The Man Who Fell Up 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

MONK watched the lights of the Triborough Bridge move overhead like a great monocolored rainbow on which moved the luminous patches of automobile headlights. The boat motors were a rumble like a subway train underfoot, and two white ram horns of spray stood out from the bows and, now and then grew, longer or shorter.

Long Tom came on deck. “You want to talk to the State police on the radio, Doc?”

The bronze man asked, “Did you give them the story?”

“All but the silly parts,” Long Tom said. “I didn't mention green chests, men falling up, or green fogs. I told them there were some foreign agents or something stirring up a mess.”

“Were they caught?”

“Every one of them was gone by the time the police got there.”

“No clues?”

“Not yet. They are checking on the plane, have the roads blocked, and the coast guard is starting to search all boats. Ham and Monk furnished descriptions of all those we had seen.”

Monk came on deck in time to say, “The best description I gave was of that fake Monk. That sure gets me. You wouldn't believe anyone could look so much like me.”

“You sure said something there,” Ham told him.

“What you mean?”

“Looking like you is a feat I didn't think anyone could do.”

“Look,” Monk said bitterly, “I'm in no mood for that stuff you call wit.”

Renny put his head out to look at the breathless spectacle which was New York seen at night from the river. They swung past the Sutton Place and Tudor City districts, high apartment houses with many lighted windows.

“They won't talk,” Renny reported.

“Which one?”

“Both of them,” said Renny. “The girl claims she doesn't know anything. Tottingham Strand says he can't imagine what it is all about.”

Doc Savage inquired quietly, “Is he sticking to the story about a mysterious green chest which a friend gave him to keep?”

“That's his story, and he's stuck with it, if you ask me,” Renny rumbled. “Personally, I don't believe it any more than I believe storks bring little babies.”

Doc turned the boat in to a pier.

Surprised, Long Tom asked, “Aren't we going around to the warehouse?”

The “warehouse” was an innocent lump of a building on the Hudson side of Manhattan Island, a structure that bore the legend “Hidalgo Trading Company.” The interior had been converted into a seaplane hangar and boathouse. A pneumatic man-carrying tube of Doc's design—one gadget which would never become popular with the public; a ride in the tube was about as soothing as a trip through a forest on a skyrocket—led directly to headquarters.

“No, we shall stay away from there,” Doc said. “It is probably being watched.”

“Not many people know about it.”

Doc was silent a moment. “These men we are fighting, whoever they are, know an incredible amount about us. They knew enough to substitute two impostors for Monk and Ham, to gain access to our headquarters at will.”

Long Tom's mouth jerked open, then closed. “Doc, isn't Pat at headquarters with the fake Ham? Doesn't that mean she may be

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