the building.
He headed for a near-by subway. The subways offer the quickest, most traffic free transportation in New York City.
A slender, sallow-skinned weasel of a man fell in behind Monk. The fellow was foppishly clad. He kept a hand in a coat pocket.
Monk’s forehead was so low as to be practically nonexistent. This characteristic is popularly supposed to denote stupidity. It didn’t in Monk. He was a highly intelligent man.
Monk’s sharp eyes noted the foppish man trailing him. He saw the weasel-like fellow’s reflection in a plate-glass window of a store.
Monk stopped sharply. His monster hand whipped back. It grasped the knot which the weasel man’s claw made in his coat pocket. Monk twisted. The weasel man’s coat tore half off. Skin was crushed from his hand. And Monk got the long-barreled revolver which the fellow had been holding in the pocket.
The foppish man staggered into a deserted entryway, propelled by a hirsute paw. Monk crowded against him and held him there.
Both Monk’s great hands gripped the revolver barrel. They exerted terrific force. Slowly, the barrel bent until it was like a hairpin.
Monk gave the weasel man back his gun.
'Now you can shoot!' he rumbled pleasantly. 'Maybe the bullet will turn around and hit the guy it oughta hit!'
Monk was something of a practical jokester.
The weasel man threw down his useless weapon. He tried to escape. He was helpless in the clutch of this human gorilla.
'Guess I’ll take you along and let Doc Savage talk to you,' Monk said amiably.
Monk hauled his prisoner out onto the walk.
'Hold it, you missin’ link!' snarled a coarse voice.
Monk started and stared at the curb.
A sedan had pulled up there. Four villainous looking men occupied it. They had automatic pistols and submachine guns pointed at Monk.
'Get in here!' rasped one of them.
MONK could do two things. He could put up a fight — and certainly get shot. Or he could enter the car.
He got in the sedan.
The instant Monk was seated in the machine, manacles were clicked upon his arms and legs. Not one pair — but three! His captors were prepared to cope with Monk’s vast strength.
Monk began to wish he had taken his chances in a fight.
The sedan wended through traffic. It passed a couple of cops. Monk kept silent. To shout an alarm would have meant the death of those policemen, as well as his own finish. Monk knew men. This was a crew of killers which had him.
The weasel man whose gun Monk had bent was in the car. He cursed the big prisoner and kicked him. Monk said nothing. He did not resist. But he marked the weasel man for a neck-wringing if the opportunity presented.
Rolling on a less used street, the sedan reached the water front. The district was one of rotting piers and disused warehouses on the East River.
The motor of an airplane could be heard out on the river.
The sedan halted. Monk was yanked out.
He saw the plane now. A seaplane, it was painted green.
The seaplane pilot tossed a line. His craft was hauled carefully to one of the old piers.
They dumped Monk in the plane cabin.
The pilot, Monk saw now, had a crimson-soaked bandage about his forehead, and another around his left arm. He was a squat fellow, much too fat. He had mean eyes.
Monk’s captors looked curiously at the pilot’s wounds.
'How’d you get plinked?' one asked.
The pilot vented a snarl of rage. He pointed at several bullet holes in the control compartment.
'Doc Savage!' he gritted. 'The bronze devil popped up after I thought I’d finished him! He nearly got me!'
Monk grinned at this. He had iron nerves. If Doc Savage was after this gang, the villainous fellows were in for a brisk time indeed. Monk tested his strength against his manacles. They were too much for him.
'Take the big guy to — you know where!' directed one of the men who had occupied the car.
The pilot indicated a radio receiving set in the plane.
'Sure,' he said. 'I know where he’s goin’. Kar gimme my orders over the short-wave radio set.'
He opened the throttle. With a moan from the exhaust pipes, the seaplane taxied about. It raced across the river surface and took the air.
MONK was prepared for an extensive air journey. He was fooled. The seaplane circled over Brooklyn, then across the harbor. It went nearly as far south as the Statue of Liberty. Banking north, it flew up the Hudson River.
The craft descended to the water near the beginning of Riverside Drive. It taxied slowly along the surface, close inshore.
Rearing up in the cabin, Monk was able to peer through the windows.
Near by and directly ahead stood a couple of rickety piers. To one of these was anchored a large, ancient three-masted sailing ship. The black, somber hull of this strange craft was pierced with cannon ports.
On top of the superstructure reared a big sign, reading:
THE JOLLY ROGER
Former Pirate Ship.
(Admission Fifty Cents)
It was the same craft upon which Doc Savage had cornered Squint and his companions. Monk, however, had no way of knowing this.
From the smokestack of the cookhouse, or galley, poured dense black smoke. This smudge was rapidly settling to the water about the old corsair craft.
Soon the vessel was completely hidden. The darksome pall spread to cover the river out a considerable distance from the ship.
Directly into this unusual smoke screen taxied the seaplane.
The floats of the craft were suddenly seized and held. Monk perceived several men had grasped the plane. These men were standing upon something. Monk craned his neck to see what it was.
His little eyes popped in astonishment.
Under the concealment of the smoke screen, a great steel tank of a thing had come up from the deep river bed. This was in the nature of a submarine, but without conning tower or engines and propellers.
A steel hatch gaped open in the middle of the tank. Into this hatch Monk was hauled.
The seaplane taxied away. The hatch closed. The tank of a submarine sank beneath the surface, submerging after the fashion of a genuine U-boat.
The whole operation had been blanketed by the smoke screen. An observer would not have dreamed a man had been shifted from the plane to a strange underwater craft which now rested on the river bed.
Kar’s men dragged Monk into a tiny steel chamber.
For a minute or two, the loud, sobbing gurgling of water entering the ballast tanks persisted. The submersible rolled a little, then settled solidly on the river bottom. One of the gang now spun metal wheels. These, no doubt, controlled valves.
The interior of the strange craft became quiet as a tomb, except for a monotonous
