He listened for a moment with the 
  earpiece of the instrument. As he did, the 
  fantastic trilling suddenly filled the ice fog. 
  Doc looked closely at the tiny thermometer. 
  “What is it, Doc?” questioned Monk. 
  “Is the poor devil about to pass out?” 
  The 
  wounded 
  Norwegian’s 
  muscled breast was heaving with slow 
  breathing. 
  “According to the most reliable 
  medical information, this man has been 
  dead for some time,” stated Doc, calmly. 
  “Any physician would probably declare rigor 
  mortis has set in.” 
  “Howlin’ calamities, Doc!” squealed 
  Monk. “The fellow’s still breathing!” 
  “That is true,” advised Doc. “Also, 
  his 
  heart 
  is 
  still 
  beating. 
  Yet 
  the 
  temperature shows at exactly twenty-six. 
  The heart action is recording only thirty-two 
  beats a minute.” 
  “It ain’t possible!” squawked Monk. 
  “What do you say, Doc, we get out of here? 
  I don’t like this place!” 
   
   
  DOC was examining the wounded 
  man more closely. 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx HAUNTED OCEAN xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  49 
  “Only a few known animals can be 
  frozen and still survive,” stated Doc. 
  “There’s one, the Chorni Ryba, or Alaskan 
  blackfish.” 
  “But dag-gone it, Doc,” protested 
  Monk, “the human temperature has to be 
  around ninety-eight, and the pulse about 
  seventy-two.” 
  “That is true,” stated the man of 
  bronze. “In some acute cases of illness the 
  human temperature has been known to go 
  as low as seventy-five. But there is danger 
  of death. Adrenalin increases heat and 
  heart action by burning bodily sugar. I 
  would say nearly all of the sugar has been 
  burned from these men. So they have 
  become almost impervious to freezing 
  temperature.” 
  Doc’s hands probed around the 
  base of the Norwegian’s brain. 
  Monk was watching Lora Krants. 
  She again clamped her furred mitten over 
  her lips, as if to keep from speaking. 
  “These fellows did not yield to 
  nerve pressure,” stated Doc. “Now part of 
  the reason becomes apparent. The nerves 
  controlling temperature are known as the 
  diencephalon. They are located at the base 
  of the brain. A scar shows where nerve 
  groups must have been changed.” 
  Doc Savage ceased speaking. The 
  cold-blooded Norwegian at his feet had 
  ceased to breathe. 
   
   
  “LISTEN, Doc!” admonished Monk. 
  “Hear that? Isn’t it that horse again, upon 
  the road?” 
  The iron-shod hoofs were clanking. 
  The steel tires squealed in the sandy snow. 
  From a short distance up the black wall, a 
  voice hailed. 
  “Hello there, below! Can you direct 
  us to a way down? My driver said there was 
  a fishing village near by, but this road 
  seems to end in a mountain meadow!” 
  “Howlin’ 
  calamities!” 
  exploded 
  Monk. “Doc, that’s Professor Callus or I 
  don’t know voices! This whole thing’s 
  crazy!” 
  “It is Professor Callus,” agreed Doc, 
  calmly. Then he called out, “We know of a 
  way down afoot, but not from the road up 
  there.” 
  “Doc Savage!” shouted Professor 
  Callus. “I might have known you would 
  have found your way into this place! But I 
  had greatly feared you were lost in your 
  plane, after I learned you had started for 
  the Norway coast!” 
  “We escaped that disaster,” replied 
  Doc. “Your own presence indicates you are 
  greatly interested in the mystery of the 
  haunted ocean, Professor Callus.” 
  “Indeed, and who wouldn’t be, after 
  all that happened in Manhattan,” replied the 
  professor. “When I learned you had started 
  for The Land of the Midnight Sun, I 
  chartered a plane. We were over a great 
  plateau 
  of 
  snow 
  when 
  that 
  strange 
  disturbance of the ocean must have started 
  again. Our plane lost its power and we 
  narrowly escaped death. 
  “I accompanied my two pilots until 
  we found a village. Then I heard of this 
  fishing town and hired one of these 
  Norwegian carts. Do you think we could get 
  down this cliff and join you?” 
  “That might be possible,” stated 
  Doc. “Also it might be advisable for your 
  own safety—” 
   
   
  THE words of the bronze man were 
  lost in a sudden crackle of gunfire. The 
  fusillade apparently came from the road 
  above not far from the cart of stolkjaerre. 
  “Doc Savage!” shouted Professor 
  Callus. “We are being attacked! They  
  are—” 
  His next words were lost in the 
  crashing plunge of a horse. Above in the 
  ice blink fog the stolkjaerre crackled as if it 
  were being dashed against the rocks. A 
  hoarse voice cried out in Norwegian. 
  “They’ve got him!” yelled Monk. 
  The stolkjaerre and the horse came 
  rolling down the black wall. They struck the 
  flat ice with sickening impact. A man’s body 
  thudded onto the glacier. 
  A command was shouted above. It 
  was the voice of Kama. 
  The man who had fallen, lay almost 
  at the feet of Doc Savage. Plainly enough 
  he was the skydgul, or driver of the cart. 
  His head was horribly crushed. 
  Professor Callus had not fallen with 
  the cart. Doc Savage whirled back to the 
  others. He caught up the slender form of 
  the red-headed girl. 
  “We must get out before they find a 
  way down the wall,” advised Doc. “Farther 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  50 
  on, there may be some trail leading up to 
  that mountain meadow. I imagine it would 
  be unsafe to go back down the causeway.” 
  Above them, the men of Kama 
  were scrambling along the road. It was 
  apparent they were seeking a way down. 
  Now Kama knew Doc Savage still lived and 
  was below. 
  “If there is a mountain meadow at 
  the end of that road, I think there will be a 
  way down for us,” advised Doc Savage. 
  “How would you know that?” said 
  Monk. 
  “You will find a strange means of 
  transportation 
  from 
  every 
  mountain 
  meadow along this coast,” stated Doc. 
  The man of bronze seemed not to 
  mind the weight of the red-headed girl. His 
  progress was so swift Monk was compelled 
  to lope along on his short legs. They were 
  concealed by the darkness. The men of 
  Kama were making so much noise they 
  could not have heard them depart. 
  Doc had progressed more than a 
  mile along the wall before a break 
  appeared. 
  Monk 
  had 
  great 
  difficulty 
  climbing the steep ascent. The bronze man 
  cradled the girl in his arms and swung 
  easily upward. 
  They emerged upon a road that 
  had been carved centuries before. 
   
   
  Chapter XX 
  THE SKY SLIDE 
   
  DOC SAVAGE carried Lora Krants 
  into the mountain meadow. On this soil, in 
  season, a crop of hay had been grown. 
  Some of this was covered with snow where 
  it had been spread upon wooden racks to 
  dry during the summer. 
  Lora Krants tried her twisted ankle. 
  It would not bear her weight. 
  “I don’t see how we can ever get 
  out of this place,” the girl said. “If Kama’s 
  men come up the road, we are trapped.” 
  Doc Savage did not reply. The man 
  of bronze could hear the pursuit. The slight 
  crunching of men’s feet in the snow had not 
  yet come to the ears of either Monk or the 
  girl. 
  Doc was following the rack of 
  abandoned hay. At one end the meadow 
  seemed to tip off into space. And far below 
  showed the hazy flare of torches. The 
  meadow seemed to lie almost directly 
  above the fishing village. 
  “Dag-gone it, Doc!” complained 
  Monk. “If them devils are on the road, we 
  can’t get out of here! It’s more than a 
  thousand feet down!” 
  Doc was stripping back some of the 
  hay. From the drying rack he pulled two 
  queer-looking 
  iron 
  hooks. 
  They 
  were 
  covered with heavy, dried reindeer hide. 
  “Now we will find the hesjire,” 
  stated Doc. “Unless it is too badly rusted, 
  we have a means of transportation it isn’t 
  likely any one will use to follow us.” 
  Now Monk and the girl could hear 
  the crunching feet of the oncoming men. 
  Their pursuers were already entering the 
  farther side of the meadow. Some of the 
  pursuers whooped. They had come upon 
  the tracks of Doc and the others. 
  “All right,” said Doc. “Monk, you will 
  go first. I will follow with Miss Krants.” 
  “Down that thing?” growled Monk. 
  “You mean we’re doin’ a circus act down 
  that measly wire?” 
  “It isn’t much of a stunt,” said Doc, 
  calmly. “The people here find this crude 
  elevator quite convenient.” 
  Monk and the girl were staring at 
  the slender wire attached to a heavy, 
  wooden post. The village flares looked 
  miles away. Only a few feet of the tight wire 
  was visible. It slanted down into space. 
  Doc wrapped one of the hooks over 
  the wire. Under the hook was a loop. On 
  this crude contrivance hay was shot down 
  from the mountain in the summer to the 
  village below. Perhaps, as Doc had said, 
  the wire might be rusted and weak. But it 
  was the only means of escape. 
  Monk hooked one hairy wrist into 
  the loop. He drew a deep breath. Then he 
  stepped off into space. The tough hide of 
  the hook squawked shrilly on the wire. 
  Monk almost instantly disappeared. 
   
   
  SPARKS flashed from the hook 
  and wire. 
  Behind them, Kama shouted out an 
  oath. Now he had discovered the plan of 
  Doc Savage. Rifles began to explode. 
  Bullets clipped the snow. 
  “You’ll have to trust me and hold 
  your breath,” counseled Doc. 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx HAUNTED OCEAN xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  51 
  “You have trusted me, and I don’t 
  know why,” said the girl. 
  “Perhaps it is because I know you 
  are not Lora Krants,” said the man of 
  bronze, unexpectedly. 
  Kama’s men were running. Their 
  rifles whoomed now. There seemed no 
  further effort to spare the girl. Doc felt the 
  slugs nipping at his furs. But the bulletproof 
  undergarment was stopping them. He 
  gathered the girl into one massive arm. 
  Doc’s other bronzed wrist wrapped 
  into the loop of hide. He put the hook over 
  the wire and stepped into space. 
  The red-headed girl suddenly clung 
  to Doc Savage’s neck. 
  “Oh, we’ll be killed—I must tell 
  you—the plane—” 
  The girl gasped these words. The 
  hook over the wire was screeching. It must 
  have seemed to the girl their descent could 
  only be checked by a crushing impact. 
  Yet, as swiftly as they were 
  dropping, Doc Savage felt the tremor he 
  feared most. Kama’s men were hammering 
  at the wire post above. Bullets sang past 
  their flying bodies. If Kama succeeded in 
  getting that wire loosened, only a miracle 
  could save them. 
  Doc’s powerful wrist was twisting 
  the hook. They had dropped almost five 
  hundred feet before he started checking 
  their speed. Below them, the strained voice 
  of Monk called up. 
  His words were unintelligible. The 
  wire seemed to slacken suddenly. At its 
  lower end this hesjire, or mountain elevator, 
  curved into a deep bend that was intended 
  to slow down any descending object before 
  it crashed the lower post. 
  Doc and the girl were in this bend 
  when the wire sang wickedly. It had been 
  cut at the post above. Their bodies turned 
  over and fell. 
  Even at forty below zero, the deep 
  water of the fjord never was frozen. This 
  was because of the influence of the Gulf 
  Stream. 
  “Hold your breath!” commanded 
  Doc, as they flashed downward. 
  The bronze man could not be sure 
  whether they were falling into the fjord or 
  upon the rocky shore. 
   
   
  DOC SAVAGE had sucked air into 
  his great lungs. Holding the girl, his giant 
  form struck with a force that would have 
  stunned another man. 
  The water of the fjord received 
  them. The thick furs helped break the 
  shock. 
  The girl had become limp in Doc’s 
  arm. Fighting back to the surface was a 
  gigantic task. Doc succeeded in stripping 
  the upper part of his body of the clinging 
  furs. His massive arm and limbs churned 
  the blue water. 
  Doc 
  Savage 
  had 
  underwater 
  training comparable only to the skill of 
  South Sea pearl divers. 
  No doubt, Lora Krants was in that 
  state described as drowned. Her lungs had 
  filled with water. When they reached the 
  surface, she was for the time as dead as 
  she would ever be. 
  Monk helped get the girl to the 
  shore. Now the quick freezing of that fearful 
  temperature became an imminent menace. 
  “I thought you was gone for good 
  that time, Doc,” declared Monk, plaintively. 
  “Now what are we going to do? I guess the 
  little redhead is dead. We can’t do much 
  without a fire. If we build one they’ll be right 
  on our necks from that crazy village.” 
  Monk was scratching his nubbin of 
  a head. Anxiety screwed his homely face 
  into an ugly knot. 
  Doc Savage was stripping off 
  nearly all of his clothing. 
  “Get off her furs and the rest of her 
  clothing,” he ordered Monk. “We can save 
  her without a fire.” 
  Doc Savage might have added that 
  only 
  his 
  great 
  surgical 
  skill 
  could 
  accomplish what might otherwise have 
  been impossible. Monk’s awkward hands 
  trembled, but he clicked his teeth grimly 
  and went to work. 
  While Monk was preparing the girl, 
  Doc did some exercises that restored his 
  own circulation. 
  The red-headed girl lay on her 
  face. Monk applied what he knew of first 
  aid. This was having little effect. 
  “Monk, you will go to the first of the 
  skin huts in the village,” directed Doc. “You 
  will find some are unoccupied. Take the 
  driest skins and bring them back.” 
  For Monk, this was a welcome 
  mission. 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  52 
  Doc Savage had become the great 
  surgeon. Monk had dropped his own outer 
  furs. Within five minutes, Lora Krants gave 
  a great sobbing breath. 
  Monk’s outer furs were wrapped 
  about the young woman when Monk 
  returned. He was carrying an armload of 
  miscellaneous furred skins. Doc and the girl 
  were quickly clothed. 
  The man of bronze had preserved 
  all of his devices in the pockets of his 
  bulletproof garment. 
  “Oh!” gasped the girl. “I dreamed I 
  had died, and I saw my father! I thought 
  that I had crossed the ocean and—” 
  The 
  girl’s 
  eyes 
  widened 
  with 
  dawning realization of her present position. 
  She ceased speaking. Doc ignored her 
  words. He had said he knew she was not 
  Lora Krants. 
  “Our best chance for the present is 
  to discover if the cylinder is intact,” stated 
  Doc. “I believe the superstitious fishermen 
  would hesitate to touch it.” 
   
