Doc Savage wild 13: The Whistling Wraith by Kenneth Robeson

Author:Kenneth Robeson
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Action and Adventure
Publisher: Altus Press
Published: 2014-10-16T23:00:00+00:00

MONK STOPPED at his Wall Street penthouse on the way to Doc Savage's Headquarters.

It was one of the flashiest in the city with a goodly portion devoted to an enormous chemical laboratory where the simian fellow had perfected numerous discoveries which had garnered him both his reputation and his fortune.

In one room had been installed a marble-and-silver wallowing place for his unusual pet pig. It was filled with perfumed mud and equipped with health-ray lamps and other creature comforts designed to promote the ultra in porcine contentment.

The public had read about this wallow in the newspapers and thought it a scandalous extravagance.

A waste of money which could have been devoted to relieving some of the suffering in the World.

But the hairy chemist didn't care. He doted on Habeas Corpus.

"In you go, Habeas," said Monk, depositing the ungainly shoat beside the wallow.

With a piggy squeal, Habeas leapt into the mud. Soon, only his long rabbit-like ears were visible.

"That's your reward for playin' along with my little ventriloquism trick," Monk said approvingly. "It gets under that shyster's thin skin every time."

Since it was quicker than driving, Monk took the subway to Doc Savage's Headquarters and was soon sauntering through the modernistic lobby. Autograph hounds -- hopeful of an encounter with the Man of Bronze -- descended upon him. No great believer in modesty, the homely chemist obliged all comers.

Then they began to follow him to the concealed speed elevator. Monk foiled this by pointing to a tall individual exiting the building through a revolving door and exclaiming: "Hey! Ain't that Doc there?"

Human nature is a funny thing. The person that the apish chemist had pointed out resembled Doc Savage not in the slightest. But there was an immediate exodus on the part of the autograph seekers.

Outside, they caught up with hapless man, surrounding him.

"Sometimes," Monk muttered to himself as he thumbed the elevator call button, "I think we'd be better off operatin' from a cave somewhere."

The door opened instantly.

Doc Savage's speed elevator was a private conveyance and unknown to the general public. Only the Bronze Man, his five aides, and Pat Savage enjoyed free use of the cage.

So when the door opened showing the cage to be occupied, Monk Mayfair would have naturally raised an eyebrow.

But the sight of a white-bearded figure caparisoned in ermine-trimmed scarlet silk, burdensome gold crown, empty belt scabbard, and other kingly regalia brought his jaw dropping to his chest.

"The spook!" He squeaked.

The superannuated monarch said nothing. Avid black eyes like opals set in a gnarled tree branch regarded Monk with faint amusement.

Hastily, the hairy chemist stepped aboard.

He reached inside his coat. That garment had no conspicuous bulge.

Yet Monk produced on of Doc Savage's compact supermachine pistols which could put out bullets with only a little less speed than buckshot could be poured out of a cup.

"No funny business, you phantasm," he advised.

Inasmuch as the apparition clutched an ornate scepter in one withered hand and balanced a heavy golden orb in the other, there was not a lot of "business" it could do funny-or-otherwise.

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