DOC SAVAGE: THE INFERNAL BUDDHA (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage) (21 page)

No one disputed Doc Savage’s assessment of the situation. They had seen for themselves the irresistible power of the Buddha of Ice—or at least the portion of it contained in the blue strongbox.

Doc Savage rapped out swift orders.

“Monk, you and Ham comb the island. Renny and I will search the pirate junk.”

“What about these buccaneers?” asked Ham Brooks.

Doc advised, “They look sufficiently cowed for the time being. Best we bring them along. They know the innards of the craft and can assist in the search.”

“I know a couple of good hiding places, too,” muttered Renny. “I spent enough time holed up in that cockeyed tub.”

“What about us?” asked Mary Chan.

“Given the many perils of this island, perhaps you would be safest in the amphibian,” Doc suggested.

That settled it. They got themselves organized and broke into several groups.

Mark Chan proved to possess the ability to pilot the rubber raft to the waiting amphibian. This was accomplished first.

While Monk and Ham, backed by a handful of compliant corsairs, began a thorough daylight search of Pirate Island, Doc and Renny reached the black-hulled junk, wallowing at anchor.

It was a very seaworthy craft, Doc realized after climbing aboard. For in spite of its villainous crew, it had been kept in tiptop shape.

They worked their way into the cabins, the hold and every other nook and cranny. There were many of these. The interior construction of the typical Chinese sailing junk is ingeniously compartmentalized. Further, Dang Mi, when he had been among the living, had outfitted the large vessel with all manner of hiding places and storage larders. They found many rifles placed there, along with boxes of ammunition for the big Maxim gun, stacked lead balls for the antiquated deck cannon, and gunpowder stores. Other, less savory, implements of the corsair trade also came to light.

There was some booty in Dang’s former cabin. This ranged from jewelry confiscated from seagoing vessels to sacks of coins of all denominations, representing many nations. Bottles of a Shanghai wine called
ng ka pay
and another sorghum brew labeled
Mui Kwai Lu
were in evidence.

“Look at all this swag,” thumped Renny. “This pirate racket really pays swell.”

“If you happen to be the head corsair,” noted Doc dryly.

A careful search of the junk’s below decks turned up no sign of Startell Pompman. They even checked the bilge. Doc did this, Renny having had more than his fill of the unpleasant place when he had hid out in its malodorous confines. Nothing was found.

In the end, they climbed topside to the deck and surveyed the surrounding water.

Renny had found an old-fashioned spyglass and opened it, telescope fashion. He was using this to reconnoiter the surroundings.

Training the glass inland, Renny almost dropped the tube from his gargantuan paws.

“Holy cow!” he thumped.

A finger no less sizable that a hot dog leveled out at the jungle’s edge, indicting a pristine white beach clearing.

Doc Savage followed the pointing digit.

A ludicrous sight came waddling out of the foliage.

“That him?” Renny hazarded.

Even without the aid of the telescope, Doc Savage’s keen vision identified the preposterous apparition.

It was C. Startell Pompman. And somehow he had managed to stuff himself into Doc Savage’s stratosphere suit!

Worse yet, he was bearing in his round arms the blue crackle-finish box that contained the Buddha’s Toe!

As they watched, Pompman began to pry open the lid!

HAD DOC SAVAGE and Renny been faced with a small army of men equipped with the finest and most modern of automatic rifles, they would have stood a chance.

The ebony junk was honeycombed with hiding places and stout teak and mahogany timbers that might turn any number of bullets.

But the force with which they were now being threatened was not a tangible thing. It couldn’t be deflected, unlike lead. Nor was there any substance at hand that was proof against the power that lay within the square steel box.

The lid continued lifting.

Renny muttered a weak, “Holy cow!”

Doc Savage sprang to an ammunition box and extracted three grenades. He selected one.

Throwing back one arm, Doc let fly.

The bronze man’s throw flung the black pineapple clear of the junk and well onto shore.

It landed, not by accident, against Startell Pompman’s domed head. The helmet did not shatter. Conceivably an ordinary bullet might not break it.

But it was enough to startle the fat man. When he looked down at what lay at his feet, the oblate plutocrat emitted a sound that was not audible beyond the confines of the helmet, but the way his mouth formed a surprised “O” indicated that he had gasped.

Renny waited tensely. Nothing happened.

“A dud!” he grunted.

But that was not the whole truth of it.

Doc Savage lifted his voice. “The next grenade will be armed,” he called out. Jungle birds leaped from sprawling kapok trees at the sound.

Startell Pompman looked up from the grenade at his feet and over to the one Doc Savage held high overhead.

Something in his heavy features conveyed disbelief that Doc Savage could successfully repeat his feat, if attempted.

So Doc left fly with another grenade.

This one struck Pompman on his metal-sheathed shoulder.

That was proof enough that Doc Savage wasn’t making an idle claim, but could make good on his threat.

“There is a microphone and loudspeaker on your suit,” Doc directed.

Managing to move the box to one arm, Pompman found the rheostat control. He turned it.

“I am not giving up this box,
” he announced.

“Can you fly a plane?” Doc inquired.

Pompman’s prolonged silence indicated that he could not.

“This is not a place you would want to be marooned in for very long,” Doc suggested.

Pompman seemed to understand that. He nodded in dejected agreement.

Doc said, “Truce?”

“What sort of truce?”

“Surrender the box and we will take you back to civilization.”

“The stars are with me to-day. They say it is an auspicious day to bargain.”

Renny exploded, “Holy cow! He thinks he holds all the cards.”

“He holds one very impressive trump,” Doc Savage said quietly. To Pompman, he called, “We have a Mexican standoff.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You have the box,” Doc told him, “but the oxygen supply to that suit is limited. And I previously exhausted one tank. Once the other gives out, you must remove the helmet in order to breathe. Did you fail to think of that?”