   
  DOC 
  SAVAGE 
  had 
  guessed 
  correctly. The strange glass fish was still in 
  the sand where it had been beached. The 
  tide was ebbing. 
  “Howlin’ calamities!” gritted Monk. 
  “Are we going down again?” 
  “We must find the wrecked plane at 
  once,” stated Doc. “Perhaps the fate of 
  Johnny and the commission, and all the 
  others depends upon our getting some 
  means of entering the fjord called Satan’s 
  Gateway. Miss Krants now will direct us to 
  the spot where the plane was beached.” 
  “I will do anything I can,” stated the 
  girl. “But for you, I would not be alive, Doc 
  Savage. The plane was beached. Its power 
  is lost without the daylight you saw. It has 
  other motors, but they failed.” 
  Oil torches still flared in the 
  stavekirker. A light moved among the skin 
  huts of the Lapps. No person was near the 
  glass fish. 
  “We have enough compressed air 
  to last perhaps an hour,” stated Doc. “In 
  that time, either we will reach the wrecked 
  plane or get to Satan’s Gateway.” 
  Monk and the girl were crowded 
  into the glass fish. Doc was pushing and 
  pulling the cylinder into position where its 
  own compressed air force would slide it, 
  into the fjord. 
  Doc slid inside the glass fish and 
  closed the lid. Immediately the blue, 
  unearthly light of the tubes began to glow. 
  This gave the transparent cylinder a 
  supernatural appearance. 
  An oxygen tank hissed. Then Doc 
  Savage switched on the compressed air. 
  Sputtering explosions resulted. 
   
   
  THE tail of the glass fish was 
  buried in the sand. It was as if a great hand 
  pushed it into the deep fjord. The cylinder 
  sank a hundred feet. 
  “Where is this plane?” said Doc 
  Savage. “We have but little time.” 
  “It was pulled up on a shelf at the 
  north side of the fjord,” said the red-headed 
  girl. “Perhaps if you can reach it, the power 
  of the ocean will come on. Then you could 
  use it.” 
  Doc Savage said nothing. His real 
  purpose in reaching the plane was to 
  examine the strange machinery. He hoped 
  this would give him some inkling of the 
  force which must be overcome. 
  “Doc,” said Monk, “do you suppose 
  they took Ham and the others alive? If 
  they’ve killed Ham, I’ll stay here and take 
  these mountains apart!” 
  Lora Krants stared at the ugly 
  chemist. She had imagined Monk and Ham 
  would have slit each other’s throats at the 
  slightest excuse. 
  “Before we reach the plane, Miss 
  Krants,” suggested Doc, “have you any 
  other information to divulge?” 
  The girl’s eyes suddenly went cold. 
  “I 
  may 
  seem 
  ungrateful, 
  Doc 
  Savage,” she said, “but I have nothing more 
  I can tell.” 
  Doc did not insist. He had arrived 
  at an amazing theory. If what he believed 
  proved to be the truth, he imagined 
  Washington would be rocked. 
   
   
  NEAR the entrance to the fjord of 
  the fishing village, Doc mixed the chemicals 
  which filled the outer envelope of the 
  cylinder with the powerful lifting gas. The 
  girl was watching the bronze giant with 
  increasing amazement. 
  Then they reached the plane. 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx HAUNTED OCEAN xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  53 
  The modern, streamlined plane 
  rested on a narrow shelf. Its wings and 
  fuselage were marvels of mechanical 
  genius. The design rivaled the best of Doc’s 
  own superior ships. Apparently no great 
  damage had resulted from the forced 
  landing. 
  “If that thing only will fly, we could 
  bomb that Kama off the glacier,” suggested 
  Monk, as the glass fish nosed close to the 
  shelf. “I’d like to get my hands on Kama!” 
  Doc was sliding back the lid. The 
  play of the aurora borealis was giving some 
  light. But it could not give the bronze man 
  visibility around the point of the jutting 
  mountain. 
  Beyond their range of vision, two 
  ordinary fishing schooners were nosing 
  across the fjord. From winches on the deck 
  of each boat extended cable ropes. These 
  went down into the sea. 
  The fishing boats were perhaps 
  three hundred yards apart. Between them 
  was nearly all of the width of the narrow 
  entrance to the deep fjord. 
  “Remain here until I investigate,” 
  directed Doc. “If it is possible to operate the 
  motors, we will board the plane.” 
  “This cylinder will be all right,” 
  protested Monk.  
  “That may be,” agreed Doc. “But 
  close the lid and be prepared to submerge 
  if anything should happen. I will be gone 
  only a few minutes.” 
   
   
  Chapter XXI 
  IN THE DEVIL’S NET 
   
   
  DOC SAVAGE reached the roomy 
  cabin of the mystery plane. The craft had 
  been operated part of the time by ordinary 
  motors. The propellers were not now 
  connected with these. 
  The bronze man’s fantastic trilling 
  filled the space. He was inspecting short 
  metal prongs extending from the cowling. 
  These were equipped at the outer ends 
  with what might have been bright mirrors. 
  Doc 
  determined 
  these 
  were 
  powerful lenses. They were of the type 
  employed in the greatest telescopes. 
  The prongs were of hollow metal 
  alloy. They concentrated on groups of 
  selenium cells. These were arranged in the 
  form of batteries hooked together for the 
  concentration of power upon one objective. 
  “It was bound to happen some 
  day,” mused the man of bronze. “The light 
  has been discovered to operate the 
  machinery of the world. This could only be 
  a power that would revolutionize all 
  transportation.” 
  He saw the plane props had been 
  operated by the power of light. The 
  mysterious property of selenium, already 
  applied on a small scale to operate motors 
  in laboratories, had been amplified on a 
  greater and more practical scale. 
  The 
  mystery 
  of 
  the 
  apparent 
  uncanny daylight was unfolded to Doc 
  Savage. He realized that a band of such 
  light, with proper motive machinery, might 
  some day operate every ship that sailed the 
  seas, every vehicle of transportation in the 
  world. 
  The regular motors of the plane 
  had been irreparably wrecked. Parts of the 
  machinery had been fused and ruined. 
  So engrossed was Doc in his 
  investigation, he failed to note the lights of 
  the fishing schooners coming into the fjord. 
  The dark hulks of these craft lay close to 
  the opposite walls. 
  The 
  boats 
  were 
  dragging 
  something between them. One boat was 
  slowly approaching the spot where Monk 
  and 
  the 
  red-headed 
  girl 
  lay 
  in 
  the 
  transparent glass fish. Perhaps its blue, 
  unearthly illumination was seen by men on 
  the fishing boats. 
  “There are lights coming along the 
  fjord,” said Lora Krants. “Do you suppose 
  we should call to Doc Savage?” 
  Monk shook his nubbin of a head. 
  “Doc’s eyes 
  are quicker than 
  yours,” Monk boasted. “He has seen the 
  lights. He knows what to do.” 
  Monk was even then planning to 
  open the sliding door. One long arm 
  reached out. A blundering elbow struck the 
  lever controlling the compression tanks. 
  The air hissed and exploded at the 
  tail of the glass fish. With a vibrating 
  movement, the cylinder slithered from the 
  shelf. Its lifting gas had partly evaporated. 
   
   
  DOC SAVAGE emerged from the 
  plane’s cabin. He had seen the ship rested 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  54 
  so that the removal of its wooden blocks 
  would slide it off the shelf into the fjord. 
  The bronze man noted that the tide 
  now had changed. As in these northern 
  latitudes, the flood was starting with a rush. 
  A swift current was beginning to boil along 
  the cliff. 
  Doc Savage started toward the 
  spot where he had left the glass fish. 
  Suddenly he hastened his stride. The 
  chugging of the motors of the fishing boats 
  had come to his ears. He could see their 
  distant moving lights. 
  The man of bronze had expected to 
  be guided back to the glass fish by its 
  phosphorescent illumination. The light had 
  vanished. He believed for a few seconds 
  that Monk might have tampered with the 
  tubes. 
  But it was not that. Doc Savage 
  checked his rush at the edge of the sloping 
  shelf. The green depths, he knew, dropped 
  here to perhaps five hundred feet. 
  Doc stared bleakly down into the 
  deep water. He could just mark a dim, blue 
  radiance. The glass fish was submerged. It 
  was at least a hundred feet beneath the 
  surface. It was still sinking. 
  Doc Savage rarely had a sensation 
  of helplessness. For just a few seconds, he 
  stood rooted to the spot. There beneath 
  him, Monk and Lora Krants were slowly 
  dropping into the depths. 
  Doc could only 
  depend upon 
  Monk’s knowledge of chemistry to bring the 
  glass fish to the surface. Apparently Monk 
  had been unable to apply the lifting gas. 
  Doc Savage remembered an oversight. 
  The final chemical combination, the 
  key to the production of the gas, was now 
  in his own pocket. He had expected to be 
  gone only a minute or two. 
  Monk was powerless to bring the 
  glass fish from the bottom of the fjord. 
  An eddy in the sweeping flood tide 
  caught the light far below. Its force whisked 
  the blue radiance from view, downward 
  under the straight wall of the black cliff. 
  Doc Savage groaned deeply. The 
  faithful Monk and the red-headed girl were 
  undoubtedly going to certain doom. 
  The fishing boat on this side of the 
  fjord came nosing along on the tide. 
   
   
  DOC SAVAGE whipped back to the 
  mystery plane. He could do nothing here. 
  None of his vast forces could reach down 
  into the murk of that icy water. The glass 
  fish had apparently become a coffin from 
  which no human agency ever could rescue 
  its occupants. 
  The man of bronze brought his 
  mind to the thought of his other men. 
  Johnny, 
  the 
  member 
  of 
  the 
  war 
  commission; Renny, Ham and Long Tom, if 
  they were alive, must be prisoners in the 
  hands of Kama—or this Man of Peace, 
  whoever he might be. 
  Doc kicked the blocks from under 
  the wheels of the amphibian plane. The 
  streamlined ship rolled toward the water. It 
  slid into the fjord. The pontoons had not 
  been damaged. 
  The bronze man swung to one 
  wing as the rushing tide caught the plane. 
  The pontoons lifted the ship buoyantly. It 
  was swept along the face of the cliff toward 
  the inner end of the fjord. 
  Farther out in the sea, beyond 
  visibility from the fjord, lay another craft. But 
  nothing of its hull was visible. Only three, 
  horned prongs stuck above the surface. 
  These prongs had eyes, but the 
  eyes now were apparently dead and 
  sightless. If Doc Savage had seen these 
  things his action would have been different. 
   
   
  MORE than a mile above the 
  fishing village, the mystery plane ground 
  along the rocks. Doc Savage leaped 
  ashore. He wedged one of the ship’s wings 
  into a cleft of the rocks. 
  The man of bronze was a strange, 
  almost appalling individual. The cured skins 
  taken from the village were his only clothes. 
  He had fitted them about his giant body as 
  best he could. His movements were like 
  those of some grotesque animal. 
  Doc glided toward the mountain 
  trail. He headed upward. His intention was 
  to 
  return 
  to 
  Jostedalsbrae 
  glacier. 
  Somewhere beyond the ice stairs he hoped 
  to pick up the trail of some of his missing 
  men. 
  Still the northern lights afforded the 
  only illumination. Doc arrived at the first 
  finger of the glacier. He floundered over the 
  surface covered with mixed dust and snow. 
  
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  55 
  Suddenly the bronze man halted. 
  There was no sound that any normal man 
  might have heard. But the keen wind 
  whipping down from the Jostedalsbrae 
  brought something to Doc’s sharp olfactory 
  sense. 
  This was a human smell. And the 
  odor of tanned hide. It was so faint as to 
  have been missed by other than the noses 
  of the plateau wolves or the deer of the 
  mountains. 
  Doc flattened himself. He became 
  a part of the dust-covered ice. But he had 
  not been quick enough. 
  A blue flame sliced from the edge 
  of a glacial crack not far away. The 
  explosion of a rifle followed. Dusty snow 
  slapped into Doc’s face. The rifle cracked 
  again. The second bullet skipped about the 
  same distance away. 
  Doc carried no device that could 
  have reached the gunner. He waited for the 
  third shot. 
  A voice spoke in Norwegian. 
  “You will stay where you are until I 
  see whether you are a friend or an enemy!” 
  it commanded. “I will not kill you unless you 
  resist!” 
  Doc Savage replied quietly. 
  “I 
  had 
  hoped 
  to 
  find 
  you 
  somewhere on the glacier, Knut Aage. You 
  were wise to give such warning. I believe 
  we have a common purpose.” 
  “It is you, Doc Savage!” exclaimed 
  Knut Aage in perfect English. “It was to 
  seek you I ascended the Jostedalsbrae. I 
  found evidence which made me believe 
  your party had been wiped out. You must 
  be the amazing man Hjalmar Landson 
  reported.” 
   
