Chapter IV.

THE gentlemen's room in Grand Central Railway Station was not doing much business.

"Put that key in your pocket, Henry," Mr. Mayfair said. There was an expression of fierce joy and extreme suspicion of everybody on his apish face. He was enjoying this, if n.o.body else was. "I'm gonna case the joint before we look in that locker. They might have a reception committee here for us."

"They? Who do you mean?"

"The holder-uppers and the fat-man-shooters, or their siblings," he replied ferociously. And he added, "I hope! Them guys didn't give me a good chance at 'em."

He was the most unlike a learned chemist of any I had known.

We had left Miss Farrar outside, naturally.Enroute, they had pumped the whole story out of me, all about Dido Alstrong's unexpected entry into my life after all these years, with a demand for a favor. They had been entertained, it seemed to me, by my att.i.tude toward Dido Alstrong, and once-much to my resentment-Mayfair had remarked, "He sounds like a guy who knows where your push-b.u.t.tons are located, Henry."

Mr. Mayfair, having skulked like a panther around the place, peering into booths in a most ungentlemanly fashion, returned.

"You're exaggerating this, Mr. Mayfair," I suggested.

"Call me Monk, dammit," he replied. "And it takes a bigger liar than me to exaggerate a bullet."

"Er-I dislike nicknames. But if you insist, I will endeavor-"

"Where's the key, Henry?" he interrupted. "What's the locker number on it?"

"Forty-one," I said, producing the key Dido Alstrong had entrusted to me.

Mr. Mayfair s.n.a.t.c.hed the shiny bit of metal from me, prowled down the line of grey steel lockers, found the correct one, inserted the key, and turned his head to say, "Hold your hat, Henry. Maybe there's a nice bomb fixed up in here for you."

A horrible thought. Not, in view of the other incidents, too unreasonable. "Wait!" I gasped wildly. "Wait!

Let me get away-"

He did not wait. He turned the key, whipped open the locker door, and peered inside. He must have noticed my look-my heart had temporarily stopped functioning-because suddenly he banged a hand against the lockers with a great crash and yelled, "Boom!"

My reaction could not have been as funny as he seemed to think it was. Not possibly.

IT was a box. Or presumably so, because the outlines felt like a box, cardboard, inside the heavy covering of brown wrapping paper. I have, because of my scientific work, fallen into the habit of thinking of measurements in metric terms, and this box was about five decimeters in width, one hundred and fifty centimeters in depth, and slightly less than a meter in length. It's weight, judged roughly, was about seven kilograms.

"About the size," Mr. Mayfair remarked, "of one of them boxes the store puts your suit in when you buy one."

"A bit heavier," I suggested.

"Uh-huh. . . . Okay, Henry. Let's blow. And keep your eyes peeled."

Miss Lila Farrar was waiting at a soda fountain, and a young gentleman had obviously been attempting to strike up an acquaintance with her. This fellow noticed me, and was not impressed, but then he saw Mr.

Mayfair, and he literally fled.

"Wolf?" Mr. Mayfair asked suspiciously.

"Junior grade only," admitted Miss Farrar. "So that's the package?"

Mr. Mayfair handed me the package and said grimly, "You guard Henry and the package, honey. I'mgoing to follow junior grade wolf for a minute. I may test him for innocence."

He departed. He made, undeniably, a formidable figure of a man of the more primitive sort.

Miss Farrar stared after him. "Quite," she announced, "some guy."

"An interesting type," I admitted reluctantly.

"I would," said Miss Farrar, "like to meet his chief. I'll bet that would be something."

"Chief?"

"Doc Savage."

"Oh."

"You knew Monk Mayfair is one of Doc Savage's a.s.sociates, didn't you, Henry?" she asked.

"I-ah-believe it was mentioned."

"I'd sure like to meet Savage," she declared. "But there's a fat chance, I suppose. He's every maiden's dream, and I wouldn't have any such luck. My luck runs to characters like Dido." She glanced at me as if to add, "And you," but she didn't.

She was starry-eyed about this Savage in a way that was revolting to me.

"I imagine," I said coolly, "that he's an ordinary sort."

"What!" She stared at me. "Do you know Savage?"

"I haven't troubled," I said.

This was not strictly the truth. True, I hadn't met Doc Savage, but it was because there had been no opportunity for me to do so. I must confess that there had been a time when I had considered the man a legendary figure-his work in the fields of science was supposed to be astounding-but I had heard other tales about his possessing enormous physical strength, great energy, and being precipitated into one wild adventure after another. This ruined my illusions. Excitement repels me. I detest adventures. I had never permitted myself to have one-until today-and today's incidents were Dido Alstrong's fault, not mine. I had the impression now that Savage must be a very physical man, and I abhor physicality; I was sure the reports of his amazing scientific accomplishments must be rank exaggerations.

"Henry," said Miss Lila Farrar thoughtfully. "Are you wrong about everybody?"

"My judgment," I a.s.sured her, "is perfect."

She whistled. At least her delightful mouth made a whistling shape. And we did not exchange words for a while. I spent the interval wishing that she were more favorably impressed with me, or rather that her judgment of true worth in a man was more soundly developed.

"What?" she remarked presently, "do you suppose King Kong has made happen to him?"

"You-er-mean Mr. Mayfair?"

"Yep. He should be back."

It would be quite satisfactory with me if he did not return at all.But the lovely girl said, "I think we'd better look into this." And I, of necessity, accompanied her. I envied other men I knew their ability to take possession of a woman's interest. I should have been delighted to do this now.

