The Man of Bronze Read Online Free PDF Page B

bitingly.
    Monk promptly stopped his apelike prancing and bellowing. He looked steadily at Ham, starring with Ham’s distinguished shock of prematurely gray hair, and running his little eyes slowly down Ham’s well-cared-for face, perfect business suit, and small shoes.
    Suddenly Monk began to laugh. His mirth was a loud, hearty roar.
    At the gusty laughter, Ham stiffened. His face became very red with embarrassment.
    For all Monk had to do to get Ham’s goat was laugh at him. It had all started back in the war, when Ham was Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks. The brigadier general had been the moving spirit in a little scheme to teach Monk certain French words which had a meaning entirely different than Monk thought. As a result, Monk had spent a session in the guardhouse for some things he had innocently called a French general.
    A few days after that, though, Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks was suddenly hauled up before a courtmartial, accused of stealing hams. And convicted! Somebody had expertly planted plenty of evidence.
    Ham got his name right there. And to this day he had not been able to prove it was the homely Monk who framed him. That rankled Ham’s lawyer soul.
    Unnoticed, Doc Savage had reached over and turned on the ultraviolet-light apparatus. He focused it on the pieced-together window, then called to the others: “Take a look!”
    The message on the glass had been changed!

    THERE now glowed with an eerie blue luminance exactly eight more words than had been in the original message. The communication now read:

    Important papers back of the red brick
    house at corner of Mountainair and
    Farmwell Streets

    “Hey!” exploded the giant Renny. “How—”
    With a lifted hand, a nod at the door, Doc silenced Renny and sent them all piling into the corridor.
    As the elevator rushed them downward, Doc explained:
    “Somebody decoyed you upstairs so they could get away, Monk.”
    “Don’t I know it!” Monk mumbled. “But what I can’t savvy is who added words to that message?”
    “That was my doing,” Doc admitted. “I had a hunch the sniper might have seen us working with the ultraviolet-light apparatus, and be smart enough to see what it was. I hoped he’d try to read the message. So I changed it to lead him into a trap.”
    Monk popped the knuckles in hands that were near as big as gallon pails. “Trap is right! Wait’ll I get my lunch shovels on that guy!”
    Their taxi was still waiting outside. The driver began a wailing: “Say—when am I gonna get paid? You gotta pay for the time I been waitin’—”
    Doc handed the man a bill that not only silenced him, but nearly made his eyes jump out.
    North on Fifth Avenue, the taxi raced. Water whipped the windshield and washed the windows. Doc and Renny, riding outside once more, were pelted with the moisture drops. Renny bent his face away from the stinging drops, but Doc seemed no more affected than had he really been of bronze. His hair and skin showed not the least wetness.
    “This red brick house at the corner of Mountainair and Farmwell Streets is deserted,” Doc called once. “That’s why I gave that address in the addition to the note.”
    Inside the cab, Monk rumbled about what he would do to whoever had tricked him.
    A motorcycle cop fell in behind them, opened his siren, and came up rapidly. But when he caught sight of Doc, like a striking figure of bronze on the side of the taxi, the officer waved his hand respectfully. Doc didn’t even know the man. The officer must have been one who knew and revered the elder Savage.
    The cab reeled into a less frequented street, slanting around corners. Rows of unlighted houses made the thoroughfare like a black, ominous tunnel.
    “Here we are!” Doc told their driver at last.

    GHOSTLY described the neighborhood. The streets were narrow, the sidewalks narrower; the cement of both was cracked and rutted and gone entirely in places. Chugholes filled with water reached half to