   
  KNUT AAGE came closer. His face 
  was still as white as that of a death’s-head. 
  His skin had the coldness of marble. 
  Doc was sure Knut Aage had been 
  made a victim of the icy blood. 
  “I fear I have lost one of my men, 
  the chemist called Monk,” said Doc 
  Savage. “My other companions may be 
  prisoners of one of these conflicting forces 
  of the glacier. Perhaps you would know 
  something of what is behind all of this, Knut 
  Aage?” 
  “I know much, Doc Savage, but not 
  enough,” said Knut Aage. “It is only enough 
  to know that I shall sacrifice my life if 
  necessary to destroy the devil they call a 
  Man of Peace. He is the real satan of the 
  ice caverns. You say, Doc Savage, you 
  have lost the man known as Monk?” 
  “Unless I am mistaken, Monk and a 
  girl who calls herself Lora Krants have 
  perished at the bottom of the fjord beside 
  the fishing village,” stated Doc. 
   
   
  IN the meantime, the glass fish was 
  sinking toward the bottom of the mountain-
  walled fjord. The face of the red-headed girl 
  was white as death. But now that the end 
  seemed to be near, her red lips were 
  tightened in courage. 
  Monk was attempting to get a 
  proper mixture of chemicals in the gas-
  making retort. He found three powders. 
  They produced a blue flame. But the 
  element needed seemed to be missing. 
  “Now that it seems as if we are to 
  die together, Monk, you might be a little 
  more pleasant,” suggested the red-headed 
  girl. “I think you and all of Doc Savage’s 
  men are swell! My own mission in this 
  country was to save you from disaster.” 
  Monk only grunted. He shut off the 
  compressed air. The glass fish had been 
  moving against the flood tide. Monk had 
  decided to save what power he had. 
  He stared bleakly at the gas-
  making retort. He wished for his portable 
  laboratory. The suck of the tide started 
  whirling the glass fish over and over. Its 
  spinning motion seemed to be boring 
  toward the bottom. 
  Monk 
  again 
  turned 
  on 
  the 
  compressed air. The glass fish nosed into 
  the flood tide. But it had no buoyancy and 
  would not ascend. Monk had a tight feeling 
  across his throat. 
  The 
  girl’s 
  attractive 
  face 
  was 
  suddenly buried in her hands. She had 
  been nodding sleepily. 
  Monk guessed the reason. Their 
  oxygen supply was running low. He turned 
  on the last of the small tanks. There was no 
  hissing. 
  Monk rolled over, facing the girl. 
  “Dang it!” he managed. “I ain’t so 
  mad at you! I guess maybe you have your 
  reasons.” 
  “You are a funny, ugly, kind-
  hearted man,” whispered Lora Krants. “It 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  56 
  hurts to breathe, to talk, Monk. I guess 
  this—is—about the end—” 
  Monk’s 
  possible 
  reply 
  was 
  snatched away. The glowing blue glass fish 
  struck some obstruction. In spite of its 
  compressed air power, the cylinder was 
  hurled over and back into the tide. 
  The glass fish lifted and tilted. Its 
  blue radiance illuminated the water for 
  several yards on the outside. 
  “Howlin’ calamities!” gasped Monk. 
  “A whole flock of big fish have grabbed us! 
  Next thing we’ll be swallowed like Jonah by 
  the whale! Wouldja look at that!” 
  “Good heavens!” exclaimed Lora 
  Krants. “We’re trapped at the bottom of the 
  fjord!” 
  It seemed both statements were 
  correct. Giant codfish with eyes sticking out 
  like huge knobs pressed against the 
  transparent cylinder. Silvery salmon flashed 
  among them. 
  The glass fish was being swept 
  along. 
  “Oh, I believe we’re going up!” 
  exclaimed 
  Lora 
  Krants. 
  “Monk, 
  we’re 
  caught in one of those great fish seines! I’ll 
  bet Doc Savage had found a way to save 
  us!” 
  “Doc’s a lot of things, but he ain’t 
  any fisherman,” asserted Monk. “An’ he 
  wasn’t carryin’ any fishin’ seine around with 
  him. It’s them heathen have got us again!” 
  The glass cylinder was rising 
  rapidly toward the surface of the fjord. 
   
   
  ON the two fishing boats the 
  fishermen were gabbing excitedly. The 
  schooners had been dragging their giant 
  seine into the fjord on the flood tide. 
  Fishermen jabbered. They had 
  seen the strange, glowing monster strike 
  the net. Winches began to grind. Cables 
  were pulling the great seine toward the 
  surface. 
  These men on the boats had not 
  been in the village during the presence of 
  the glass cylinder with Doc’s men. They 
  were seeing the weird blue glow for the first 
  time. 
  They could see through the glass 
  sides. Monk and the girl were visible. They 
  were motionless. Apparently they were 
  corpses in a lighted glass coffin. 
  Still, the winches turned. 
  Like the flicking of a switch, eerie 
  daylight 
  flooded 
  the 
  fjord 
  under 
  the 
  mountains. The grinding winches stopped 
  abruptly. The engines of the fishing 
  schooners crackled and ceased turning the 
  propellers. 
  With fishermen falling on their 
  knees, the fishing boats were swept along 
  by the power of the tide alone. The big 
  seine sagged, pulled the boats slowly 
  together. 
  The glowing glass fish again was 
  sinking. 
  Lapp fishermen flung themselves 
  on their faces. They were awed to 
  speechlessness. 
  Three prongs were sweeping into 
  the fjord at incredible speed. Their mirrored 
  eyes were absorbing power from the 
  uncanny light. 
  Without 
  pausing, 
  the 
  strange 
  undersea craft ripped into the great seine. 
  The deep net was torn loose from its 
  cables. The folds of tarred cords wrapped 
  around the long hull of the pronged 
  submarine. 
   
   
  Chapter XXII 
  HORNS OFF THE DEVIL 
   
  ONLY a few times had Doc Savage 
  ever given up any of his men as lost. But if 
  he had not abandoned all hope for Monk, 
  the bronze man was unusually saddened. 
  He could see that blue glowing fish 
  of glass sinking deeper into half a mile of 
  icy sea. 
  “I have come upon things which the 
  most credulous would refuse to believe,” 
  stated Knut Aage. “My own condition was a 
  part of it. After being trapped in the ice 
  caverns under the Jostedalsbrae, I was 
  made unconscious. You did not have time 
  to observe the scar at the back of my 
  neck?” 
  “I have now seen it,” stated Doc. 
  “The mysterious nerves governing bodily 
  temperature and the heart pulse have been 
  changed by surgical skill.” 
  “I have not known what it was,” 
  said Knut Aage. “I seemed to go into a 
  strange trance. Since then, I have no 
  sensation of heat or cold. I can think how I 
  
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  57 
  want to move, but I can do it only with great 
  caution. All of my muscles are sluggish.” 
  “You saw others in the ice caverns 
  perhaps?” inquired Doc. 
  “I saw several who were prisoners, 
  and 
  apparently 
  two 
  crowds 
  of 
  men 
  opposing each other,” stated Knut Aage. 
  “There are those of my own race. Some are 
  Orientals who take commands from two 
  persons. One is this Kama who was in the 
  stavekirker. I do not know the other.” 
  “And the prisoners?” suggested 
  Doc. “Was there one who seemed like a 
  skeleton?” 
  “I recall him,” said Knut Aage. “A 
  man with a scholarly face, but very tall and 
  thin. He was with an Englishman and four 
  others.” 
  “Johnny,” said Doc. “He’s William 
  Harper Littlejohn. He is one of a war 
  commission of six that had disappeared.” 
  Knut Aage frowned deeply. 
  “That is very bad,” he said. “For 
  these six are chained on a rock shelf in the 
  cavern known as the Place of the Glacial 
  Death. Once each year, at this season, the 
  old Jostedalsbrae pushes a wall of ice 
  through the cavern. This extends over a 
  deep underground fjord.” 
  “You mean this finger of the glacier 
  fills the cavern?” 
  “Exactly that,” said Knut Aage. 
  “Thousands of tons of ice scour that wall 
  where the prisoners are chained. It comes 
  each year.” 
  “But what could be the purpose of 
  exterminating 
  the 
  men 
  of 
  the 
  war 
  commission?” 
  “I learned little of that before I was 
  trapped,” said Knut Aage. “It concerns this 
  one they call the Man of Peace. His brain 
  alone holds knowledge of the power of this 
  artificial daylight. Another is seeking the full 
  knowledge. I understand the Man of Peace 
  does not desire to kill needlessly. But he 
  has been told all prisoners will be crushed 
  to death a slow inch at a time by the glacial 
  push if he does not reveal all of his secret.” 
  “But your escape was unusual, 
  Knut Aage.” 
  “I think I was set afloat and brought 
  back to the fishing village as a final stroke 
  of terror to drive all of the fishermen from 
  this vicinity,” stated Knut Aage. 
  “I fear,” stated Doc, “that others of 
  my men are now there. I shall not ask you 
  to guide me to these caverns, but I must go 
  there.” 
  A grim smile crossed Knut Aage’s 
  white face. 
  “You do not have to ask, Doc 
  Savage,” he said. “You cannot prevent my 
  accompanying you. Hjalmar Landson, who 
  informed me you would come, was my 
  brother in the blood. His death must be 
  avenged. I have received a mysterious 
  communication, Doc Savage. It informs me 
  this woman of the flaming hair who was 
  with you in the slavekirker was Hjalmar 
  Landson’s murderess.” 
  “Others have been convinced of 
  that same thing,” advised Doc. “But you will 
  do well to investigate thoroughly before you 
  act.” 
  “I never act upon an unproved 
  report or even my own unverified opinion, 
  Doc Savage.” 
  “I had judged you that way—” 
   
   
  THE two men were at the edge of 
  the great glacier. They were making their 
  way slowly back toward the fishing village. 
  Knut 
  Aage 
  was 
  impeded 
  by 
  the 
  sluggishness of his muscles. 
  The uncanny daylight flooded the 
  mountains. 
  “If there were only some way we 
  might enter the caverns without being 
  observed,” Knut Aage had just suggested. 
  Doc’s fantastic trilling filled the icy 
  air. 
  “If the light of the peace power will 
  persist for only a few hours, there may be a 
  way,” he stated. “Come with me, Knut 
  Aage. That plane in which Kama arrived 
  must now be equipped with power.” 
  The mystery plane still was wedged 
  in the cleft of the rock. Knut Aage watched 
  the play of Doc Savage’s corded bronze 
  arms. The facile fingers were examining the 
  parts of the strange motor connection. 
  “I believe we now shall have the 
  means we seek,” stated Doc. 
  The plane’s two propellers were 
  whispering, turning. There was no sound of 
  an exploding motor. Only the low humming 
  of powerful electrical motors. The selenium 
  cells 
  apparently 
  were 
  releasing 
  or 
  transmitting the amazing energy of the 
  daylight. 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  58 
  Doc Savage swung the plane onto 
  the sweeping tide of the fjord. He turned the 
  streamlined fuselage with its nose to the 
  wind of the mountains. 
  The ship shot toward the open sea. 
  Knut Aage grasped Doc’s arm. 
  “Look below!” he shouted. “It’s the 
  undersea devil my men have feared! It’s 
  one of the craft of the Man of Peace! Those 
  horned prongs are its only power!” 
  “If the prongs were removed, it 
  would not sink,” stated Doc. 
  “No, but it would be powerless,” 
  stated Knut Aage. 
  “That would be one group less of 
  the enemy to combat,” said the man of 
  bronze. 
   
   
  THE 
  strangely 
  powered 
  plane 
  dived with shrieking wings. It skimmed the 
  fjord. Its pontoons clipped into the speeding 
  prongs. 
  Doc Savage and Knut Aage had 
  only a flashing glimpse of what might have 
  been a writhing, distorted monster just 
  under the surface of the green water. 
  Whatever its motive power, the 
  propellers of the mystic submarine had 
  ceased to beat. The impelling force of the 
  white daylight had been severed. The craft 
  was perhaps sixty or seventy feet in length. 
  Doc’s trained senses took in more 
  details than Knut Aage. With its remarkable 
  horns clipped, the vessel was not rising to 
  the surface. 
  The devil’s own blast of wind 
  howled and shrieked in the canyon of the 
  fjord. 
  “We cannot reverse here,” stated 
  Doc. “We will swing outside the walls and 
  return.” 
  “That flood tide has tremendous 
  force,” said Knut Aage. “Likely the vessel 
  will be dashed upon the rocks.” 
  “I had thought of that,” said Doc. 
  “We will attempt to get back in time to 
  rescue the crew from drowning.” 
  The screaming wind on the plane’s 
  tail projected it over the sea of the wide 
  channel outside the cliffs. 
  Two 
  black 
  fishing 
  schooners 
  leaped into view. Their crews were like 
  struggling knots of puppets. They were 
  hauling in the tangled wreckage of a great 
  seine. 
  “You see, Doc Savage, the men of 
  that submarine are ruthless enough,” 
  pointed Knut Aage. “They have torn away a 
  seine which was the result of a year of 
  effort.” 
  The bite of the plane’s props was 
  tremendous, but not enough to give it 
  speed. That mountain wind was a blast of 
  more than gale intensity. Doc glided to the 
  fjord. He permitted the flood tide to catch 
  the pontoons. 
  “They’ll not have a chance if the 
  submarine strikes,” said Knut Aage. “It will 
  sink immediately.” 
  But the dehorned monster of the 
  sea had not sunk. It was a mile or more 
  from the plane when it was shot into a 
  slanting scar of the cliff. This break led into 
  the trail mounting to the Jostedalsbrae 
  glacier. 
  What served as a conning tower 
  must have opened. The half dozen figures 
  emerging were mere specks at that dis-
  tance. They were in flight toward the great 
  glacier. 
  “We could ascend and trap them 
  easily,” suggested Knut Aage. “They will be 
  many hours making their way back to the 
  ice caverns over the Jostedalsbrae.” 
  “Time is more valuable for other 
  purposes,” stated Doc. “The submarine 
  appears to be undamaged. The few hours 
  they require to reach the ice caverns of 
  Satan’s Gateway must be employed.” 
  “But what can be done with the 
  helpless vessel?” said Knut Aage. 
  “That remains to be determined,” 
  advised Doc. 
   
