He did find a hole through which he could squirm. He got through carefully, carrying a supersensitive listening device-microphone, wire, amplifier, headphones-with him.

He could have left the listener behind. The men were gathered at one end of a shed. The sun was driving down heat and glare, and there was shadow at the end of the shed.

The pink man was fighting them, not fighting very successfully. There were too many of them. He was the man who had been seized from Doc's aids. The undersized, rather emaciated pink man.

He kicked a foe in the face. He bit another. Someone got hold of his legs. Two more men came running with a two-by-four timber several feet long; they jammed that down on his neck and held him there, half guillotined.

Then they tied him hand and foot.

A man-the man who had been in charge of the raid throughout-began asking questions."There's no need of being so tough, pal," he said. "We haven't got anything against you? Or have we?"

The strangely pink man had a l.u.s.ty voice for such an emaciated fellow. It was full of grinding rage. He said, "I'll make somebody pay for this! d.a.m.n me, if I don't!"

"What you better do is calm yourself."

The bound man tried to kick his questioner. "If you're responsible for what happened to me, I'll tear your heart out!"

"Now, now, cool off."

"I'll skin that girl alive, too!" the pink man screamed.

"Who? Who'll you skin?"

"That girl-Lada Harland."

The questioner showed blank astonishment. "Is she responsible for you being the way you are?"

"Who else could it be?" the other snarled.

The man doing the questioning looked at his companions. He scratched his head. "I wish Bodine was here, he complained. "This is a h.e.l.l of a note. Bodine should know about this."

"Who's Bodine?" asked the pink man.

The spokesman did not answer.

AFTER several minutes, the prisoner on the ground showed his teeth in what might have been a snarl, or a desperate grin of resignation. The teeth were pink.

He said, "You guys can't be half as puzzled as I am. Suppose we make a deal."

The spokesman looked interested. "What kind of a deal?"

"I tell you what happened to me. Then you tell me what it means."

The spokesman lit a cigarette. He flipped the match away with a snapping movement of thumb and forefinger so that the match made a whining sound. "Why not?"

"Then it's a deal?"

"Yeah."

"I had a date with this girl," said the pink man angrily. "With Lada Harland, see. It's in the evening, this date is. I go to her house. We sit around. I want to hold hands. She says would I like a drink. I says a drink of what. She says a drink that will warm us up. I says sure, if she will have one, too. I don't need warming up any, but she does. So she brings two tall ones. They're green. I drink mine and it tastes like h.e.l.l. I tell you, I've tasted some bad stuff in my time, but this stuff she hands me is the worst ever. But she mixed it herself, she says, and I don't want to offend her, so I pour the stuff down the hatch. And when I wake up, d.a.m.ned if I ain't the color of a boiled lobster, only more so."

"She fed you a Mickey Finn?" "Double-barreled, with bells on."

"And when you woke up-"

"I'm the color I am now."

The spokesman muttered, "That's funny."

The man on the ground got rid of some invective. "I don't see what's so funny!" he snarled.

"Queer, I mean."

"There oughta be a stronger word than queer."

"When did this happen?"

"I kind of lost track of time. But it was over a week ago."

Doc Savage became tense where he lay. As a matter of precaution, one of his hands went to a pocket and brought out half a dozen objects which looked like gelatinous capsules filled with a vile-looking liquid. They were gas grenades of an anaesthetic type. He waited.

The spokesman was scowling at the man on the ground. "A week ago, eh?"

"Over a week, a little."

"Where've you been all this time?"

The man on the ground made a harsh noise. "Where d'you think a man in my condition would be?

Keeping out of sight. And trying to get doctors to tell me what was wrong with me."

"You forgot to explain how you got out of the Harland house."

"That? That was easy. I just busted loose and ran for it."

"And then you tried to find a doctor who could cure you?"

"Yes."

"Didn't you try to get hold of the Harlands?"

"Yeah. I sent a pal out there. He said n.o.body would answer the door. He made three trips, and neither time n.o.body would answer."

"The Harlands were at home all last week." The spokesman looked at his companions and grinned. "We oughta know."

"Whatcha mean-you oughta know?" The pink man scowled at them. "You mean you was there?"

"Sure. What did this pal you sent out there look like?"

"Oh, he was an average-lookin' kind of a guy."

"Short and fat?"

"Naw. Average. He may of had a bundle of magazines under his arm. I told him to pretend to be amagazine salesman. Or maybe it was brushes. Either one. I didn't ask him what gag he used."

One of the other men chuckled and said, "You remember that brush salesman that kept comin' to the door? He musta been the guy."

The spokesman said, "This pal of yours spoke with an Irish accent, didn't he?"

"Not that I ever heard. Anyway, if you didn't let him in the Harland house, how would you know how he talked?"

"We heard him talking to a neighbor."

"My pal ain't got no Irish accent."

The spokesman laughed. "Neither did this brush peddler." He grinned at the man on the ground. "Your story seems to be holding together. How about naming a few of them doctors you went to see?"

The pink man named three doctors, and gave their business addresses.

The spokesman said, "Them names better be right, friend. I'm going to check on them."

He went away.

DOC SAVAGE lay very still. It was hot. The smell of stale water was in the air. He had heard no boats pa.s.s, so the spot must be remote. A few bugs crawled among the weeds in which he lay.

It must have been fifteen minutes before the man in charge of the gang came back.

"I been telephoning," he said. "I could only get two of those doctors. The third one wasn't in."

"What did they say?" asked the pink man.

"Said they had never heard of you."

The pink man was indifferent. "You're a d.a.m.ned liar," he said.

The other laughed. He worried the bound man's ribs with a toe. "Sure. I'm a liar," he said. "I guess you're who you claim you are. By the way, what is your name?"

"Slats."

"Slats what? You had a father, didn't you?"

The man on the ground showed his teeth. There was nothing pleasant about it this time. "Go to h.e.l.l," he said.

His questioner scowled. "Don't get tough."

"Nuts."

"Why didn't you go to the cops with this trouble of yours?"

The pink man was quite still for a while. His eyes were narrow. "Look, pal," he said finally, "would you go to the cops if you had a piece of trouble?""Why not?"

The bound man laughed. "You answer that one."

"Meaning the cops don't like you?"

"They like me fine. They love me. They've told me so. I don't like them."

"So it's that way."

"You heard me."

"What have they got on you?"

"The h.e.l.l with you, brother. You ain't gonna turn me over to them."

The questioner was looking more and more satisfied with the way things were going. He asked, "Why did Doc Savage's men grab you?"

"Was that who they were?"

"Didn't they tell you?"

"All they told me was that they would fix me so I would need new teeth if I didn't talk."

"What did you tell them?"

"Nothing. You can believe it or not."

The questioner flipped away his cigarette, and it landed a few feet from where Doc Savage was crouched, lay there smoking. He said-his tone was not unfriendly-to the pink man, "I wouldn't worry too much if I was you. We may be able to use you. What would you say to that?"

"I would say: Use me for what? And who uses me?"

"Keep your shirt on. I'll have to talk to Bodine. He's the boss."

The pink man stared at the other intently. "You mean that?"

"Sure. But it will depend on Bodine. We're short of good men. But it'll be up to him whether he takes you on or not."

The bound man looked at his hands. His laugh was sudden, almost with an insane quality. "In this kind of a condition, a h.e.l.l of a lot of help I would be to anybody."

"We may be able to fix that."

The man who had been doing the talking whirled nervously as a man came running from a dilapidated building some distance away. He relaxed, however, when he recognized the fellow. He demanded, "What the blazes you want?"

"The big guy is on the telephone," the man said. "He wants to talk to you, Cy."