Doc Savage: The Secret of Satan's Spine (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 15) Read Online Free PDF Page B

departing train.
    Growling, “I’ll explain later,” Monk shoved the copper aside, whereupon the bluecoat lifted his truncheon and laid it against the back of Monk’s close-cropped skull with such force that the hairy chemist fell flat on his very flat face.
    WHEN Monk woke up, there were three policemen standing over him, the one who had struck him down and two others who wore peculiar expressions. Behind them curious bystanders stared.
    “Your identification says you’re Monk Mayfair. Is that right?” asked one of the officers, who wore sergeant stripes.
    “Do I look like him?” demanded Monk, sitting up and rubbing the sensitive spot at the back of his blunt skull.
    “That you do,” said the police sergeant. “You’re one of Doc Savage’s men. Mind explaining what’s going on here?”
    Monk struggled to his feet, knees rubbery, his senses swimming in his skull.
    “I was meetin’ a blonde babe, and we were goin’ out west on a trip. She got here late, and some overgrown fellow with smoky gray hair wrapped her up and took her off.”
    “What are their names?”
    “Davey Lee, and I don’t know the other one,” muttered Monk.
    “And which one is Davey Lee?”
    “That was the blonde. I don’t know the guy’s name.”
    By now Monk was steady enough on his feet to start firing questions back.
    “Didn’t anybody report a kidnapped blonde?”
    The sergeant said, “There was a commotion that a lot of people saw and heard. A sailor accosted the two, and the big guy said he was the girl’s father and he was taking her home.”
    Monk growled, “In a pig’s eye!”
    “Witnesses said this gal was quite young, the man much older. It might be true, you know.”
    Monk said, “He looked to be about fifty, and she was probably nineteen.”
    “And you’re no spring chicken,” inserted another cop. “If you were running off with a girl that young, maybe her father did decide to take a hand in the matter.”
    Monk growled, “Don’t start that masher stuff with me. She was from out of town. Didn’t say anything about her father bein’ in New York. I say it was a kidnapping. We gotta find her!”
    “Since you’re with Doc Savage, and the big bronze guy has plenty of drag with the police commissioner,” allowed the sergeant, “we’ll put out a radio call to bring them in. In the meantime, you might as well get on your train or be on your way. This is not necessarily a police matter, given the lay of the land.”
    Rubbing his head in annoyance, Monk said bitterly, “Thanks a million for all your help.”
    To which the police sergeant returned, “In some places, you could get arrested for running off with a young woman probably half your age.”
    “Well, I didn’t exactly get to run off with anyone, now did I?”
    “Not this time,” agreed the sergeant.
    The bluecoats bustled off to find police telephone boxes, leaving behind not so much as an apology for the bloody conk on the head inflicted upon Monk Mayfair.
    Bustling out of the train station, Monk found the cab stand and began asking the drivers if they had seen anything of a smoky-haired man and a blonde girl who weren’t exactly friendly with one another.
    One cabbie offered, “Yeah, the guy threw the gal into the back of a Blue Eagle cab and they took off.”
    “Any idea where?”
    “None whatsoever,” replied the cabbie. “It happened pretty fast.”
    “Did you get a good look at the guy?” asked Monk.
    “Which one?”
    “The big guy with the smoky gray hair.”
    “Of him, not so much. But I got a glimpse of the other man.”
    “What other man?” asked Monk, surprised.
    “The gray-headed man came out with the blonde babe, and met this other man. He was on the short side, kind of wiry. His hair was that color that you can’t tell is brown or red unless the sun is shining directly on it.”
    This was the first Monk had heard of a second man, which tended to cast doubt on the police theory that this was a father-daughter