We found Mr. Mayfair on his back with water being poured on his face.

THE tiled floor on which Mr. Mayfair lay was a dirty white color, and it almost exactly matched the hue of Mr. Mayfair's face. They had dragged him out of a rather dark niche in the station, and it was seltzer water they were squirting on him; a fellow from a bar was doing the squirting. Quite a crowd stood about.

Presently Mr. Mayfair regained consciousness. A quant.i.ty of seltzer water had entered his mouth and nostrils, and he erupted like a whale, spraying the bystanders. An instant later, he rolled over, doubled his fists, and mumbled, "Okay, Mabel! Okay, if you feel that way."

The man with the seltzer siphon hiccoughed. He seemed a bit intoxicated. "Hurrah for Mabel," he said.

Lila sank to her knees beside Mr. Mayfair. She inquired, "Are you all right, Monk?"

"h.e.l.l, no," he said.

"What happened?"

"I was kissed by carelessness," he replied.

"Did the junior grade-"

"Uh-huh. He did," Monk said bitterly. "With a blackjack as big as a truck tire."

Mr. Mayfair now got to his feet. In a few seconds, he was astonishingly rejuvenated. He shook his head, gasped loudly, and clutched the head with both hands, and kept the hands in place as if feeling it necessary to carry his head that way for a time. "Whooee!" he added.

"What, may I ask, really occurred?" I inquired.

"I located the junior grade wolf, and he whopped me one," Mr. Mayfair replied.

"Was his name Mabel?"

Mr. Mayfair seemed excessively pained, but perhaps it might have been all from the knot on his head.

"Mabel is a babe I know," he muttered sheepishly.

"Then," I declared in considerable alarm, "the junior grade-that chap-must have had nefarious designs on our party!"

"Put with six words where one would do-you're right," Mr. Mayfair growled.

"Incredible!"

"Just like my headache," Mr. Mayfair agreed. "Come on. Let's be on our way to further developments."

We repaired to the outdoors, but not before Mr. Mayfair told an investigating policeman the baldest kind of a lie. "I skidded and hit my head on a door," Mr. Mayfair explained, to account for hisunconsciousness.

"One should never lie to a police officer," I advised Mr. Mayfair a bit later.

He scowled. "What should one do-spend one's afternoon answering questions?" he demanded. His temper was unwrapped.

The rain still fell squashily in the street. New York City was the drab thing it always is during a rain, and the people were more discourteous than usual, particularly in their willingness to seize taxicabs from under our noses. But Mr. Mayfair elbowed others out of his way and appropriated two cabs.

"We'll split our forces," he advised. "Henry, you and Lila go ahead. I'll follow in the other cab. That'll give me more room for action."

It was all right with me. I would have Lila to myself, and I intended repairing her impression of me.

THE ride was an ordeal. Miss Lila Farrar insisted on talking about Doc Savage, repeating a whole string of rumors she had heard about the fellow's remarkable abilities, his generosity, his handsomeness, and his reticent ways. Much of this pap I had previously heard myself, and I utterly did not believe it. No man could be such a paragon of virtues and abilities. More likely, he was a tremendous fourflusher who had lots of people fooled. It was said that he avoided public appearances as much as possible because of modesty, but it was my secret thought that it would be a good idea for a fourflusher to keep under cover-he would be less likely to be found out.

In addition to being bored with this drooling, my mind was beset by anxiety concerning my prospects of future physical welfare. I endeavored to ascertain if we were being watched, followed, or otherwise molested. I could not tell. It was conceivable that Mr. Mayfair had said we might be in danger in order to build an unease in my mind. I didn't quite believe this, though.

Without incident, however, we arrived at the building housing my lab. Mr. Mayfair was not in sight, although his cab would probably appear soon.

"No sense standing on the street, inviting attention," Miss Farrar said.

So we went inside the building, into the lobby, and there a young man stepped alongside me, touched my arm most politely, said, "I beg pardon-aren't you Henry A. E. Jones?"

"Why, yes," I admitted, pausing.

"I'm Riley Edwards of the Calumet Research Foundation," he explained. "I'm awfully sorry to intrude, but could I have a word with you privately, Mr. Jones. Very briefly."

This young man was slender, impeccably dressed with a well-groomed if somewhat dry-skinned face. I had been exposed to so much bad manners recently that his were a relief. He was most courteous.

"Why, certainly," I said to him, and to Miss Lila Farrar, "Will you excuse me, Miss Farrar. I wish a private word with this gentleman."

"Not," she said, "too private, Henry. I'm going to keep an eye on you, bub."

The young man, Mr. Riley Edwards, was too much a gentleman to comment on her remark, which he must have thought rather odd. He manifested a very polite reserve, which I approved. We retired to aniche in the lobby adjacent to one of the shop entrances.

"Mr. Jones," he said. "I'm acquainted with Dido Alstrong."

"Oh-a friend of Dido's?" I exclaimed.

He hesitated, a mouth corner twitched wryly, and he confessed, "Well, Dido considers me so. You know how Dido is about his friends."

"Don't I!" I said violently. "The fellow is pushy no end!"

"Exactly!" Mr. Edwards seemed relieved that we held the same opinions of Dido. "I-er-consider him pushy also. And that makes it simpler to explain my mission. You see, Dido Alstrong asked me to call on you and get from you a package which he said you would be keeping for him."

"This package?" I asked, indicating the one in my hands.

"I don't know, I'm sure," said Mr. Edwards courteously. "But Dido stated, I believe, that the package was one you were to get from a locker in Grand Central Station."

"This is the one, then."