   
  THE 
  pointed 
  snout 
  of 
  the 
  submarine rested easily in the rocks. The 
  craft might have been a stranded aluminum 
  fish. Four jagged sprouts showed where the 
  plane’s pontoons had sheered off the 
  prongs. 
  Doc whipped from the plane into 
  the door of the conning tower. Knut Aage 
  followed more slowly. When the Norwegian 
  got inside, the amazing bronze man already 
  had a wrench in his hand. 
  Multiple coils of pipe lined the sides 
  of the forward chamber. Below them were 
  geared motors. The boxing of a propeller 
  shaft extended through the lower floor of 
  the sub. 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx HAUNTED OCEAN xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  59 
  “This is one of the most intricate 
  vessels I have ever seen,” stated Doc. “It 
  has many principles that will some day be 
  applied to all undersea boats. Beside the 
  daylight power, there are auxiliary engines 
  for motive force when the prongs would be 
  submerged.” 
  “And they were trapped by the rush 
  of the tide before they could get them in 
  operation,” stated Knut Aage. 
  “Exactly,” agreed Doc. “Perhaps 
  the crew feared our return. They would 
  have expected to be attacked with bombs 
  before they could get out of the fjord.” 
  Doc was disconnecting the broken 
  prongs inside the submarine. Knut Aage 
  explored 
  through 
  several 
  bulkheaded 
  compartments. 
  Doc Savage had been working with 
  great haste. He started outside toward the 
  moored plane. His purpose had not been 
  clear to Knut Aage. 
  Knut Aage was near the middle of 
  the sub. Doc heard him call out excitedly. 
  “Doc Savage! Here’s something!” 
  The man of bronze whipped back 
  into the craft. A central compartment looked 
  as if it might have been a torpedo room. But 
  there were no torpedoes. Iron-clamped 
  doors showed where there must be 
  openings for leaving and entering when 
  submerged. 
  In the middle of this room lay the 
  glass fish. It’s tubes still glowed with blue 
  phosphorescence. The sliding door was 
  open. Doc breathed with relief. 
  “They have got Monk and Lora 
  Krants,” he stated. “Strands of the big fish 
  seine are hanging onto the hull. It must 
  have caught the cylinder as it was sinking.” 
   
   
  FROM what appeared to be an 
  outer air chamber came a thudding knock. 
  It was like a man’s head being butted 
  against a wall. It was a head, Monk’s. 
  Doc snapped off the clamps and 
  the figure of the apelike chemist rolled out. 
  Monk had not been bound. He scrambled 
  to his feet. His hairy throat heaved as he 
  pulled in fresh air. 
  “A couple more minutes and I’d 
  been 
  through 
  breathing,” 
  gasped 
  the 
  chemist. “Them dag-goned devils meant to 
  suffocate me! And that redhead is nothing 
  but a sneaky double-crosser! Doc, them 
  men took to her like she was a queen or 
  something. I told you she was crooked.” 
  “What 
  happened?” 
  said 
  Doc 
  quietly. 
  “The glass fish got caught in a 
  seine with a lot of other fish,” said Monk. 
  “We were dragged up and then we went 
  down. The oxygen tanks were empty. After 
  a while, we passed out. And I’d got to kinda 
  believin’ that red-headed dame was on the 
  square.” 
  “An’ then what happens?” squealed 
  Monk. “Next thing we’re being rolled outta 
  the glass fish. Them devils runnin’ this boat 
  act like they think the redhead is a princess. 
  I don’t know what she told them. They were 
  them fellows running around without any 
  clothes.” 
  “You think perhaps they might have 
  identified Lora Krants?” said Doc. 
  “Dang it, Doc, they almost kissed 
  her!” exploded Monk. “Then they got off in a 
  corner and talked among themselves. I 
  tried to horn in and a couple of ‘em grabbed 
  me. The redhead must have told them what 
  to do. So they crammed me into that hole in 
  the wall.” 
  “It does seem peculiar,” admitted 
  Doc. “But we have work to do. Monk, 
  scramble around and pipe a new hook-over 
  from their air-chamber pumps. I believe we 
  can charge our compressed air tanks. You 
  will find several oxygen tanks aboard. 
  Substitute those for the empties in the 
  cylinder.” 
  Doc went outside. Knut Aage 
  watched him in amazement. The bronze 
  man had disconnected the power prongs 
  from the plane. He brought them into the 
  submarine. 
  “I never would have thought of 
  that,” said Knut Aage. 
  “They have been made standard 
  size,” said Doc. “Their seating is the same 
  on both sets of light cells. We will soon 
  have the power to reach Satan’s Gateway, 
  if the daylight is kept on.” 
  If haggard prisoners in the Place of 
  the Glacial Death could have known of 
  Doc’s intention, their spirits might not have 
  been so low. 
   
   
   
   
   
  
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  60 
  Chapter XXIII 
  THE CRUSHING DEATH 
   
  SIR 
  ARTHUR 
  WESTCOTT’S 
  mustache had become scraggly. The 
  usually imperturbable Englishman gnawed 
  at its straggling ends. 
  “By jove!” he exclaimed. “When 
  they find out what these bally blighters have 
  been up to, there probably will be a war! 
  Nobody can kick one of His Majesty’s 
  subjects around like this!” 
  The usually dignified Englishman 
  had lost all of his calmness. His wrists were 
  locked in manacles. These were fastened 
  to short iron chains stapled into a rock wall. 
  “Indubitably 
  an 
  international 
  complication will eventuate,” drawled the 
  voice of the skeletonlike figure chained 
  beside Sir Arthur. “It is extremely doubtful, 
  however, if it will provide any insuperable 
  obstacle to the irresistible pressure of 
  glacial erosion. While they are summoning 
  conferences, we will have become particles 
  of infinitesimal indifference to diplomatic 
  processes.” 
  The four other members of the 
  international war commission made no 
  comment. Their English had its limitations. 
  If Johnny had said, “Before Great 
  Britain can start a war, we will be ground to 
  bits by that ice wall,” they would have 
  understood. 
  Johnny was a woeful object. The 
  six temporary statesmen of the great nation 
  were a haggard lot. 
  This speech took place at about the 
  time Doc Savage was getting the conning 
  tower of the light-powered submarine 
  closed. Johnny’s faith in the man of bronze 
  was now expressed. He reverted to short 
  words. 
  “My hope lies in Doc Savage,” he 
  said. “Something tells me Doc isn’t far 
  away.” 
  The other members of the war 
  commission were hunched in a strained 
  position on a narrow shelf. Back of them 
  the wall oozed cold moisture. Overhead a 
  smooth, vaulted roof bore the scored marks 
  of eroding ice. 
  Where their chains were attached 
  to the wall, there were gouged grooves. 
  Even the narrow shelf on which they were 
  situated was a scar left in the hard, black 
  rock by thousands of tons of grinding ice. 
  “By jove, old fellow!” spouted Sir 
  Arthur. “You have a great eye! The bally 
  wall seems to be slipping!” 
   
   
  THE wall was a solid, towering face 
  of a creeping finger of the great glacier. It 
  was pushing through a cleft cut in past 
  centuries. It was like the glittering head of a 
  slowly moving piston. This filled all of the 
  cavern at one end. 
  In the other direction a series of 
  passages showed. All of the inner caverns 
  had been continuously lighted by the 
  uncanny daylight power. Some fifty feet 
  below the narrow shelf was clear, deep 
  water. 
  Johnny and the others had been 
  brought here in one of the pronged 
  undersea boats. This submarine passed 
  back and forth often. Johnny had judged 
  there 
  were 
  at 
  least 
  three 
  of 
  these 
  submarines. One had only three prongs, 
  having been partly dehorned by a British 
  gun. 
  “That ice is moving now at the rate 
  of about a foot an hour,” stated Johnny. 
  “When it happens it won’t be over with 
  quickly.” 
  This was an unpleasant thought. 
  The gleaming ice completely filled 
  the space from side to side. 
   
   
  FOUR prongs swam into the Fjord. 
  They had come from the inner caverns. As 
  nearly as Johnny could judge, the strange 
  daylight emanated from some source 
  farther under the mountain. The geologist 
  could occasionally catch the low, vibrant 
  humming of machinery. 
  The submarine emerged close to 
  the shelf. The conning tower opened. Half a 
  dozen dark-skinned men came out. They 
  were pushing prisoners ahead of them. 
  “Renny!” shouted Johnny. “Long 
  Tom! Ham! Sir Arthur, I told you Doc 
  Savage would be along!” 
  With these three of Doc’s men were 
  Larrone, and Barton, the heavy-browed 
  brother of Lora Krants. They were shoved 
  to the narrow shelf. Skin thongs were 
  exchanged for the iron manacles chained to 
  the wall. 
  
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  61 
  “Holy 
  cow!” 
  exploded 
  Renny. 
  “How’d you come here, Johnny?” 
  “Same way you did, I imagine,” 
  replied Johnny. “Where’s Doc?” 
  There was a minute of silence. 
  None of the new arrivals spoke. 
  “You 
  don’t 
  mean 
  something’s 
  happened to Doc?” demanded Johnny. 
  Then 
  Renny 
  exploded 
  irately, 
  “Well, if anything did, it’s that red-headed 
  dame again! The last we saw of Doc, he 
  was trying to save her from a crowd of 
  naked guys who didn’t have any blood! I 
  saw Doc and Monk go down under a whole 
  bunch, and then we were grabbed!” 
  Renny always took a gloomy view 
  of things. Ham was more cheerful. 
  “And by this time, I’ll bet whoever 
  landed on Doc is wishing he hadn’t,” said 
  the lawyer. “We were brought a long way to 
  get in here and Doc might be any place by 
  this time.” 
  “By jove!” exclaimed Sir Arthur. “I 
  was of the opinion your Doc Savage could 
  not cope with these blighters!” 
  “Whoever you are then,” observed 
  Ham, scathingly, “your opinions aren’t 
  worth ten cents a dozen! You don’t know 
  Doc Savage.” 
  Kama’s dark-skinned men returned 
  to the pronged submarine. The strange 
  craft submerged. The prongs passed 
  directly under the arching wall of the glacial 
  crusher. 
  “If only that ice would let go right 
  now, it would suit me fine,” said Johnny. 
  “Brothers, it looks like we’re going to 
  discover what it would be like to go through 
  a slow-motion meat grinder.” 
   
   
  THE movement of the ice wall was 
  slow, but its progress was certain. Already 
  a section of the narrow shelf on which they 
  were chained was being ground to atoms. 
  The gleaming, blue wall was like a 
  great knife pushed by a mountain. Sir 
  Arthur Westcott was closest to the creeping 
  death. Next to him was Johnny. Beyond 
  were the others. 
  The usually sartorially perfect Ham 
  was 
  a 
  sad-looking 
  human. 
  But 
  he 
  maintained a light tone. 
  “Anyway, I’d never figured when 
  my time came they’d have to move a whole 
  mountain,” he commented. “Maybe we’ll get 
  a break, though. One gang headed by this 
  fellow Kama, from San Tao, is fighting that 
  Norwegian crowd. They had one jam on the 
  glacier. If they get together down here, it 
  might help.” 
  Sir Arthur Westcott gnawed at his 
  mustache. The creeping wall was barely six 
  feet away. The solid wall trembled. A part of 
  the narrow shelf split off. It left scarcely two 
  feet to where Sir Arthur was huddled. 
  “I’m jolly well glad,” remarked the 
  Englishman, “I’ll be the first to go.” 
  He didn’t look jolly well glad. 
  Johnny scowled at him. 
  The others were getting the picture. 
  They would be crushed slowly. One by one 
  they would go. First the ice would touch. 
  Then its weight would begin pushing.  
  The prisoner would strain away in 
  his manacles. The chains would hold him 
  against the ice. His body would be pressed 
  the fraction of an inch at a time between the 
  wall and the glacier. 
  “But have you discovered, Johnny, 
  what the purpose of all this might be?” said 
  Ham. “If either of these crowds wants us 
  out of the way, it would have been much 
  simpler to have put us out quick. Or do you 
  suppose we are being used in some way to 
  bring pressure upon Doc to lay off?” 
  “It might be that,” stated Johnny. 
  “We have learned enough to know there is 
  some strange power of light. In some 
  manner, the war commission was about to 
  interfere. But I don’t understand this slow-
  torture angle.” 
   
   
  IF the chained prisoners could 
  have been in a mammoth inner cavern, 
  they might have understood the purpose of 
  the horrible, creeping death by the glacier 
  ice. This apparently did not concern any 
  pressure to be brought upon Doc Savage. 
  The greatest cavern of all was at 
  the end of a connected series. The 
  passages leading inward were partly of 
  clear blue ice and partly of black rock. 
  In the midst of this room sat a man 
  who when younger must have been a 
  magnificent figure. His thick hair, now 
  snowily white, was in shaggy confusion 
  around a rugged, wrinkled face. Before him 
  on a wall was a panel containing a number 
  of spread charts. 
  
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  62 
  The man was following lines on 
  these charts with a slender steel pointer. As 
  the pointer moved, his lips murmured. 
  “Each man to his own country,” he 
  was saying. “Press of population brings 
  wars. Conquest must cease. Each nation 
  must develop and exist by its own 
  resources within its own boundaries.” 
  The steel pointer swung. 
  “Conquest, always conquest!” the 
  man murmured. “I have but to move one 
  finger and it will cease. In this way only, can 
  war be ended. Only my own craft and my 
  own air force shall have the secret of 
  moving by the light of peace.” 
  In towering columns of some 
  transparent substance varicolored lights 
  spit and crackled. Many giant tubes 
  converged on conductors which seemed to 
  project through the roof into outside space. 
  The 
  white-haired 
  giant 
  spoke 
  louder. While his sunken eyes held a 
  fanatical gleam, his voice was gentle, 
  kindly. 
  “Some may die, but it is best, for I 
  shall save the world from wholesale 
  murder. And all of this shall be for peace. 
  Peace for the whole world!” 
   
