The Dagger in the Sky by Kenneth Robeson;Lester Dent

Author:Kenneth Robeson;Lester Dent
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Blackmask Online
Published: 2001-10-05T16:00:00+00:00

LORD DUSTERMAN smiled fiercely under the sheets, then deliberately sank his teeth into his arm where the hypo needle had planted its chemical. He began sucking the wound. He was giving himself the conventional treatment for snakebite, shutting off circulation above the wound and sucking out the poison, which in this case was the chemical-inducing sleep.

He managed to stave off the effects of the stuff; stretching out, he breathed deeply as if asleep.

Ham was satisfied that the man was again under the influence of the drug, which meant that he would sleep blissfully for another twenty-four hours. "Come on, Chemistry," Ham told his pet chimp. "Let’s go quarrel with that funny-looking Monk."

They left the stateroom.

Lord Dusterman rolled out of the bunk, but folded down on the floor when he tried to stand. The chemical had taken effect to some extent, he realized. He crawled to the bathroom, doused his face with cold water, and after several attempts could walk in a wobbling fashion as far as the cabin door, where he began working upon the lock with the tine of a fork, a fork that he had stolen two days ago, for he’d had this plan in mind for some time.

He had been a mechanic in arms plants in his youth, and his fingers still retained much of their skill; he prided himself on that. He got the door open. The corridor was empty.

He did not go to the captain of the Rocket, because he was not sure that money could buy the captain’s help against Doc Savage. At best, such an arrangement would take time to consummate. What he wanted was men whom money could buy, body and soul. He moved along the rail, saw the workmen on the lighters. Five minutes later he joined them, singled out one of the most likely-looking for his purpose.

He used the opening that he knew would be most effective. Doc had not taken his money from him. He flashed a roll of greenbacks.

"Can you get ten good men?" he asked.

The stevedore eyed the money, reached out and thumbed up the edges of the bills to see the denominations.

"How good?" he asked, a little hoarsely.

"I won’t fool you. Some of them may get killed."

"That’s bad."

"The pay will be five hundred dollars a day. Twice that to you!"

The stevedore licked his lips; his hands opened and closed spasmodically. "How soon?"

"Twenty minutes."

Once more the man dampened his lips. He looked out over the sweating stevedores, selecting individuals with his eyes.

"Can do," he said abruptly. "If that’s not stage money."

"It’s not."

"How do I know?"

Lord Dusterman handed him a hundred-dollar bill, said, "Suppose you take it up to the purser and see."

The man went away, came back satisfied, and grinned widely when Lord Dusterman said, "Keep that"—The munitions king leafed out four more bills of the same denomination. "And these—for expenses."

The two drew aside and spoke in low voices for some time, Lord Dusterman making all of the long speeches.

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