Read Doc Savage: Phantom Lagoon (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage) for Free Online Page A

metallic features. Doc rarely showed emotion. It had been schooled out of him at an early age.
    “What do you suppose she wanted?”
    “Given her past as a wild woman,” the bronze man said, “probably publicity, or something equally foolhardy.”
    “Mebbe so,” the apish chemist returned. “But she ain’t been heard from since she came off that Caribbean isle. What do you suppose that was all about?”
    “Hornetta Hale,” said Doc Savage, “has a knack for becoming stranded, marooned, or otherwise landing in the center of attention.”
    “She sure was a publicity hog in her day,” Monk agreed, giving Habeas’ back a vigorous scratching. “Maybe she done it to herself to grab off some headlines. I still wonder who those two guys were.”
    “Hornetta Hale was rumored to have gone broke after her last escapade,” Doc Savage offered.
    Monk grinned. “Maybe it was bill collectors who stuck her on that sandpile.”
    The sedan had been barreling along at a surprising clip, given the twisting road. A professional race car driver would have sworn that no man-and-car combination could have held the road at the speeds at which the bronze man navigated the turnpike. Yet Doc Savage drove with an ease of handling that verged on the superhuman.
    That skill was no more in evidence than when the sedan slid around a hairpin turn and, abruptly, there was a truck van blocking the road. The rear was open, the doors flung wide, and a steel ramp had been lowered.
    There was no going around it, and precious little room in which to stop. Monk Mayfair grabbed the door frame with both hairy hands and squeezed his piggish eyes shut. Habeas, more intelligent than most dogs, scooted for the floorboards.
    Doc pressed the brake pedal with a smooth, sure tap of his oxford-shod foot.
    Slewing not at all, the roaster slid to a stop, its front bumper jutting just over the bottom of the waiting ramp.
    “You may look now, Monk,” Doc suggested quietly.
    By this time, the hairy chemist had clapped his hirsute hands over his homely face. He dropped them. His jaw sagged cavernously.
    Staring into the yawning mouth of the van interior, Monk muttered, “I sure don’t like the looks of this….”
    Monk Mayfair had little chance to digest the view. For zooming up behind them came barreling a sturdy milk delivery truck. It struck their rear bumper. With a clash and clang of steel, the sedan was knocked half way up the ramp.
    “What the blue blazes!” Monk howled.
    The milk truck roared into reverse, stopped, then came at them again. This time it pushed the subdued machine fully into the van interior.
    It was that slick. The milk truck spun back, and out popped a peppery blonde. She rushed up to the rear of the van, and with surprising speed, pulled a pin that caused the ramp to drop free.
    That was sufficient to prevent to sedan from backing out safely.
    There were two swinging doors affixed to the van body. The blonde threw one, then the other shut. Then she bolted them tight, adding a sturdy brass padlock for good measure. That took care of any last chance for escape.
    Climbing in the van’s cab, she gunned the motor to life. The van roared off, its captured cargo jouncing in back on immobilized tires.
    “Wouldn’t work for me!” Hornetta Hale cried gleefully. “Hah! I’ll make ’em do it!”
    THE van lumbered along for perhaps a quarter hour. Behind the wheel, Hornetta Hale was talking to herself.
    “I knew that big bronze bohunk was overrated the minute I laid eyes on him,” she sniffed. “Sure, he has a reputation. Probably hired himself a good press agent.”
    Presently, the van approached a grade. The blonde firecracker proved that she could have made a fair living as a teamster. She double-clutched up the hill, reached the top and slid down the summit, foot off the gas, allowing gravity to pull her machine along.
    “Doc Savage, my fancy foot!” she bit out.
    During the climb, the truck gave a mighty jounce just before reaching