Chapter IV

19

STRANGE FISH

“By going out to that address alone,” Monk said. “That guy sounded tough, so you know there'll probably be some trouble.”

“Probably it will be a wild goose chase,” Doc told him.

Monk eyed him uneasily. “Don't wait until it's too late,” he warned, “to give me and Ham a ring.”

“Of course.”

“Wait a minute,” Monk said. The homely chemist went into the storeroom, and came out packing a thing which looked like the hand movie cameras with which picture hawkers stand on the streets and take photographs of pedestrians while passing out cards offering prints at three−for−a−quarter.

“This,” said Monk, “is a gadget Long Tom Roberts made before he went to China.”

“What is it?”

“A walkie−talkie radio in disguise,” Monk explained. “You put it up to your eye and press the button you're supposed to press to take pictures. Press the button about half way down to receive, and all the way down to talk. The speaker is this tiny thing on the back that looks like a scale to tell you how to set the camera for different light.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Call us if any excitement develops,” Monk said. “We'll keep a receiver tuned in.”

Doc took the gadget with him, convinced he would have no use for it. He did not expect to find the man who had made the threatening telephone call. After making such a call, no one would be likely to hang around the neighborhood. What Doc did hope to find was something about the man who had made the call.

It was getting daylight when he reached the street.

THE telephone number was Marshland 0−9007. The Marshland exchange was a Long Island one, assigned to a section of homes in the five−to−ten−thousand−dollar bracket.

Doc Savage drove past the front of the house with a hat yanked over his eyes to conceal his face. The home was neat, white, had a painstakingly trimmed look.

A residence—the fact that the telephone call had come from a private home surprised him. He might, he thought, get some line on who had threatened him, after all.

He took the direct course, and went to the front door and knocked. He waited. He knocked again, his knuckles making an emphatic racket. There was still no response.

A porch light was beside the door. He reached up, unscrewed the bulb out of that, and rested it between the door knob and the door jamb. It would rest there, but would fall if the door were to be opened.

He went around to the back door. He knocked. There was no answer. He pounded again, said, “This is the police! Open up!”