Read Doc Savage: The Miracle Menace for Free Online

carefully to his feet, not moving his head more than he had to. He observed for the first time the oil and broken glass on the floor and the other traces of recent activity.
    “You have a spasm in here?” he wanted to know.
    Gull passed on the question—it struck him now that Spook Davis’ voice did not sound as if he were inebriated.
    “What happened to you?” Gull demanded sharply.
    “Will you believe me?”
    “If I’m having one of my gullible moments. Go ahead.”
    Spook Davis drew in a breath, shut his eyes, then whistled painfully. “You know that patch of brush south of here in old Duzzit’s cow pasture?”
    “Well?”
    “You know the path through it, the short cut from here to town, or vice versa?”
    “Hurry up! What happened to you?”
    “Well, after the movie was over, I took that path to walk back here. Shorter. I was ambling along—”
    “Sure you weren’t staggering?” intimated Gull.
    “Ambling!” Spook fired back. “I’m not tight. I was ambling along and I heard—or rather, I bumped into—somebody. All unexpected, see. I bumped into this character, and the person drew back and there was kind of a hissing noise as if the party didn’t know what to think. Then there was a minute when nothing was said, so I thought I’d sort of break the conversational ice. I tried to think up something original, and I finally had it. But I guess it was the wrong thing.”
    “What was it?”
    “I said—‘Don’t be alarmed, it’s only Chris Columbus, looking forward to his new holiday.’ Then— bop! I got it. Right on the place where they tell me I do my thinking— say! What ails you!” This last was prompted by Gull’s stunned expression.
    “You mentioned Christopher Columbus entirely by chance?”
    “Sure.”
    “Listen!” Gull then explained, in tense, clipped sentences, everything that had happened.
    Spook Davis leaned back, supported only by his elbows, and his mouth fell open foolishly and remained that way. He became, after a while, as grim looking as Gull, and the two resembled each other more than ever in physical appearance, although the two were as apart as the poles in character. Gull was serious, ambitious, steady enough, although extravagant with money—however, of the latter he now considered himself well cured. On the other hand, Spook Davis was flighty and came about as near being what is slangily called a “screwball” as anyone could. At only one point, as Spook listened, did he really look frightened—when Gull mentioned the shotgun. Spook paled then. He had a horror of guns.
    It was typical of Spook Davis that, even before Gull finished telling what had occurred, the stooge began to recover from his surprise, to dismiss the mystery, to disregard the seriousness of the hound-voiced midget’s murdering to get the telegram, as well as his statement that he would dispose of The Great Gulliver later. Spook Davis was like that—fluctuating.
    “HONEST to Blackstone, it doesn’t make sense!” Spook grinned.
    Gulliver did not return the grin. He said, “The Christopher Columbus angle is queer. First, part of the telegram said Christopher Columbus was alive. Then you were attacked when you wisecracked that you were Christopher Columbus looking forward to his new holiday.”
    “Say, I remember something else!” Spook exploded.
    “What?”
    “After this unknown party I met hit me, I heard some gibberish about Columbus being alive. ‘Columbus alive—thinks he’s alive—sure he’s alive—hah, hah, hah!’ Crazy stuff like that. It must have been the guy who hit me gibbering. I’m sure I wasn’t doing anything but groaning. Whoo! My head!”
    Gull said, “Hold still,” and examined Spook’s head. There was a bruise and a cut, neither likely to prove serious.
    “I remember another thing,” Spook exclaimed. “Do you know two fellows named Harvell Braggs and Ivan Cass?”
    Gull squinted thoughtfully, and couldn’t recall them. “No.”
    Spook Davis