   
  ANOTHER voice spoke with a high, 
  sarcastic inflection. The owner of this voice 
  was invisible. Apparently he was standing 
  somewhere outside the mammoth room of 
  the peace power. Perhaps he was speaking 
  into a conductor. 
  Around this second speaker other 
  men 
  must 
  have 
  been 
  assembled. 
  Movement of bodies, muttered words could 
  be detected. 
  “I have come for an answer,” spoke 
  this voice. “Your ideas of peace for the 
  world are all a very fine theory. But we will 
  not go on until you have imparted full 
  knowledge 
  of 
  both 
  the 
  positive 
  and 
  negative light rays.” 
  The white-haired giant laughed 
  softly to himself. 
  “What I have given a lifetime to 
  learn is only for myself to know,” he replied. 
  “I am not deceived. You already have 
  bartered to sell this power. But none may 
  purchase that which you do not possess. 
  Without the key, you are helpless.” 
  The other voice laughed mockingly. 
  “The 
  time 
  has 
  come 
  for 
  a 
  showdown, Man of Peace,” spoke the 
  voice. “I have waited until now. I will wait no 
  longer. The precious war commission which 
  you intended to instruct has been put in the 
  Place of the Glacial Death. Within another 
  few hours, the representatives of the 
  greatest nations will be crushed slowly to 
  pulp!” 
  The white-haired giant jerked to his 
  feet. His big hands trembled. There was 
  now anger in his voice. 
  “You have gone too far!” he rapped 
  out. “None is to die, as you were instructed! 
  You cannot compel me to do your bidding! I 
  will summon my men!” 
  “You may summon them in vain,” 
  mocked the other voice. “Do you imagine I 
  have been so foolish as not to prepare? 
  Look around you. Then, if you think it is 
  wise, summon your men.” 
   
   
  THE sunken eyes of the white-
  haired giant turned slowly.  
  In 
  the 
  several 
  doors 
  of 
  the 
  mammoth room stood armed figures. All of 
  these men were short and dark-skinned. 
  “But you cannot do this! One of our 
  purposes was preservation of the white 
  race—” 
  The white-haired giant was raging 
  now. 
  “Calm 
  yourself,” 
  mocked 
  the 
  outside voice. “It is already done. We have 
  possession of one of the subs. Your men 
  without blood have another. The third will 
  return presently. It will be seized as it 
  enters Satan’s Gateway. We shall take 
  possession of all the machinery. If you 
  desire this war commission to survive, you 
  will impart complete information.” 
  “You condemn these innocent men 
  to death for your own petty purpose?” 
  shouted the white-haired giant. 
  “Petty purpose hardly describes it,” 
  said the voice. “One Oriental province 
  alone has offered one hundred millions. 
  There are twelve other foreign bidders. The 
  power will bring five hundred millions before 
  we have finished.” 
  There was the clicking as if a 
  switch had been pulled. In front of the 
  white-haired giant a dark panel glowed with 
  purple light. Living figures leaped into the 
  square. 
  
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  63 
  “You can see for yourself,” rasped 
  the voice. “Not only are some there of the 
  war commission, but there are others. Once 
  you had a very great friend they call Doc 
  Savage. Perhaps you would like to see four 
  of his men crushed by the Glacial Death? 
  And Doc Savage himself already has died.” 
  The big hands of the white-haired 
  giant moved helplessly, as if he would push 
  away the vision in the glass. The television 
  showed the narrow shelf of the Place of the 
  Glacial Death. 
  The blue wall of ice was slivering. 
  Pieces were falling. Tons of crushing force 
  were sliding along the shelf. Stone was 
  being 
  reduced 
  to 
  pulpy 
  powder. 
  A 
  mustached figure—Sir Arthur Westcott, of 
  Great Britain—was pulling at chains holding 
  him to iron pegs in the wall above the shelf. 
  The face of the living glacier was 
  hardly more than a foot from the Britisher’s 
  writhing body. The faces of the other 
  prisoners were mirrors of stark horror. 
  The mocking voice said, “One by 
  one, the others will see what it is like for 
  living flesh and bone to be pinched, ground 
  slowly to bloody nothing. Each one will die 
  slowly. He will fight his chains, but before 
  those iron pegs could be torn out, his body 
  will be in fragments. Is it not a nice 
  picture?” 
  “You arch-fiend of hell!” shouted 
  the white-haired giant. “I shall destroy all—I 
  shall—” 
   
   
  THE deeply sunken eyes were 
  staring at the shelf of horror in the 
  television. But those orbs were fixed more 
  upon one figure than any other. It was the 
  dark-browed brother of Lora Krants. Into 
  the sunken eyes crept slow, desperate 
  anguish. It was succeeded by cunning. 
  One hand of the white-haired giant 
  moved. 
  “Do not do that!” rapped out a 
  closer voice. “If you touch anything, you will 
  die instantly! We shall at least have the 
  power as it is! No doubt, we can discover 
  the full knowledge we seek!” 
  Rifles pointed at the white-haired 
  giant. This new speaker was Kama, of San 
  Tao. His teeth flashed in a cheerful smile. 
  The white-haired giant refrained 
  from touching the levers. He must have 
  realized that his own death would not save 
  those in the glacial chamber. 
  But the giant was sliding one foot 
  slowly forward. It touched a contact. The 
  Man of Peace undoubtedly had prepared 
  for just such an emergency. At the same 
  time, he bowed his head as if resigned. 
  “What do you hope to gain by 
  assisting a traitor?” he said to Kama. “He 
  will sell to the highest bidder, if he learns all 
  he must know.” 
  “Perhaps I shall be the highest 
  bidder,” suggested Kama with a smile. “If 
  not, then the amount shall be great enough 
  to make the sharing of it worth while.” 
  The 
  white-haired 
  giant 
  had 
  apparently touched nothing. But from some 
  distance underground came a humming 
  throb of power. 
  The voice outside spoke sharply. 
  “Look out, Kama! We have been 
  tricked! Have your men seize him! He has 
  summoned the other submarine!” 
  The white-haired Man of Peace 
  laughed loudly, suddenly, horribly. His great 
  figure plunged forward. His hands were 
  thrust toward the levers. Kama’s nearest 
  men moved with the quickness of striking 
  cobras. 
   
   
  IN the Place of the Glacial Death, 
  Sir Arthur Westcott had ceased speaking. 
  Though the temperature was far below 
  freezing, the sweat was popping on his 
  reddened, desperate face. Liquid ran from 
  the corners of his mouth, dripping from the 
  ends of his gnawed mustache. 
  The British statesman had virtually 
  ceased to “carry on.” His teeth had chewed 
  his lower lip to red fragments. Now he could 
  have moved his head and touched the face 
  of the living glacier. 
  The crushing, slow death was only 
  inches away. 
  Sir Arthur Westcott had perhaps 
  half an hour, a little more or a little less, 
  before his body would begin to flatten, to 
  dissolve, between the pinch of the glacier 
  and black rock. 
  “Look!” grated Ham. “Maybe, after 
  all, we’ll get a break!” 
   
   
   
   
  
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  64 
  Chapter XXIV 
  BATTLE OF THE MONSTERS 
   
  INTO the blue water below the 
  narrow shelf moved two sets of objects. 
  Each of these consisted of four prongs. 
  They entered from opposite ends of the 
  glacial cavern. They were moving at high 
  speed. 
  “Holy 
  cow!” 
  boomed 
  Renny. 
  “They’re going to smash each other!” 
  But the commanders of the peace 
  power submarines were too skillful to risk 
  collision. 
  Like 
  horns 
  of 
  submerged 
  monsters, the prongs ceased moving. 
  Around the silvery crafts just under the 
  surface the water boiled. 
  “They’re coming up!” said Long 
  Tom. “Now what do you suppose we’re in 
  for?” 
  The sleek, shining bodies rolled to 
  the surface together. As they emerged, two 
  conning towers opened noiselessly. Men 
  poured onto the backs of the boats from 
  these. 
  All those who appeared carried 
  rifles. The guns started snapping almost 
  before members of the crews had regained 
  their balance. 
  Leaden slugs buzzed like bees in 
  the echoing caverns. The slight explosions 
  were sufficient to cause sharp, crackling 
  reports from the living face of the glacier. 
  “Good grief!” rapped Ham. “They’re 
  bumping each other off! It is a break!” 
  “It might be well to point out just 
  where we will benefit,” said Johnny. 
  “Suppose they keep that up? When they’ve 
  finished, then where will we be?” 
  His questions were logical. On the 
  rounded back of one horned sub were the 
  nearly naked figures of giant Norwegians. 
  These 
  undoubtedly 
  were 
  the 
  loyal 
  adherents of the white-haired one who 
  called himself the Man of Peace. 
  On the other craft were the dark-
  skinned Orientals. Owing to the limited 
  movement from the conning towers, they 
  were for the moment evenly matched. 
  A huge Norwegian received a bullet 
  in his hairy breast. Without a sound, he 
  pitched into the underground current. His 
  body rolled over. It disappeared. 
  The following Norwegian pierced 
  the skull of the Oriental who had killed the 
  first man. The little Oriental splashed into 
  the water. A red blotch stained the spot 
  where he disappeared. 
  The Norwegian who killed him was 
  next to go. 
  Four men had been killed on each 
  sub before a command was given. The 
  Orientals faded back into the conning 
  tower. 
  “Holy cow!” growled Renny. “I 
  thought those dark-skinned guys had more 
  guts than that! They’re still even and they 
  quit!” 
  “I have an idea that if we have any 
  chance at all, it lies with the naked blond 
  fellows,” said Ham. “But the little dark 
  chaps don’t quit like that for nothing.” 
   
   
  HAM’S 
  opinion 
  was 
  quickly 
  substantiated. 
  With 
  the 
  cessation 
  of 
  shooting, 
  the 
  white 
  bodies 
  of 
  the 
  Norwegians 
  became 
  more 
  numerous. 
  There were more than a score crowding the 
  back of their craft. 
  “That’s idiotic,” surmised the wise 
  Johnny. “I’ll bet the dark guys are playing 
  just for that.” 
  From the conning tower of the 
  Oriental submarine racketed a weapon. But 
  this was no cracking rifle. The high, deadly 
  chatter was like the hammering of a riveting 
  machine. 
  The result was ghastly. 
  Dead men slid from the Norwegian 
  submarine into the underground sea. Some 
  lived long enough to writhe with agony on 
  the sloping deck before they slid off. The 
  men on the narrow shelf stared helplessly 
  at the massacre. 
  The Norwegian deck was swept 
  clear. Only two men lay draped across the 
  rounded surface. The machine gun still 
  hammered at the conning tower. A slow, 
  heavy voice spoke a command. 
  Air hissed in the cavern. The water 
  bubbled. The iron port of the conning tower 
  started to close. One of the men on the 
  deck moved. He got to his feet and lurched 
  forward. Already the tanks of the submarine 
  were filling. 
  The craft was submerging. The 
  wounded Norwegian pitched toward the 
  closing iron port. His head and shoulders 
  were thrust through. 
  
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  65 
  Then he screamed with agony. The 
  closing iron was pinching his bared torso. 
  Excited voices yammered inside the sub. 
  Evidently an effort was made to reverse the 
  submerging operations. 
  The order came too late. 
  “Holy 
  cow!” 
  boomed 
  Renny. 
  “They’re going under with that conning 
  hatch open!” 
  The sleek, horned vessel dipped 
  beneath the surface. Water gurgled past 
  the wounded man wedged in the port of the 
  hatchway. Someone attempted to open the 
  door 
  and 
  release 
  the 
  body. 
  The 
  underground sea poured in with a flood. 
  Oil sprinkled with air bubbles oiled 
  the surface. Into this heads began to pop 
  up. Evidently the Norwegians still in the 
  submarine 
  were 
  making 
  their 
  final 
  desperate fight to live. 
  Already, the silvery craft was 
  beyond the view of the prisoners on the 
  narrow shelf. The water here apparently 
  was of great depths. More than a dozen 
  heads came into view. 
  On the side of the cavern opposite 
  the high, narrow shelf was a broader ledge 
  at nearly the level of the water. The 
  swimming 
  Norwegians 
  made 
  for 
  this 
  refuge. 
  Above them, the Oriental undersea 
  craft swung slowly broadside. The snout of 
  the machine gun poked out. 
  “Good grief!” barked Ham. “The 
  devils couldn’t do that!” 
  But 
  the 
  dark 
  men 
  had 
  no 
  compunction. The machine gun weaved 
  slowly. Fire sliced from the muzzle. 
  Lead pattered along the water. The 
  slugs skipped and danced among the 
  bobbing heads. One by one, the skulls 
  were filled with round blue holes. Some 
  were split open, as more than one bullet 
  found its mark. 
  The bare arms of the Norwegians 
  beat the surface hopelessly. 
  The prisoners groaned in unison. 
  The last bobbing head had been punctured. 
  The last white hand had flashed up, then 
  followed a body to the bottom. 
   
