Chapter XI

DOC’S FAST ONE

ONCE ashore, Karl Zad did some fast moving. He went directly to the zabit in charge of the local police.

“I am Karl Zad, a law-abiding merchant of this town,” he declared. “Aboard the submarine Helldiver is some of the loot from a desert caravan which was robbed near here some six weeks ago! There are at least two new suitcases filled with it! There may be more!”

“How do you know this?” he was asked.

“They tried to sell the stuff to me. I went out to the submarine to look at it, not knowing they were thieves. When I learned the truth, I told them I would have to come ashore to get money. And I hurried straight to you!”

The zabit swallowed this volley of lies. He grabbed his turban, a rifle, and summoned a squad of thin-faced, efficient officers.

The raiding party departed on a run in the direction of the submarine.

Karl Zad walked in the opposite direction, a satisfied smirk on his face. He set a direct course for his house, not looking behind him or showing interest in those he passed. Once inside, he uncovered the short-wave radio set concealed under the floor.

He got Mohallet after calling a few moments.

“It is working perfectly, 0 master!” he reported. “I got the stuff aboard-loot which I was keeping here in my house.”

“I hope you did not pick out the Valuable articles!” growled the greedy Mohallet.

“Only material which can be identified as loot from ransacked caravans. Jewelry with outstanding characteristics, together with worthless papers from the wallets of robbed merchants.”

“Good!” said Mohallet. “Now, when Doc Savage and his men are in jail, we will steal the submarine.”

“I will attend to that, too, 0 master.”

“You did not tell them anything they may find of Value?”

“No. They asked me about a place known as Crying Rock. I told them I knew where it was.”

“You lied!”

“Of course. But I had to tell them I knew. I never heard of such a place before.”

“That is good!” gritted Mohallet, and there was a quality in his voice which said it might be a bad thing for Karl Zad if he did know where Crying Rock was.

“What is behind all this trouble, 0 master?” asked Karl Zad.

“That is not business of yours!”

Karl Zad made an angry face, but his voice remained meek, servile. “Very well.”

At this point, curtains over a door on the opposite side of the room parted noiselessly. A huge nemesis in bronze flashed across the floor. A metallic hand lifted, chopped down.

Karl Zad never knew of the presence of Doc Savage. He went to sleep instantly. Such was the force of the blow that he would slumber at least an hour.

Doc Savage leaned close to the radio microphone. “Wait, O master, on the air, and I will look and see if the police are as yet bringing the bronze man and his five helpers to shore.”

The voice was a perfect imitation of that of Karl Zad. An eavesdropper m the next room could hardly have told the difference.. Among Doc’s other accomplishments, which he had perfected by intensive study and practice, was a remarkable command of voice mimicry. He could imitate almost any tone. Moreover, he could simulate what defied most male mimics - the voice of a woman.

Doc did not go outside. Instead, he ran into the next room, got the box he had brought ashore. and came back. He opened it. Out came a sensitive directional radio receiver.

He switched off Karl Zad’s transmitter. Then, tuning until he found the carrier wave-marked by a strong hissing on a certain part of the dial of Mohallet’s sender, he rotated the loop aerial until the signal was strongest. This gave him the direction from which the waves were coming.

He made a mental note of the compass bearing. Later, on the submarine, he would draw a line on a chart, using that bearing. Somewhere along that line, Mohallet was now located.

Doc switched on Karl Zad’s transmitter.

“There is no news,” he said, Imitating Karl Zad’s voice in uncanny fashion.

“Call me when there is,” commanded Mohallet. “This ends our conversation. Naharak sa’id!”

Mohallet’s carrier wave now died. In businesslike fashion, Doc now smashed Karl Zad’s wireless set. When he had finished, it would never send another message.

Doc left the house. When he reached the beach, the Arabian zabit and his squad of policemen were approaching from the submarine. Doc waited for them.

They were very angry.

“We were tipped off to search your submarine,” they told him. “It must have been some Yankee idea of a joke. We found nothing!”

Just to make sure, they searched the box which held Doc’s radio receiver.

“I can prove that we came here directly from New York,” Doc announced.

The policemen evidently believed him.

“I cannot understand this!” their chief muttered in disgust.

“I suggest you search thoroughly the house of the man who made this false charge against me - Karl Zad, the merchant,” Doc suggested.

“Wallah!” hissed the zabit.

“We will do that!”

Doc now hired one of a swarm of boatmen and ‘vent out to the submarine. He found his men puzzled, angry. Johnny, especially, was in a boiling rage.

“That was all a trick!” Johnny roared, windmilling his sticklike arms. “‘When I get hold of that Karl Zad, I’ll skin ‘im alive, I will!”

“I imagine the police will take care of that,” Doc said dryly. “They’re going to search his house. And I overheard enough to guess there is much loot concealed there.”

Doc explained how the wad from the blank cartridge had put him on Karl Zad’s trail.

His five aids fell to grinning widely.

“So all Mohallet’s phenagling done was to give us a line on his whereabouts!” Renny boomed.

Johnny fumbled with his glasses which had the magnifier on the left side. “Karl Zad must have carried loot aboard in his bags to plant it!” he ruminated. “But what happened to the stuff, Doc?”

It was a rare thing when Doc smiled. He smiled now.

“I took it out and threw it overboard,” he said’