"Exactly The logical explanation for her unconcern is that she already knew about it, knew where Gilmore was, and that he was O.K."

Ham Brooks frowned. "She's a mighty good-looking liar, and that's just what she is."

"What do we do about this?" Monk wanted to know.

"You," Doc said, "don't do anything about it. Except this: Monk, you shadow Mr. Wail. Latch onto him.

Don't let him make a move without your surveillance."

"Do I let him know I'm watching him?" Monk demanded.

"I don't care what Wail knows," Doc exclaimed. "His feelings about it do not enter the picture. I want him watched. Watch Wail every minute. Keep your eyes on him. Got it?"

"Right," Monk said. "I'll clamp an eye on him right now." He wheeled for the door.

"Wait! If anything odd begins happening, make plenty of uproar about it. Don't just stand there and let it happen."

Monk's expression became queer. "O.K."

"And, Monk, don't take too lightly Miss Sullivan's statement that Wail isn't what he seems.

Monk started, then swallowed. "Oh, for cripes sake!" he said. "When you're kidding me, why don't you use the tone of voice that goes with it!"

"Because I might not be kidding," Doc replied grimly. "Get on the job."

Doc swung to Ham Brooks. "Linningen and Bill Williams are your babies, Ham. Glue yourself to their backs. Watch everything. Count how many breaths they take, if you have to."

Ham said, "I'd rather count Miss Sullivan's respiration." "Never mind."

"Somebody should sort of watch her, shouldn't they?" Ham suggested hopefully.

"She'll be watched."

"Oh, you thought of that already," Ham said in a crestfallen voice. "How do you want me to report in, if I notice anything unusual?"

"Report it," Doc told him, "the quickest and loudest way. Don't bother being subtle. I have a feeling that if something breaks, haste will be the watchword. So don't blow any gentle bubbles about it."

Ham grinned. "You're expecting action?"

"Plenty of it," Doc said. "I think the stage is set."

The screech, when it came, had teeth like monstrous fangs, and it bit into the calm cold night and punished it and shook it as a dog shakes a rat. The quiet of the night died violently.

Doc Savage, rolling out of the chair in which he had been sitting, hit the floor uncertainly on all fours. Heremained there briefly, not quite positive what had occurred, not even positive of the shriek, and most of all, unwilling to credit the apparent fact that he had been asleep.

The shriek broke off and fell away like a great fragment broken from a cliff and falling into s.p.a.ce. There was silence and absolutely nothing in the silence. There was the silence for long enough to show that it had been a very effective shriek, one that had paralyzed the night. And then an old hen began cackling in alarm in a nearby henhouse, and in a moment at least fifty other hens joined her.

Doc Savage came to his feet now; he did it by seizing a chair and thrusting himself upright, and this, the fact that he needed a chair, seemed to confuse and puzzle him. But not for long, and he swung around and crossed the room and hit the door. The door was locked. He did not remember locking it.

But it was not a strong door, and he hit it once with a shoulder and got through.

The hail was quiet enough. No one had stirred in the house, as far as he could tell. There was a strange cavity-like silence, with the hens cackling.

He saw the stuff on the floor, the tiny patches of it that he had sprinkled in front of the doors of the bedrooms. It was powder, the grains of which would become very sticky when they absorbed a bit of moisture from the air. The powder had the same basic ingredients, with just a little variance in each type so that the fluorescence would have a different color.

The powder was stuff he had used often before, and it should not have seemed as important to him as it did now. He stared at it and could not think why it was so prominent in his mind. There didn't seem to be a good reason. It was just stuff that would stick to your shoes, and a little would rub off as you walked during the next day or two; the particles that rubbed off would be microscopic, but with a good black light projector, and preferably in darkness, a trail would be left that could be followed. Also the trail could be photographed with the proper equipment, if evidence was needed in court. But it didn't seem vital now. What counted was the scream.

Now he got it clear - the screech had been in Monk's voice. Doc wheeled and lunged toward Monk's room, the room supposed to be occupied by Monk and Mr. Wail, as a matter-of-fact, and reaching the door, he found it locked.

He struck the door four or five times with his fist, hard blows, and it was like hitting the head of a drum that had gone soft.

Back of him a door opened, and he wheeled at the sound and saw Linningen, the psychiatrist, standing there in the open door. Linningen seemed to weave slightly in a dazed fashion, and he kept blinking.

"What is the difficulty?" Linningen asked in a voice that, somehow, did not seem his own.

"You hear that yell, Linningen?"

"I. . . something awakened me."

"Where did it come from?"

Linningen stared blankly. "I haven't the least idea. Where has everyone gone? What's up?"

Doc stared at Linningen. Ham Brooks and Bill Williams were supposed to be sharing Linningen's large room.

"Isn't Ham Brooks in there?" Doc demanded. "No. He and Williams are gone. I don't know where they went, or how they did it without arousing me.

I'm a light sleeper - "

Doc, lunging past him into the room, said, "Look for signs of a struggle!"

"Struggle?" Linningen repeated in a foolish tone. "Why, there couldn't have been the least sort of commotion, or it would have awakened me.

"They could have taken the house apart around you!" Doc told him grimly. "You've been doped, man. It shows all over you.

"Doped? I was fed something at dinner?" Linningen asked blankly.

"I don't know when you were fed it," Doc snapped, "but it was a pretty slick job, because they got me, and I was looking for it."

