Doc Savage: Phantom Lagoon (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage) (25 page)

“What?” asked Ham.

“A natural formation in this part of the world, as well as in others,” Doc Savage explained. “We are looking at a body of water which no doubt leads to one or more underwater caves. Sometimes there are networks of tunnels feeding seawater into these so-called blue holes.”

Monk peered downward and remarked, “Looks greenish to me.”

Indeed, as they watched, luminous patches of faint green showed here and there, deep in the depths of the dark pool, as if creatures were stirring the waters.

“Sea fire,” ventured Ham. And to prove his point, the dapper lawyer kicked a loose stone over the edge.

Where the stone made a splash, a zone of disturbed water sprang into vivid luminescence, which turned a spectral green before dying into darkness again. It appeared almost alive, which in a way, it was.

Doc nodded. “The pool is undoubtedly brimming with minute marine organisms which, when agitated, produce temporary phosphorescence. They are already subsiding.”

Doc began to walk along the lip of the depression, and his flashlight showed that the soil was black and rocky, some of it very shiny ebony glass.

Monk reached down, then picked up a chunk of this. He looked at it closely.

“Obsidian! This isn’t any valley. This is the cone of an extinct volcano!”

Long Tom excavated some growth with the toe of one shoe, revealing igneous rock.

They looked at the formation with new eyes. Apparently, a volcano had existed on this spot, but had gone extinct possibly thousands of years ago. It had filled with rainwater, if not seawater, which infiltrated through lava tunnels.

Doc Savage said, “The Lesser Antilles is predominately comprised of volcanic isles such as this. That could place us in the West Indies, in the westernmost portion of the Caribbean Sea.”

Doc shone the intense pencil beam of his flashlight down into the water. He did this for quite some time.

“What are you looking for?” wondered Ham Brooks.

Doc Savage did not reply. It was characteristic of Doc not to respond when he preferred to keep information to himself.

He said only, “This blue hole bears investigating.”

ABRUPTLY, the bronze giant retreated down to the shore, and made his way back to the anchored cruiser.

Rummaging through broken equipment cases, he unearthed a diving helmet that was remarkable in the extreme.

It was no clumsy affair of stainless steel and glass ports. Instead, it resembled one of those tall crystal glass covers that are placed over old-fashioned desktop clocks to protect the intricate gearworks from dust and dirt. Except for a shoulder plate of formed aluminum, as well as leather straps to go under the armpits to secure the thing, the diving helmet was entirely transparent. It was not glass, but of a clear composition stronger than steel produced in Doc’s fabulous laboratory at the North Pole.

From a drawer he took a handful of white pills that resembled ordinary aspirin. These, however, were more of the oxygen tablets Doc had devised many years ago.

Cradling the helmet under one arm, Doc returned to the water and waded back onshore.

He joined his men and they took up a position under a palm tree that was black with soot but otherwise unscorched.

“What I have in mind is best accomplished after sunrise.”

“So we wait?” questioned Long Tom.

Doc nodded.

Ham had a sudden thought. “It has just dawned on me that the Count and these web-footed creatures must be in league with one another.”

“They are,” said Doc. “Furthermore, I recognized the Count. His name is not Rumpler. Rather, he is Count Runo von Elmz, a Prussian aristocrat of some renown. I have never met him, but in pictures I have studied, he was always bearded. With his face shorn, it took a second encounter until I was able to place his identity.”

“Spy?” asked Ham.

“Without question,” said Doc.

Long Tom grumbled, “None of this adds up to much.”

Monk looked about him, and then up into the crown of the palm tree which was rustling in the soft breeze. He muttered, “I wonder if there’s anything to eat around here?”

Ham sniffed, “You
would
think of your stomach at a time like this!”

Monk snapped back, “If we’re stuck here any length of time, we’re all going to be dreamin’ of grub.”

That sobering thought made Ham grow silent.

Long Tom looked out across the water at their anchored cruiser and rubbed his jaw in perplexity.

“I still can’t figure how we got here, boat and all. We didn’t pilot it in our sleep, that’s for sure.”

No one seized the conversational hook dangling in the darkness until Monk Mayfair suddenly asked, “What do you suppose happened to that waspy Hornetta Hale?”