   
  THE 
  uncanny, 
  white 
  daylight 
  continued to flood the interior of the Place 
  of the Glacial Death. The submarine of the 
  Orientals swung on the surface. 
  Kama, of San Tao, stepped forth. 
  His teeth flashed in a cheerful smile. He 
  seemed 
  immensely 
  pleased 
  with 
  the 
  amusement his men had been given. He 
  looked up at the prisoners. He probably had 
  as much feeling for them as he would have 
  had for a similar number of flies pinned on 
  a wall. 
  “There is one among you who can 
  influence the Man of Peace,” said Kama. 
  “We have not been informed who this 
  fortunate individual may be. But the Man of 
  Peace has betrayed himself. If that one of 
  you will make himself known, he will be 
  released and taken to the inner cavern.” 
  Doc’s men stared at each other. Sir 
  Arthur Westcott had ceased fighting his 
  chains. The ice was still moving slowly, 
  inexorably. 
  Suddenly, the living glacier itself 
  gave the Englishman a reprieve for the time 
  being. Perhaps it had been the shooting. A 
  great corner cracked from the ice wall and 
  crashed into the water below. It opened a 
  space of perhaps two feet close to the 
  shelf. 
  At the rate the glacier was moving, 
  that might mean another hour before the 
  first victim would be crushed. 
  The prisoners were saying nothing. 
  They were waiting for one to reply to the 
  Kama. 
  It was the dark-browed brother of 
  Lora Krants who spoke.  
  “Perhaps I am the one you mean,” 
  he said. “I am not saying this to save 
  myself.” 
  “Then you know the Man of 
  Peace?” said Kama. “That, indeed, is most 
  strange.” 
  “I am the one,” repeated Barton 
  Krants. 
  Two of Kama’s men ascended the 
  narrow shelf. The manacles of the youth’s 
  wrists were unlocked. They lowered him to 
  the sloping deck of the sub. 
  “Holy cow!” rasped Renny. “I knew 
  it all the time! An’ that red-headed dame’s 
  another one of them!” 
  But the eyes of the others were 
  snapped 
  away 
  from 
  the 
  dark-browed 
  Barton Krants. 
  The four prongs of another peace 
  power submarine were gliding into the 
  cavern. The four mirrored horns seemed 
  like the head of some stalking beast of 
  
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  66 
  prey. Kama uttered a curse in his own 
  language. 
  Barton Krants was shoved quickly 
  into the conning tower of the Orientals’ 
  submarine. Kama ordered his other men 
  below. The Oriental potentate, if that was 
  what he claimed to be, no longer was 
  smiling. 
  Commands flowed from his lips in 
  the language of San Tao. 
  Johnny, alone of the prisoners, 
  could understand the words. 
  “Prepare to attack, but we must 
  preserve this submarine!” directed Kama. 
  “It would be well to riddle their power 
  projectors with shot! Then they will come to 
  the surface.” 
  The Orientals were bringing their 
  machine gun into position. 
   
   
  THE four prongs of the new 
  submarine slackened their speed. The craft 
  had been heading directly for the glacial 
  finger where it extended into the cave. 
  There was considerable space between 
  this ice and the water. 
  The glacier’s weight was supported 
  by its own thickness and its crowding of the 
  upper walls. 
  “This sub has also lost one of its 
  eyes,” remarked Johnny. “The mirror, or 
  whatever it is, has been taken out.” 
  The 
  four 
  prongs 
  came 
  to 
  a 
  complete 
  stop. 
  The 
  silver 
  craft 
  was 
  motionless. Its sleek sides could be seen a 
  few feet below the surface. Three of the 
  light-gathering lenses were shining. 
  But the fourth prong seemed to be 
  an eye socket with an empty hole. 
  “It may be they are using that prong 
  for a periscope,” suggested Ham. “There 
  doesn’t seem to be any other device for 
  observation.” 
  In this he was incorrect. The craft 
  was equipped with something better than a 
  periscope. The observer inside could 
  survey the outside for a long distance. The 
  device was something on the order of a 
  television arrangement. And it could also 
  bring to view the interior of another vessel. 
  “Perforate the projecting inductors!” 
  commanded Kama. 
  The machine gun was aimed at the 
  four prongs. An Oriental tripped the trigger. 
  A stream of slugs skipped the 
  water. They slapped around the prongs. 
  Some bullets pinged off the gleaming 
  metal, but apparently did no great damage. 
  “Aim for the lenses!” yelled Kama. 
  “Smash them! The Norwegians will be 
  forced out!” 
  “Good 
  grief!” 
  groaned 
  Renny. 
  “We’re about to witness another bloody 
  slaughter!” 
  The machine gun was lifted. Slugs 
  buzzed around the shining mirrors of the 
  horns. 
  Then from the prong with the 
  missing lense curled a yellow wisp of 
  smoke. Puffs came from behind it. The 
  vapor mushroomed and spread rapidly. 
  Apparently it was coming from the craft with 
  the force of a pump behind it. 
  The prongs vanished in a cloud. 
  The machine gun’s stream searched for the 
  target. But there was only the spreading 
  cloud of yellow vapor. 
  Kama yelled, “Get inside! This is 
  something 
  new! 
  Where 
  did 
  those 
  Norwegians get it? It may be poison gas!” 
  The 
  machine 
  gunners 
  ceased 
  firing. The Orientals scrambled for their 
  conning tower hatchway. 
  “I’d be willing to bet a million 
  against a thin dime that it’s nobody but—” 
  Ham started to say. 
  Then a scared Oriental poked his 
  face from the conning tower. He yammered 
  excitedly at Kama. But there were two 
  words 
  for 
  which 
  there 
  seemed 
  no 
  equivalent in the language of San Tao. 
  “Doc Savage! Doc Savage!” 
  Kama slapped his hands together 
  and swore vilely. The other craft was 
  hidden by the yellow smoke screen. Kama 
  followed his men into the conning tower. 
  “I told you, Sir Arthur, Doc would be 
  around,” drawled Johnny. 
   
   
  Chapter XXV 
  UNDER THE ICE 
   
  DOC SAVAGE glided from the big 
  retort that had been converted into a smoke 
  screen pot. This chemical container had 
  been ingeniously connected with the open 
  inductor prong from which the lens had 
  been removed. 
  
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  67 
  “Monk, 
  have 
  you 
  got 
  the 
  connection for that extra air compressor 
  tank?” said the man of bronze. 
  Monk was engaged in mixing half a 
  dozen chemicals in metal containers. The 
  apelike chemist had seemed to forget their 
  mission and all of its danger. For they had 
  discovered a completely outfitted laboratory 
  aboard the mystery craft of the peace 
  power. 
  “Yeah, Doc,” stated Monk, “I’ve got 
  the compression and the hook-up. All I 
  need to do now is slip the acid into this 
  mess. And when it starts spouting, there 
  won’t be any doubt about this being Satan’s 
  Gateway. It’ll probably be hotter’n that.” 
  “Then we are going under the ice of 
  that glacial finger,” stated Doc. “I estimate 
  we have perhaps half an hour to discover 
  what lies beyond. By that time, the glacier 
  will be carrying out the terrible purpose for 
  which the prisoners have been chained to 
  the wall.” 
  “But 
  Doc,” 
  said 
  Monk. 
  “Why 
  couldn’t we pull up there and free all of 
  them right now?” 
  “Because we probably would be 
  overtaken by the same fate that wiped out 
  the Norwegians on that other sub,” stated 
  Doc. “Perhaps not all of our enemies are in 
  the craft with Kama. We are opposing 
  forces about which we are not familiar. This 
  daylight power now is on. If it should be 
  switched off, it is possible we should fail.” 
  Doc had the prongs moving under 
  the ice. The craft was headed for the inner 
  caverns. 
  “The other craft is pursuing us, Doc 
  Savage,” stated the voice of Knut Aage. 
  “Kama is driving directly toward us at high 
  speed. He will ram this vessel if he gets the 
  chance.” 
  “I had judged he would make that 
  mistake,” advised Doc. “Monk, release the 
  outside port of the exit chamber. The stuff 
  is ready.” 
  Monk’s nubbin of a head bobbed. 
  He scuttled to a lever. In the special 
  periscopic device, Knut Aage was watching 
  the slender needle of Kama’s submarine 
  shooting toward them. Its prow was in the 
  form of a pointed ram. 
  Monk 
  pushed 
  the 
  lever. 
  Immediately the clear, green water around 
  them took on a purplish color. This 
  deepened. It became an intense black. 
  Though their own visibility ahead was not 
  lessened, behind them the channel became 
  a vast pool of ink. 
  “Their craft has disappeared, Doc 
  Savage,” said Knut Aage. 
  “And for the present, we are lost to 
  their view,” stated Doc. “You say the 
  chamber of the light is at the end of this 
  cavern channel?” 
  “It is there the Man of Peace 
  controls the destinies of this power,” said 
  Knut Aage. 
  “We shall proceed there,” stated 
  Doc. 
   
   
  KAMA stood at the periscope 
  device in his submarine. He had ordered 
  full speed ahead, despite the danger of 
  crashing a wall. His purpose was to ram the 
  submarine carrying Doc Savage. 
  Then the underground sea was 
  blackened. Visibility and direction became 
  confused. Strangely enough, Kama could 
  still observe Doc Savage and the others 
  inside their craft, but steering a direct 
  course had become impossible. 
  Kama released a flood of Oriental 
  curses. Then his teeth flashed in an evil 
  smile. 
  “We will take the passage of the 
  short cut!” he ordered. 
  The prongs of Kama’s submarine 
  immediately swerved from the channel. 
  Slow speed was ordered. The craft nosed 
  slowly along the wall. In a few minutes, the 
  craft swung off under the mountain glacier. 
  “We shall arrive at the cavern of 
  light ahead of this bronze man of magic,” 
  stated Kama. “And we shall be ready to 
  receive him.” 
   
   
  AHEAD 
  of 
  Doc 
  Savage’s 
  submarine loomed the entrance to the 
  cavern of light. A queer, pink radiance 
  bathed shallow steps cut from the water 
  into the mammoth room. 
  “Keep close watch, Monk,” directed 
  Doc. “I shall investigate.” 
  The ballast chambers boiled. The 
  power craft slowly came to the surface. Doc 
  Savage 
  opened 
  the 
  conning 
  tower 
  hatchway and emerged. 
  Monk was grumbling. He was 
  beside Knut Aage at the observing device. 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  68 
  Kama’s submarine had not again come into 
  view. 
   “Dag-gone it, Doc,” yelped Monk, “I 
  don’t like this! Maybe that heathen got lost 
  in that ink an’ maybe he didn’t! It’s too 
  danged quiet to suit me!” 
  Doc Savage did not reply. He was 
  moving along the sleek back of the 
  submarine. Its prow touched the shallow 
  stone steps. 
  From the lighted mammoth room 
  came the low humming of some kind of 
  machinery. There was a hissing and 
  bubbling. This was like liquids gurgling in 
  great retorts. 
  Doc Savage stepped lightly to the 
  first of the shallow stairs. 
  From this position, his vision swept 
  the interior of the great cavern. The bronze 
  man’s remarkable powers of observation 
  took in several hundred details of the 
  machinery. 
  From among this intricate mass he 
  unerringly selected the vital instruments. 
  His rare, fantastic trilling broke out. Now it 
  was a tribute to the mighty brain which had 
  conceived this power and perfected it to 
  practical application. 
  The trilling abruptly ended. 
  Doc Savage was taking in a new 
  scene. And in this scene was the white-
  haired giant, the Man of Peace. 
  The 
  man 
  of 
  bronze 
  stood 
  motionless. His powerful hands hung at his 
  sides. Not by any visible action, did he 
  betray that which his own super-senses 
  had conveyed to his brain. 
  For Doc Savage knew he was 
  surrounded. He had become aware that 
  hidden black eyes were even now sighting 
  along aimed rifle barrels. There were more 
  than a score of these weapons. Yet so 
  perfect was the drilling of the Kama’s 
  subjects, not the faintest sound had been 
  created. 
  The 
  voice 
  of 
  Kama 
  spoke 
  mockingly. 
  “You will walk ahead, Doc Savage, 
  into the cavern of light,” said Kama. “Your 
  determination to solve the mystery of the 
  power of peace shall be gratified. I would 
  not deny you that. Walk forward, I 
  command! Either that, or you shall die 
  where you are! Our bullets will not be 
  wasted! For your eyes alone shall be the 
  target!” 
  “A wise man, Kama, knows when to 
  obey,” said Doc Savage, calmly. He raised 
  his bronzed hands. Step by step, he went 
  up the shallow stairs. 
   
   
  HAD Kama been closer, more 
  ready to reveal himself, he would have 
  noted a queer circumstance. Doc Savage 
  was apparently accepting his defeat in this 
  trap. Stair by stair, he climbed toward the 
  cavern of light. 
  But the flaky gold eyes of the 
  bronze 
  man 
  were 
  closed. 
  The 
  lids 
  concealed the whirlwinds that must have 
  been stirring in the depths of these hypnotic 
  orbs. 
  And as Doc walked up the stairs, 
  his knees rubbed slowly together. 
  The eyes sighting along the rifle 
  barrels were all within a few yards. Kama’s 
  men were enclosed in the cold, icy cavern. 
  The crushing of fragile glass could 
  hardly have been heard. Some steam 
  arose from the icy water in the cavern. The 
  vapor slowly spreading along the stairs 
  around Doc Savage might have been 
  mistaken for that. 
  Only, where the bronze giant had 
  been walking under the menace of the 
  rifles, there now was no one. 
  Kama yelled, “Shoot now! Don’t 
  wait!” 
  The Orientals were accustomed to 
  many kinds of magic. But this sudden 
  disappearance of Doc Savage paralyzed 
  them temporarily. Then a dozen rifles 
  slapped flame and lead at the place on the 
  stairs where Doc Savage had been. 
  The man of bronze was no longer 
  there. His massive legs had been sprung 
  like springs of finest steel. He had propelled 
  himself backward. But when he struck the 
  water, he checked his descent so that no 
  splash sounded. 
  Doc Savage did not possess the 
  power to make himself invisible. His 
  apparent disappearance into thin air was 
  only in the eyes of the Orientals. Especially 
  those whose rifle sights were fixed upon 
  him. 
  The vaporlike gas released from 
  the containers strapped inside his massive 
  limbs affected the sight of Kama and his 
  men for only a few seconds. Then it was 
  dispelled. Other Orientals dashed from their 
  
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  69 
  places of concealment in the cavern of 
  light. 
  Doc Savage was alongside the 
  peace power submarine. One bronze hand 
  lifted. It was visible to Monk and Knut Aage. 
  The hand made quick signs. 
  “Howlin’ calamities!” yelled Monk. 
  “Doc’s gone crazy! He’s telling us to dive!” 
  Knut Aage was sluggish, but he 
  was quick enough to act now. Already, he 
  was closing the conning tower. The bronze 
  man was making another sign. 
  “There he is!” screamed Kama. 
  “Alongside the sub! Fill his worthless body 
  with lead!” 
  The 
  Orientals 
  made 
  a 
  most 
  desperate effort to do this. Rifles belched. 
  Bullets scored the side of the submarine. 
  Water was boiling from its ballast tanks. 
  The silver fish of the peace power was 
  submerging. 
  Only the four prongs now were 
  visible. A leaden hail squawled over the 
  surface near the craft. One of Doc’s bronze 
  hands was seen for a moment. Then it 
  slowly disappeared. 
  “This time, we have left no possible 
  doubt!” gloated Kama. “It would have been 
  best to have permitted him to view our 
  power, but all things must be as they are!” 
  For the fourth time, Kama was 
  convinced the man of bronze had died. 
  Now he rapped out another order. The four 
  prongs of the sub were moving away from 
  the stairs. 
  “We must now capture the peace 
  sub for our own purpose,” announced 
  Kama. “Without Doc Savage, the others will 
  be easily overcome.” 
  Kama led the rush of his men to 
  their own concealed submarine. The craft 
  had been hidden in one of the numerous 
  side channels near the cavern of light. 
   