The room clearly bore no sign of a struggle, however, and Doc Savage, with Monk's howl again on his mind, raced back into the hall. He was about to strike Monk's door when it opened, and the chemist shuffled out.

"You yelled?" Doc demanded.

Monk batted his eyes owlishly, held the palm of his hand up in front of his nose and examined it, suddenly rubbed the palm violently over his face. 'A yell?" he said. "You call that a mere yell? Why, that was the most noise I've made in years. I tried to shake the house down."

"Why?"

"I'd... uh. ..rather not say," Monk mumbled.

Doc lunged past Monk, saw that Mr. Wail was sitting upright in bed, staring in alarm, and asked, "What made Monk shout?"

"Shout?" said Wail bitterly. "You can refer to such a noise as a shout? I can a.s.sure you that no man ever uttered a worse squawk on finding he had been a.s.signed to h.e.l.l, and I have listened to some excellent efforts in my time."

"You don't know what upset Monk?"

"I have no idea, although he might have chanced to get a look at his own face in a mirror. That might do it," Wail said.

"He awakened you?"

Wail nodded. 'Awakened me, and made me a paralytic and a nervous wreck at the same time."

Doc Savage swung on Monk. "All right, Monk, out with it. You didn't sound off like that without a good reason.

Monk was rubbing his face, and pinching his cheek. "I've been doped," he said. "I've been fed something to make me sleep."

"Along with the rest of us," Doc said. "Why did you let loose the howl?"

Monk wouldn't meet Doc's eyes. "Do I hafta tell you, Doc?" "Yes. Hurry it up, too."

Monk took a deep breath, then spoke rapidly in a tone of knowing he wouldn't be believed. He said, "I saw a devil floating around the room. I couldn't describe him exactly, except that he didn't have the customary forked tail and horns, but he was a devil. There wasn't a bit of doubt in my mind that he was a devil."

Doc asked dryly, "How in G.o.d's name do you recognize a devil as such if you didn't see enough of him for a description?"

"When you see a devil," Monk said sheepishly, "you just know he's the devil. You don't need a description. Take it from an old boy who just saw one.

Doc gestured impatiently. 'All right, now you've described your sensations. What actually happened?

Where did this demon go?"

"When I yell like that, I close my eyes," Monk said somewhat guiltily. "After I got the whoop out, my visitor was gone. That's all I know."

Doc Savage noted that Mr. Wail was pale and pasty, and the man's chubby hands were twitching. "Wail, what is the matter with you?" Doc demanded.

"They've sent one of the boys to check on me," Mr. Wail said gloomily.

"One of the boys?"

Wail jerked a thumb downward. "From down below. They probably think I haven't been doing my best.

To tell the truth, I haven't."

Monk emitted a howl of anger. "You and your talk about devils!" Monk bellowed. "d.a.m.n you, that's what caused me to have a nightmare like I had. Dreaming I saw Old Nick walking around in here. It's your fault!"

"You didn't see the head boy," Wail told him with an air of certainty. "You wouldn't be standing there unscorched, jumping up and down like an ape, if the head rascal had paid you a visit."

"Oh, shut up, before I flatten your nose!" Monk bellowed at him.

"Monk, get control of yourself," Doc said. "You think it was a nightmare?"

"Sure it was! Somebody did dope me, though, because I can tell - "

"Ham is gone," Doc broke in.

" - tell from the way I feel. It was a barbiturate or some -" Monk's mouth remained open a moment.

"Ham isn't here? What's that?"

"Neither is Williams," Doc said.

Mr. Wail showed considerable excitement. "Williams is gone too?" he shouted. "If that fool amateur knew what he was monkeying with, he wouldn't be so persistent. The silly loon! I thought I'd taught him a lesson."

"What lesson?" Doc demanded. "When I caused him to start to paddle out into the tide rip," said Mr. Wail, leering. 'And a few other little things that I caused him to do, that he didn't tell you about."

"Deviltry, you mean?" Doc asked dryly. "That's right."

"What," Doc inquired, "do you think Williams is doing, and where is he right now?"

Mr. Wail snorted. "Find that out for yourself."

Monk debated between belaboring Wail with a fist and investigating to see whether Ham Brooks and Williams were really gone; the latter won, and he rushed into the hall. A moment later he was bellowing, "Miss Sullivan! She's gone, too!"

This proved true. Leona Sullivan's room was empty.

Now the manservant, Clancy, came from the rear of the lodge, bearing a double-barreled shotgun and a flashlight. He was trailed by his wife, who had a .22 rifle. Their faces were anything but peaceful.

"Master Gilmore is gone!" Clancy croaked.

Doc took a step forward. "What's that? Gilmore is - "

"We hurried out to see if Gilmore was being molested; we heard a shriek," Clancy explained excitedly.

"Gilmore is gone. I'm afraid there was violence." His voice had risen to near incoherence.

"Gilmore has been here?"

"I.. .yes. "How long?"

"Since this morning. He came in haste, and we hid him because he did not want anyone to know he was here - "

"Clancy!" his wife snapped. "You're talking too much! You're not supposed to tell about Gilmore - "

"Oh, h.e.l.l!" Clancy snapped. "I'm tired of these goings-on that n.o.body can understand. I'll talk if I want to."

Doc demanded, "Didn't Gilmore tell a story to explain his long absence?"

Clancy shook his head. "He didn't tell any story, and I wasn't a bit surprised. Gilmore is a nice boy, but he's as nutty as a fruitcake - "

"Clancy!" his wife exclaimed.