“Shark most likely got her,” Long Tom said without sympathy.

The thought of the feisty blonde having been devoured by a shark did not bring any cheer to their collective mood. Doc’s men again lapsed into silence.

While they waited for the sun to rise, Monk Mayfair grew restless and stood up.

“I need to stretch my legs,” he remarked to no one in particular.

Doc Savage cautioned, “Do not go very far. Stay in sight.”

Monk shrugged resignedly and said, “This whole dang island ain’t much more than a half mile in any direction.”

The gorilla-like chemist ambled off.

Hardly five minutes passed before Monk came charging back, waving his long, furry arms and saying,
“Ye-e-ow!”

Doc rushed up to meet him, demanded, “What is it?”

Monk did not immediately reply. He was too agitated. He made noises that the bronze man recognized as inarticulate panic.

When the hairy chemist got himself under control, he asked Doc Savage a simple question.

“Are you sure this place was scorched by lightning?”

“Absolutely. Why do you ask?”

“Because I just saw the Devil.”

“The Devil?” Doc Savage prompted.

A weird horror was in the homely chemist’s tiny eyes. His hairy forearms actually trembled.

“This devil didn’t look like the Devil you see in picture books. He was worse.”

“Describe this devil,” Doc Savage instructed.

Monk made wild gestures of description. “He stood nearly eight feet tall. Had a row of horns all around the top of his head, not just two in the front like you would expect a decent devil to have.”

“Jove!” Ham breathed. “Monk has lost his mind.”

Doc Savage gestured for silence. “Continue, Monk,” he invited.

“Like I said, eight feet tall and he was green as a grasshopper, not red. I think he had a tail, but he was starin’ directly at me, so I didn’t see that part for sure. Yellow eyes. They were not a good yellow. A witch’s black cat might own such eyes.”

“Did he have a pitchfork?” demanded Long Tom, apparently in all seriousness.

Monk had to think about that. “No, it was more like a trident. Like King Neptune would carry.”

Ham Brooks, ever eager to pick apart a story, said, “You are describing an underwater Satan.”

Monk had to think about that for a moment. He admitted, “I am at that, aren’t I?”

Doc Savage said, “Take us to this devil.”

Monk Mayfair hesitated. His hairy arms still trembled. “I don’t think I ought to,” he said vaguely.

Doc Savage gave Monk a strong shove, by way of propelling him on his way.

Reluctantly, Monk got going, and they followed him.

When they got to the palm tree where Monk had encountered the green devil, there was no sign of any such creature.

Doc Savage speared his flash beam about, looking for signs of tracks. He discovered none. But in moving around some more, he found something that brought Ham to a dead halt.

“Look,” he said to the others.

The bright ray disclosed a sandy area where the ground went down to the beach. There were messy-looking tracks that were certainly not human feet or cloven hooves. They were wet.

Ham remarked, “Looks like geese have been walking around here.”

“Mighty big geese,” muttered Monk.

Doc Savage said, “These tracks bring to mind the ones we discovered in our hold after Pat vanished.”

“They do, at that,” said Long Tom. Turning to Monk, he asked, “Did the thing you saw remind you of that merman we saw?”

Monk shook his head in a violent negative. “No, not unless it was the king of them.”

Doc Savage poked around, looking for more tracks or signs of anything stalking about. He found nothing. Returning to the grotesque webbed footprints, he seemed to be committing their weird watery contours to memory.

Ham Brooks was down on one knee, examining a splayed print and said to no one, “These were not made by diving fins. But I cannot tell if these tracks are coming out of the water, or going back into it.”

Monk grunted, “My vote is for goin’ back into it. I never want to see that emerald Satan again. It was taller than Doc.”

Ham Brooks pressed him. “The creature you saw, did it have skin, or scales?”

“What’s the difference?” snapped Monk. “It was awful-looking.”

“The difference,” Ham returned, “is that scales would make it a relative of the merman.”

“Nothing like that hob-seagoblin should have any relatives,” Monk said with a trace of trembling fear in his voice.

Long Tom turned to Doc Savage and asked in an undertone, “What do you make of Monk’s story? He’s always been on the superstitious side. Think he’s embellishing what he saw?”