   
  KNUT AAGE was at the controls, 
  as their pronged craft moved slowly away 
  from the stairs of the cavern of light. Monk 
  whipped back into a middle compartment. 
  His hairy hands shifted levers with frantic 
  haste. 
  “Dag-gone 
  it, 
  Doc!” 
  he 
  was 
  muttering. “I knew I should’ve gone with 
  you!” 
  Monk’s hands whirled a wheel. A 
  metal panel started sliding. Some green 
  water flooded in. 
  Doc Savage climbed to his feet. He 
  shook the water from the sleek mask of his 
  bronze hair. His golden skin seemed itself 
  waterproof. His lungs filled with air. 
  This had been his first breath in 
  nearly four minutes. During that time, he 
  had dived. Then he had clung to the 
  outside clamps of the entrance-and-exit 
  chamber of the submarine. 
  “Dang it, Doc—” Monk began. 
  “We 
  have 
  no 
  time 
  to 
  lose,” 
  interrupted Doc. “At this moment, we have 
  been compelled to wait too long. The ice of 
  the glacier is upon our companions. If we 
  do not hasten, the Englishman and the 
  others nearest him will be crushed. Johnny 
  is chained beside him.” 
  Knut Aage stared at Doc Savage 
  as he came into the control room. 
  “You are almost as much of a 
  miracle as the men who floated after they 
  were dead,” he stated. “And I discovered 
  that was simple enough. Their blood had 
  been removed and their veins filled with a 
  chemical gas.” 
  “My own escape was just as 
  simple,” was Doc’s only comment. 
  The bronze man regarded this 
  statement as true. He never looked on his 
  apparently 
  miraculous 
  powers 
  as 
  extraordinary. Knowledge of thousands of 
  devices and their application, and the use 
  of his wits in preparation for nearly all 
  emergencies, 
  he 
  did 
  not 
  regard 
  as 
  supernatural. 
  Knut 
  Aage 
  was back at the 
  observing device. 
  “Kama’s sub is coming again,” he 
  stated. “He probably believes you have 
  perished, Doc Savage.” 
  “Only until they pick us up with their 
  own underwater television observer,” stated 
  Doc. “And we cannot lose them as before. 
  We have no time to mix a new lot of the 
  screening chemical. Moreover, I have 
  another more vital use for the projector.” 
  Kama’s submarine was coming 
  along rapidly. Doc headed back for the 
  Place of the Glacial Death. Both craft were 
  speeding about evenly. Kama apparently 
  was 
  trying 
  to 
  come 
  alongside. 
  The 
  movement indicated he did not intend to 
  
  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DOC SAVAGE xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
   
  70 
  repeat 
  the 
  effort 
  to 
  ram 
  the 
  other 
  submarine. 
  “Monk, prepare the big retort,” 
  directed 
  Doc. 
  “Connect 
  it 
  with 
  the 
  compression tank. Have the igniting acid 
  ready.” 
  A broad grin crossed Monk’s face. 
  “If there’s really a devil in this 
  Satan’s Gateway, we’ll give him something 
  to play with,” he piped. 
  The great metal retort with its 
  strange mixture of chemicals was placed 
  under the prong projector from which the 
  eye had been removed. A person with 
  chemical knowledge would have known the 
  retort and its connection were of alloy that 
  was designed to resist the most intense 
  heat. 
  Kama’s submarine speeded close. 
  Doc saw the craft was making an effort to 
  crowd their vessel into the wall. He shot his 
  own boat ahead at dangerous speed. 
   
   
  Chapter XXVI 
  DEVIL’S OWN FIRE 
   
  “I GUESS this is the finish for him!” 
  grated Ham. “What do you suppose could 
  have happened to Doc in that pronged 
  boat? Could Kama have got him?” 
  The first of Ham’s remark was 
  directed at the plight of Sir Arthur Westcott. 
  Despite his stolid British courage, the 
  Englishman groaned loudly. 
  There was a deep grinding of ice 
  against rock. Sir Arthur had strained the 
  length of the short chains. But the slowly 
  pushing 
  ice 
  already 
  had 
  caught 
  his 
  shoulder. The pinch had cut the flesh. 
  Blood flowed over one hand. 
  The narrow shelf under Sir Arthur’s 
  feet slivered off. The tortured Britisher was 
  suddenly left suspended by the chains. 
  Against him a corner of the ice was 
  pushing, pushing, pushing. 
  Perhaps, in time, that chain would 
  break. But it could only be snapped by a 
  pressure that would first reduce the 
  prisoner’s body to a thing of jellied bone. 
  Sir Arthur suddenly shouted in an 
  agonized tone. Plainly, his brain was giving 
  away under the strain. 
  Then Johnny spoke quickly, “He’s 
  back—Doc’s come back! There’s the 
  submarine with one empty eye—” 
  “Yeah!” rapped out Ham. “An’ 
  there’s Kama’s sub right on their tail! There 
  doesn’t seem anything Doc can do to shake 
  him! I’m afraid there’s nothing even Doc 
  can do in time!” 
  Doc’s submarine shot toward the 
  hanging finger of the glacier. The prongs 
  passed underneath the ice close to the 
  point where Sir Arthur was being inexorably 
  squeezed. The Britisher now was only 
  mumbling out his intense suffering. 
  The 
  four 
  prongs 
  of 
  Kama’s 
  submarine crossed the open space toward 
  the ice. They were stopped. 
   
   
  FROM under the ice leaped a 
  blinding light. It was as if a blowtorch of 
  giant size had suddenly begun spurting fire. 
  The flame danced with varied colors from 
  the face of the glacier. 
  Johnny, who was next to Sir Arthur, 
  lost all of his scholarly aplomb. He shouted. 
  “I told you so! Doc’s got it! Well, I’ll 
  be superamalgamated! The whole place is 
  getting hot!” 
  Johnny spoke the truth. All of the 
  inside of the Place of Glacial Death was 
  becoming heated. From under the corner of 
  the crushing glacier leaped darting tongues 
  of blue-green fire. 
  The 
  heat 
  must 
  have 
  been 
  withering. Probably it was of an intensity 
  that would have cut into the hardest steel. 
  Most certainly the spouting flame 
  was penetrating the ice of the glacial finger. 
  One wide crack appeared. Into this, water 
  started pouring down. This was on the 
  corner which was slowly crushing Sir Arthur 
  to squeezed flesh. 
  Abruptly, the whole corner of the 
  glacial finger split. Tons of ice were being 
  dissolved as if they had been pushed into a 
  fiery furnace. The face of the glacier closest 
  to Sir Arthur roared of its own weight and 
  went crashing into the water under it. 
  “Holy cow!” shouted Renny. “If that 
  ever hit that sub, it would be all up with 
  Doc!” 
  But this falling chunk dived, then 
  came slowly up. It was as large as a small 
  berg. Its fall revealed Doc’s submarine. 
  
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  71 
  From the prong without an eye shot 
  the melting flame. The heat of it was so 
  intense, even the alloy metal of the 
  projector was beginning to fall away. 
  The fierce blaze hissed with the 
  pressure behind it. Doc’s men on the 
  narrow shelf could not understand the 
  source. They did not know of the laboratory 
  Doc and Monk had discovered. Nor did 
  they know of the compressed air tanks 
  which had been charged from the ballast 
  power pumps of the submarine. 
  Doc’s craft moved slightly. The 
  gigantic blowtorch was touching more of 
  the glacial finger. Like a knife dividing soft 
  cheese, it cut the granitelike ice apart. 
  “Your Doc Savage,” murmured a 
  voice. “He arrived. By jove! I admit he’s a 
  great fellow—a great fellow—almost as 
  great as the king himself.” 
  Then Sir Arthur Westcott, loyal 
  subject of His Britannic Majesty, fainted. He 
  was hanging suspended by the chain 
  manacles. His injuries were painful, but he 
  probably would live. 
  “I was afraid of that!” groaned Long 
  Tom. “That devil, Kama, is going after Doc!” 
   
   
  THE prongs of Kama’s submarine 
  were 
  moving 
  swiftly. 
  No 
  doubt, 
  the 
  maddened man from San Tao had decided 
  to ram Doc’s craft. This time, he intended to 
  destroy the bronze giant in such manner 
  there could be no doubt of his death. 
  The prisoners groaned. After all, if 
  Kama won this battle, their deaths had only 
  been delayed. 
  “He’s going to ram right into the 
  other sub!” said Johnny. 
  Kama’s silvery fish gathered speed. 
  The monster blowtorch was filling the 
  cavern with heat. Another mighty section of 
  the glacial finger was loosening. 
  The prisoners gasped. With a 
  roaring 
  crash, 
  Kama’s 
  submersible 
  smashed its pointed prow into the other 
  vessel. It seemed the ram had passed clear 
  through the other craft. 
  Air hissed. A flood of oil painted a 
  rainbow across the green water. The flame 
  of the giant blowtorch snapped off as if a 
  wire had been cut. 
  “There ain’t anything can save Doc 
  now!” groaned Renny. “Unless maybe that 
  devil Kama gets him outta there!” 
  But Kama, the man of San Tao, 
  was not to rescue Doc Savage. 
  Thunder shook the mountain. It 
  was like the rumbling of a great earthquake. 
  It was crackling, crashing sound. 
  At least half of the glacial finger in 
  the cavern had been split off by the effect of 
  the terrible blowtorch from the prong of the 
  now-wrecked submersible. 
  With a roar, more than a thousand 
  tons of ice crashed down into the green 
  water. The massive chunk went deep. 
  There were other splintering sounds. 
  “Well, I’ll be superamalgamated!” 
  grasped Johnny. “Doc and Kama both! The 
  subs went down!” 
   
   
  THE other prisoners gasped and 
  swore. There was no doubt of it. The 
  fishlike submarines, joined by their collision, 
  must have been flattened under that ice like 
  a watch might have been under a steam 
  hammer. 
  All around, the green water arose 
  in a great wave. It slapped over the 
  prisoners chained to the shelf. Only their 
  chains prevented them from being dragged 
  from their places. 
  As the water subsided, a few 
  bodies 
  rolled 
  to 
  the 
  surface. 
  None 
  attempted to swim. Some of the Orientals 
  had been mangled to death, even before 
  they had been drowned. Oil and blood 
  floated up together. 
  “It looks as if that’s the finish for 
  Doc!” moaned Renny. 
  “He saved us for the time, and then 
  he got it,” stated Ham. 
  “I’m afraid you are correct,” said a 
  new voice. “I was hoping to get here in time 
  to prevent it. I was imprisoned in the cavern 
  where the power is located. I just managed 
  to escape and I found the keys that may 
  unlock your manacles. We will see.” 
  “Holy 
  cow!” 
  exclaimed 
  Renny. 
  “Professor Callus! And I thought they had 
  got you up on the mountain!” 
  “No,” announced Professor Callus. 
  “They seized me and killed the driver of my 
  cart. I was brought under the glacier and 
  imprisoned in a big room.” 
  The professor’s enormous head 
  rocked on his skinny shoulders. The 
  strange daylight shone from his hairless 
  skull. 
  
