one was there. He went to the next room. This was a library, a chamber which contained thousands of the finest technical tomes.
Into another and much larger room, Doc went. This was the laboratory. Marble and glass-topped work tables were everywhere. Scores of huge steel-and-glass cases held chemicals, rare metals, test tubes, siphons, mortars, retorts, tubing and apparatus of which only Doc knew the use. No one was there.
This laboratory was exceeded for completeness by only one on earth — the one which Jerome Coffern had told his fellow chemists that Doc must visit to conduct his great experiments uninterrupted. Jerome Coffern’s guess had been right.
Doc had another laboratory, vaster even than this. It was at the spot he called his 'Fortress of Solitude.' This was built upon a rocky island far within the arctic circle. No one but Doc knew its location. And when he was there, no word from the outside world could ever reach him. It was to his Fortress of Solitude that Doc retired periodically to study and experiment and increase his fabulous store of knowledge.
Convinced none of his five friends had as yet arrived, Doc returned to the reception room. He stripped and donned dry clothes which he got from a cleverly concealed locker.
Doc’s frame, stripped, was an amazing thing. He had the muscles of an Atlas. They were not knotty, but more like bundled piano wire lacquered a deep bronze color. The strength and symmetry of that great form was such as to stun an onlooker.
Suddenly there came an interruption.
The report was loud. With a rending of wood, the thick panel of the outer door caved inward, propelled by an enormous fist. That fist was composed of an ample gallon of knuckles. They looked like solid, rusty iron. And it would have taken a very big and violent mule to do as much damage to that door as they had done.
The fist withdrew.
A man now opened what was left of the door and came in. He was at least six feet four in height, and would weigh two fifty. The man resembled an elephant, with his sloping, gristle-heaped shoulders.
He had a severe, puritanical face. His eyes were dark, somber and forbidding. His mouth was thin and grim and pinched together as though he disapproved of something.
This was Colonel John Renwick. Every one called 'Renny.' He was honored throughout the world for his accomplishments as a civil engineer.
Renny looked like he was coming to a funeral. Actually, he was literally rolling in joy. His popping out the panel of the door showed that. It was a trick Renny did when he felt good. And the better he felt, the more sour he looked.
'Where’s this trouble you was tellin’ Monk about?' he asked Doc.
Doc Savage chuckled. 'It’ll keep until the others get here. I’ll tell you all together.'
SOON two men could be heard haranguing each other loudly in the corridor.
'You can’t tell me nothing about electronic refraction, you skinny galoot!' shouted a belligerent voice. 'Electricity is my business!'
'I don’t give a snap if it is!' retorted another voice. 'I’m telling you what I read about electronic refraction. I know what I read, and it was in an article you wrote. You made a mistake — '
There was a loud slamming noise. A man came flying into the room, propelled by a vigorous toe.
This man was tall and gaunt, with a half-starved look. His shoulders were like a clothes hanger under his coat.
He was William Harper Littlejohn. The year before, he had won a coveted international medal for his work in archaeology.
'What’s the trouble now, Johnny?' Doc inquired.
Johnny got up from the floor, laughing.
'Long Tom wrote an article for a technical magazine and he made a mistake any ten-year-old kid could catch,' Johnny chuckled. 'He hasn’t seen the article since it got in print, and he won’t believe me.'
Snorting loudly, an undersized, slender man came in from the corridor. He had a complexion that was none too healthy. His hair was pale, his eyes a faded blue. He looked like a physical weakling. He wasn’t, though. It had taken a lusty kick to propel Johnny inside.
The undersized man was Major Thomas J. Roberts on the official records, but Long Tom to everybody else. He had done electrical experiments with Steinmetz and Edison. He was a wizard with the juice.
'Where’s Ham and Monk?' Long Tom asked. 'And where’s this trouble? I’m gonna tear an arm off Johnny if I don’t get some excitement pretty quick.'
'Here comes Ham,' Doc offered.
Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks now appeared. He was a waspish, swift-moving, slender man. Of all the lawyers Harvard had sent forth from its legal department, it was most proud of Ham. He was an amazingly quick-witted man.
Ham’s dress was the ultra in sartorial perfection. Not that he was flashily clad, for he had too good taste for that. But he had certainly given his attire a lot of attention.
Ham carried a black, severe-looking cane with a gold band. This was in reality a sword cane, a blade of keenest Damascus steel sheathed within the black metal tube.
Ham also was eager for action.
They waited for Monk to appear.
Monk was the fifth of Doc’s friends. He had a penthouse chemical laboratory and living quarters downtown, near Wall Street. He should have arrived by now.
They were remarkable men, these adventurers. A lesser man than Doc Savage could never have held their allegiance. But to Doc, they gave their absolute loyalty. For Doc was a greater engineer than Renny, a more learned archaeologist than Johnny, an electrical wizard exceeding even Long Tom, a more astute man of law than Ham, and he could teach Monk things about chemistry. Too, each of the five owed his life to Doc, thanks to some feat of the bronze man on the field of battle, or the magic of Doc’s surgery.
As time passed, they began to exchange uneasy glances.
'Now I wonder what has happened to that ugly ape, Monk?' Ham muttered.
Doc called Monk’s downtown penthouse place. Monk’s secretary — she was one of the prettiest secretaries in New York City — informed him that Monk had left some time ago.
Doc hung up.
'I’m afraid, brothers, that Kar has got his hands on Monk,' he said slowly.
Chapter 7. THE UNDERWATER LAIR
DOC was right.
Monk wasted little time after receiving Doc’s call. He shucked off his rubber work apron. He had a chest fully as thick as it was wide. He put on a coat especially tailored with extra long sleeves. Monk’s arms, thick as kegs, were six inches longer than his legs. Only five feet and a half in height, Monk weighed two hundred and sixty pounds.
His little eyes twinkled like stars in their pits of gristle as he gave his secretary a few orders about his correspondence. Monk knew he might be away six months — or only an hour.
An elevator hurried him down from his penthouse establishment. The elevator operator and the clerk at the cigar stand both grinned widely at the homely Monk. They admired and liked him.
Each carried a pocket piece presented by Monk. These were silver half dollars which Monk had folded in the middle with his huge, hairy, bare hands.
Monk purchased a can of smoking tobacco and a book of cigarette papers. He rolled his own. Then he left