“It is difficult to say for certain,” Doc Savage admitted. “But Monk is convinced that he encountered such a monster.”

They went back to the doubtful shelter of the palm tree and returned to awaiting the dawn.

It was a difficult wait, for the haze of smoke rasped at their throats and made them scratchy. Their nostrils felt as if they were clogged with sand. From time to time, the air seemed to carry unusual odors reminiscent of sulfur, or brimstone. Given their Hellish surroundings, it was not a cheering thing to breathe into the lungs.

Long Tom happened to be looking toward the surf when he thought he saw something moving in the water. It was still dark, so he could not be certain. Moonglade on the waves, stared at long enough, can produce confusing optical effects.

The puny electrical expert stared carefully at the spot that seem to be disturbed.

There was phosphorescence in the water, and it produced a weird greenish effect as if underwater fireflies were dancing in the shallows.

Long Tom nudged Ham Brooks. In a low voice, he whispered, “Look out where I’m pointing. What do you see?”

Ham peered through the darkness, hissed, “I see something moving, but I’m not sure what it is.”

“Looks like a mermaid to me,” Long Tom breathed.

Doc Savage caught this exchange, and turned his attention in the direction of Long Tom’s pointing finger.

“Something out there all right,” he said. Then the bronze giant was up on his feet, and moving toward the water.

The others were not far behind him.

Running alongside, Long Tom made a strangled sound and blurted, “Is that real?”

Ham cried out, “I can’t see it clearly! What is it?”

Long Tom’s voice lifted wildly. “Don’t laugh at me, but it looks like a mermaid. An honest-to-goodness mermaid. She’s wearing seashells and her hair is as green as kelp.”

Ham squinted hard, murmured, “I can barely make anything out, except some
thing
is floating in the water!”

“Are you sure it’s a mermaid?” Monk demanded.

Long Tom barked back, “I’m not sure of anything! But unless I’m dreaming—
the mermaid looks just like Hornetta Hale!”

Chapter XXIV

CONFOUNDMENT

DOC SAVAGE REACHED the surf ahead of the others, and plunged in.

He waded out, legs churning, until the water was deep enough to swim in, and then he threw himself upon the dark rollers charged with wavering sea fire.

It was clear to the others that the bronze man had spotted something in the water as well. For he arrowed out into the deep, then disappeared beneath the waves for a time.

There followed a splashing and thrashing and crashing of violently disturbed water. Doc Savage surfaced, clutching something that squealed and flailed and fought him madly.

Monk and the others charged out to give assistance to the bronze man.

But when they reached him, the battle was already over.

Doc Savage was treading water, and the thing that he had captured was floating placidly beside him, its distressed squealing having subsided.

Even in the moonlight, it was difficult to discern clearly. It was almost as long as an average man, but beyond that all resemblances to anything human ceased.

Monk Mayfair, swimming with the brine up to his barrel chest, stopped propelling himself forward and suddenly began to jerk backwards, momentarily taken aback by the ugly creature floating there.

It was long and fat and grayish-brown, with a blunt snout, all of it covered with thick, leathery skin like a walrus. But it was no walrus. For one thing, there were no tusks.

“What the heck is that thing?” the hairy chemist sputtered.

“Manatee,” Doc Savage said calmly.

Long Tom pushed his way forward, and glared at the beast.

“That,” he insisted, “was
not
what I saw. It was a mermaid. It looked like Hornetta Hale. And that’s final.”

Doc Savage said simply, “Manatees, or sea cows as they are also known, are sometimes mistaken for mermaids by superstitious sailors.”

“I am not superstitious,” blazed Long Tom. “Keep looking! That mermaid is around here somewhere.”

Doc Savage shook his head. “There is no mermaid. There is only this solitary manatee.”

As they trod water, the manatee got its strength back and began paddling away. It was very placid-looking animal, and now that they could see it more clearly, its resemblance to a human being was at best general.

Doc Savage struck out for shore. The others followed.

Long Tom was not finished defending himself. “She had green hair, like seaweed. She wore seashells to protect her modesty. And her face was just like Hornetta Hale’s thin-nosed puss.”