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  72 
  “I thought I had discovered the 
  mystery of the ocean haunt,” he said. “I was 
  hoping Doc Savage and I could work out 
  the formula together. There’s a fellow called 
  the Man of Peace who knows all about it.” 
  Professor Callus was trying the 
  keys. One by one, he was freeing the 
  prisoners. Renny was the first to swing over 
  and get to the limp figure of Sir Arthur 
  Westcott. He deposited the limp man on the 
  narrow shelf. 
  “That red-headed woman had a lot 
  to do with getting us into this, an’ it ain’t the 
  first time she’s tried to kill Doc,” declared 
  the big engineer. 
  “I am much afraid you speak the 
  truth,” 
  declared 
  Professor 
  Callus. 
  “Unfortunately, I was unable to reach Doc 
  Savage on the glacier above. I had learned 
  some strange things about this Lora 
  Krants.” 
  “And what were these things you 
  learned?” 
  The heavy voice rapped out from 
  back of the narrow shelf. 
  Professor Callus had come onto 
  the shelf through a passage which the 
  prisoners had not known existed. In the 
  entrance to this passage stood the heavy-
  browed Barton Krants. 
  The 
  youth 
  accompanied 
  his 
  question with an unexpected leap. He 
  struck savagely at the professor’s shining 
  bald dome. The blow was a glancing one. 
  For a man devoted to scientific 
  pursuits, Professor Callus was surprisingly 
  quick. One hand lashed out. The skinny 
  fingers fastened on Barton Krants’s throat. 
  The youth smashed again with his 
  fist. It seemed to have little effect on the 
  hard, shining skull. In the professor’s hand 
  appeared a snubnosed gun. He pushed this 
  into the youth’s stomach. 
  “You and your sister are fakes!” he 
  shouted. “I’ve known it all the time! You 
  have been responsible for most of this 
  killing! But you have come to the end!” 
  “Hey, 
  don’t 
  do 
  that!” 
  shouted 
  Renny. “You can’t kill a man because—” 
   
   
  THERE came the briefly spaced 
  double crack of an automatic rifle. The 
  explosions whirled the prisoners around. 
  They were looking at an ordinary fishing 
  schooner. The vessel had glided into the 
  glacial cavern from an outside passage. 
  Professor Callus gurgled in his 
  throat. His snubnosed gun hit the shelf and 
  bounced into the water below. Across the 
  shining dome was furrowed a deep, red 
  line. Close to it was another mark. But this 
  was not a red furrow. 
  It was a clean, round hole. The eye 
  behind that rifle had been certain. The hand 
  on the trigger had been sure. 
  Professor Callus uttered no further 
  sound. His great head seemed to weigh his 
  small body down. The shining skull rolled 
  off the shelf. The weight pulled the rest of 
  his skinny form along. 
  The water splashed. Barton Krants 
  yelled, “Sis! Good enough!” 
  “Holy cow!” rumbled Renny. “That 
  red-headed dame again! And she murdered 
  the professor in cold blood!” 
  The slim, red-headed girl stood on 
  the foredeck of the fishing schooner. Death 
  smoke still curled from the rifle in her 
  hands. 
  “Barton!” she cried out. “Are you all 
  right?” 
  “I’m all right!” replied the heavy-
  browed youth. “But I’ve got to get back! Sis, 
  I’ve found him! You wait here!” 
  “Say,” barked Ham, “what’s this all 
  about? You stay here and explain!” 
  But 
  the 
  heavy-browed 
  Barton 
  Krants 
  was 
  slipping 
  back 
  into 
  the 
  passageway. The fishing schooner scraped 
  the black rock wall. On its deck were eight 
  or ten nearly naked men. They were the 
  huge Norwegians. 
  A mast with a rope ladder touched 
  the narrow shelf. The red-headed girl 
  ascended it lightly, the rifle still held in her 
  hands. Some of the nearly naked men 
  heaved after her. 
  Renny barged forward and seized 
  the girl’s wrist. With a cry of pain, she 
  dropped the rifle. 
  “I guess you’ve got some explainin’ 
  to do, sister!” growled the big engineer. 
  “Beginnin’ back in Manhattan when you 
  grabbed me, an’ then tried to burn Doc 
  alive!” 
  The nearly naked men pushed 
  forward. They jammed guns into Renny. 
  Rifles menaced the others. Renny released 
  the red-headed girl. 
  
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  73 
  “Never mind, they’ll be all right,” 
  said the girl. She spoke in Norwegian. 
  “They’re my friends, though they don’t know 
  it.” 
  “Holy cow!” grunted Renny. “You 
  think we don’t know you’re hooked up with 
  these crooks? Professor Callus spilled it 
  before you murdered him!” 
   
   
  THE girl smiled sadly. She shook 
  her round head. 
  “You’ll have to listen, Colonel 
  Renwick,” she said. “You were kidnaped by 
  mistake by some of my men in Manhattan. 
  They believed you were Professor Callus. 
  You were released, when I told them their 
  mistake.” 
  “Yeah? Then, Miss Krants, explain 
  how you happened to head the gang that 
  tried to bump off Doc? They’ve finally done 
  it, those devils of Kama’s, even if they did 
  go with him!” 
  The girl’s face became deadly 
  white. 
  “You 
  mean 
  they’ve 
  got 
  Mr. 
  Savage?” 
  she 
  murmured. 
  “Oh, 
  they 
  couldn’t! Not now, after everything else 
  seem to be coming out all right! Doc 
  Savage is alive! I just know it! Don’t you 
  understand? I played in with that crowd to 
  trap Mr. Savage in Manhattan! That got me 
  in with the brains of this whole scheme! But 
  I telephoned you at the hangar in time to 
  save Mr. Savage from being burned to 
  death.” 
  Ham stepped forward. His lean 
  face lighted. 
  “That’s right, Renny,” he stated. “It 
  was a woman who telephoned. It sounds 
  reasonable. There is much to this which we 
  haven’t discovered. But, Miss Krants, I fear 
  Renny has spoken the truth. Doc was 
  buried with the others under the glacier 
  when it fell.” 
  The 
  red-headed 
  girl 
  sobbed 
  convulsively. There was considerably more 
  than just interest in a friend in her grief. 
  “He saved my life,” the girl said, 
  slowly. “Nothing could have happened to 
  Doc Savage.” 
  But the cold, green water of the 
  underground sea had ceased to ripple. The 
  great bulk of the floating ice reared like a 
  slowly moving monument to death. 
  “I wish I could have your faith,” 
  began Johnny. “But—” 
  A 
  rending, 
  rumbling 
  explosion 
  drowned his speech. The uncanny daylight 
  went out as though some one had thrown a 
  switch. The Place of the Glacial Death 
  became a Stygian tomb. 
  “Oh!” gasped the red-headed girl. 
  “It has happened!” 
  Whatever the fearsome thing might 
  be, it was still happening. In some distant 
  cavern flared a great pinkish glow. Through 
  the ice caverns seeped the acrid smell of 
  acids like the burning of sulphur. 
  Then once more the darkness 
  became intense. Bit by bit, great chunks of 
  rock or ice were thudded from cavern roofs 
  in the distance. The last bit fell, then there 
  was silence. 
  “He has done it,” spoke the red-
  headed girl in a stricken voice. “Barton! 
  Barton!” 
  “Can’t we muster up some sort of 
  light?” questioned Johnny in Norwegian. 
  “Oil torches, Skavnar!” said the red-
  headed girl, more firmly. 
  The torches began casting fitful, 
  grotesque shadows on the deck of the 
  schooner. 
  Then Long Tom cried out, “Look! 
  He’s coming up out of the sea! Miss Krants, 
  do you know if Doc had the glass fish on 
  that submarine?” 
   
   
  THE reply of the red-headed girl 
  was not needed. A faint blue glow 
  appeared far down in the water. It spread 
  rapidly. It was rising to the surface. 
  Doc 
  Savage’s 
  glass 
  cylinder 
  emerged close to the side of the schooner. 
  As it touched, floating, the lid slid back. 
  First appeared the dead-white face of Knut 
  Aage. 
  After him came the ugly, apelike 
  countenance of Monk. 
  “Hello, insect!” rapped Ham, hiding 
  his feelings with heavy sarcasm. “I can’t get 
  rid of you! I can’t even get rid of that pig!” 
  The smooth, bronze head of Doc 
  Savage appeared. The giant adventurer 
  stood erect on the deck of the fishing 
  schooner. 
  He spoke rapidly in Norwegian to 
  the nearly naked men. Their oil torches 
  clustered around him. 
  
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  74 
  “We thought you had taken your 
  last dive,” said Ham, grinning. “No one 
  could live under a thousand tons or so of 
  ice.” 
  “We were too far down for it to 
  reach us,” advised Doc. “We saw the 
  glacier breaking. The glass fish was a 
  couple of hundred feet under when it 
  struck. We saw the body of Professor 
  Callus. His head seemed to be pulling him 
  deeper. Miss Krants, I am glad you have 
  arrived. We must get to the cavern of light 
  at once.” 
  The lips of the red-headed girl 
  trembled. Tears spotted her white cheeks. 
  “You know—oh, you do know?” 
  “Yes, I know nearly all of it,” stated 
  Doc Savage. “I have been partly informed 
  ever since I made a telephone call to Del 
  Monte, California, before we left Manhattan. 
  The real Lora Krants is in Del Monte. She 
  confirmed her friendship for you and your 
  brother. She did not object to your 
  assuming her identity.” 
  “Howlin’ 
  calamities!” 
  squeaked 
  Monk. “I knew all the time the redhead 
  wasn’t playin’ on the square! She shook 
  hands with me! Then she had them 
  indecent guys without clothes try to 
  smother me to death!” 
  The red-headed girl smiled at Monk 
  through her tears. 
  “I like you too much to have harm 
  come to you, Monk,” she said, softly. 
  “Maybe she was just trying to do 
  the world a great favor,” said Ham, 
  maliciously. “Too bad they didn’t finish the 
  job.” 
  “I don’t know why Doc took the 
  trouble to melt off that glacier!” howled 
  Monk. “Think of all the people who would 
  have been spared listening to your loose 
  mouth!” 
  Sir Arthur Westcott opened his 
  eyes and spoke feebly. 
  “Well, by jove! What queer fellows 
  your blighters are, Doc Savage!” 
  Doc Savage said, “We must not 
  delay longer. Let us get to the cavern of 
  light and find this Man of Peace.” 
   
   
   
   
   
   
  Chapter XXVII 
  THE MAN OF PEACE 
   
  BARTON KRANTS held the body 
  of the white-haired Man of Peace in his 
  arms. The rugged face was peaceful. The 
  sunken eyes were closed in death. But a 
  smile remained on the giant’s lips. 
  “He realized at the last what this 
  power of light would mean to the world in 
  the hands of the wrong persons,” stated 
  Doc Savage. “So he destroyed his lifetime 
  of work and himself with it. It was a great 
  atonement.” 
  The red-headed girl knelt beside 
  the white-haired giant. Her hand softly 
  stroked his shaggy hair. 
  “It is best this way,” she murmured. 
  “Oh, if we could only have reached him 
  before it was too late.” 
  “The murderer of Hjalmar Landson 
  has met justice,” stated Knut Aage. “Those 
  who would have turned the evil force loose 
  upon the world have been destroyed. My 
  people can resume their occupation of 
  peace.” 
  “Yes,” stated Doc Savage. “Many 
  murders have been avenged. The first was 
  that of the professor, Homus Jasson, who 
  was killed at my door in Manhattan. He 
  came to warn me, I believe. Another man 
  trapped him.” 
  “But, Doc,” said Ham, “how about 
  all of the weapons Homus Jasson was 
  carrying, 
  and 
  that 
  deadly 
  hamadryad 
  cobra?” 
  “I am sure they were on the person 
  of the other man,” stated Doc. “He intended 
  to destroy us, fearing we would detect his 
  scheme when Homus Jasson arrived. After 
  he killed Jasson, he planted the lethal 
  weapons upon him. He felt that for a time 
  he would be safe.” 
  “Dag-gone it!” piped up Monk. “I 
  don’t quite get it yet!” 
  “The President of the United States 
  will be greatly pleased and greatly grieved,” 
  said Doc Savage. “The Man of Peace 
  before you was Arne Dass, the great 
  scientist who disappeared. Miss Krants and 
  her brother are Kana and Barton Dass. 
  They were the first to suspect their father 
  was the originator of the haunted ocean 
  fight. They were made agents of the 
  department of justice.” 
  
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  75 
  “Holy cow!” gulped Renny. “Then I 
  was grabbed by a bunch of them G-men in 
  Manhattan?” 
  “It would seem that was it,” smiled 
  Doc. “The man who Arne Dass trusted to 
  help bring peace to the world, realized the 
  millions in the power. Dass sent him to 
  Washington to negotiate with his own 
  government. This man contacted Kama, of 
  San Tao, and his crowd. Then he contrived 
  to get many bids from other nations.” 
  “But these men of the icy blood?” 
  said Johnny. 
  “The person who was aid to Dass 
  was a great scientist himself,” advised Doc. 
  “He produced rigor mortis in Homus Jasson 
  a few minutes after he was killed. He had 
  the secret by which the loyal Norwegians 
  were made almost impervious to cold. But 
  the Norwegians fought for the Man of 
  Peace, Arne Dass. The aid was compelled 
  to use Kama’s men for his own ends.” 
   “So Professor Callus was the real 
  crook, the killer?” said Ham. “And the girl 
  played along with him to try and save her 
  father?” 
  “That about sums up all the 
  answers,” said Doc Savage. 
  “Howlin’ calamities!” squealed out 
  Monk. “I forgot all about Habeas Corpus! 
  I’ve got to get outta here and find that pig!” 
  “Your queer quadruped is being 
  well taken care of,” assured Knut Aage. “My 
  people will give you a different reception, 
  when we return. I instructed them the 
  animal was not to be harmed.” 
  “And that just about spoils the 
  whole finish to a great and perfect 
  adventure!” rapped Ham. “There doesn’t 
  seem any way I can get rid of that pig!” 
  Ham and Monk in all probability 
  would argue about Habeas Corpus the 
  duration of their trip back to New York. 
   
   
  THE END 
   
   
   
  The Black Spot 
   
  It is the mark of a killer; the sign of a mind as 
  clever as it is fiendish. What is more, it is a 
  device so terrible, so menacing, that even Doc 
  Savage must be wary of it; that he must send 
  his aides elsewhere to avoid danger of having 
  them fall victims to 
   
              THE BLACK SPOT 
   
  Read the book-length novel in the 
  next issue of 
   
  DOC SAVAGE MAGAZINE 
   
  on sale Friday, June 19th 
  TEN CENTS
   
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Vault2.0.-.Fiction-and-audiobooks/Books/R/Robeson, Kenneth/040 Haunted Ocean.pdf