Startell Pompman’s ruddy face fell so far that it was evident that the unhappy thought had never entered his mind. Absently, he reached up to adjust his eyeglasses, and reacted with surprise when his pudgy fingers bumped the helmet glass instead.

“Do we have an understanding?” Doc questioned.

“That we do, my dear Savage.”

“We will be down directly.”

Renny asked uneasily, “Doc, what if he opens up the devil box on us?”

“He could have done that by now. And at this distance we would be helpless.”

They clambered down the daggerboard gangplank. All but the pirate cohort, whom Doc had instructed to remain on board. The latter showed no love of facing the man on the beach, or his fearsome box.

Once on dry land, Doc and Renny approached with understandable caution.

The box remained sealed in Startell Pompman’s ample arms.

“One false move, gentlemen, and I will give you a taste of thirst,”
Pompman warned.
“So to speak.”

“Already had mine, thanks,” Renny said dryly. He blocked and unblocked his enormous fists nervously. He looked as if he wanted to use them, and very violently.

But Startell Pompman’s eyes were on Doc Savage.

“Hand over the box and we will give you our word that you will not be harmed,” instructed the bronze man.

“What will happen to me after that?”
Pompman asked.

“We are bound for China,” said Doc. “You will have to accompany us.”

“And after that?”

“After that, you will be turned over to the proper authorities at our discretion.”

“The Chinese authorities?”

“American. But you will be treated humanely.”

Doc Savage did not say that he had no intention of surrendering Pompman to U. S. justice, but to a peculiar reckoning of his own. There would be time for that concern later.

“Very well. I am a reasonable man. I herewith surrender.”

With that, Pompman carefully handed over the box.

Doc Savage took it. He noticed that it appeared heavier than it had been before.

“Did you use this?” he demanded.

“Only to discourage vipers and other predators that happened along in my path. I fancy that we could dine on crocodile jerky, if we had any appetite for such.”

“Holy cow,” grunted Renny. “A gourmand.”

Doc Savage took firm hold of the box and bore it inland. He employed both hands.

Renny herded Startell Pompman along, after helping him out of the helmet. “Just in case you get any ideas,” he explained.

But escape seemed to be the last thing on Startell Pompman’s active mind. His piggish eyes kept skating over to the box Doc Savage carried. Now that it was no longer in his possession, he seemed to fear it greatly.

“Don’t dare drop that,” he encouraged. “I daresay that I am in a rather vulnerable spot.”

“And I think we’ll let you keep that suit on,” said Renny. “It will keep you from getting any funny ideas about flight.”

“Zounds!” bleated Pompman, fluttering fat fingers. “Farthest thing from my mind, I assure you.”

As they walked along, Doc asked, “How did you locate the box?”

“In the simplest manner possible: I was observing you from afar. I saw you bury it under the rock. When I realized that you had left the suit behind as well, I saw my opportunity.”

“How the heck did you get into it all by yourself?” demanded Renny.

Pompman cleared his throat noisily. “I have done some deep-sea fishing in my time. Not that the task was easy. But I managed. My motivation was enhanced by my peculiar predicament.”

THEY came upon Monk and Ham before long. They were, as usual, quarreling. The nature of their argument was not clear, owing to its verbal violence.

At the sound of Doc’s approach, they broke off, Ham sheathing his sword cane, which he had recovered some time before.

“Where you find
him
?” Ham wanted to know. His cultured voice dripped disdain.

“He
found
us,”
grumbled Renny. “You two might learn some day to shut your yaps and open your ears. He almost got the drop on us.”

“Did
get the drop,” Pompman corrected.

“But lost it, I see,” murmured Ham, walking around the man, marveling at how he stretched the atmosphere suit to its utmost limits without apparently bursting any seams.

“Very clever,” he murmured. “But what if you had failed to secure every seam?”

“We never did find that out,” Renny rumbled.

“My stars!” said Pompman, blanching.

“Now that we are all assembled,” Doc Savage decided, “it is best that we be on our way.”

“What about all them blasted pirates we collected?” Monk wanted to know.

Doc Savage looked pained. It was impractical to take them along. But neither did he wish to release them to British Crown justice, where they faced certain hanging.

So Doc gathered them together and explained the way of things. He spoke excellent Chinese, which was the common tongue of the corsairs.

“Jen fei sheng hsien shu neng wu kuo?”
he began. “Who but the sages are free from faults?

“Chin k’ou, yu yin,”
one replied, meaning that the bronze man’s welcome speech was like honeyed words issued from a golden mouth.

“It is a wise man who sees the error of his ways,” Doc continued. “Riches benefit a man when he may keep them. But not when his life is forfeit for the taking of another man’s wealth. For what good is gold to a man who occupies an early grave?”

The pirates saw the wisdom of Doc Savage’s argument. They also felt of their necks uneasily. They vociferously agreed to set sail for parts unknown and seek an honest living, or as one of them put it in flowery Chinese, “
Ko mien hsi hsin,”
which literally meant “to skin one’s face, and wash his heart.” In other words, they solemnly vowed to reform.

With that promise ringing in the humid jungle air, Doc Savage allowed them to take possession of the
Devilfish
and sail where they would.

“Not exactly a perfect solution,” Monk muttered, eying the bronze man.

“No doubt some of them will fall back on their word,” Doc admitted. “But the greater portion has been through an experience worse that any of them ever imagined. They have been scared into reconsidering their former ways.”

“If not,” rumbled Renny, “there are plenty of nooses for any necks that don’t.”

That seemed to settle the matter.

They left Pirate Island by rubber raft and rejoined Mark and Mary Chan on the anchored amphibian.

Neither half of the twins was delighted to set almond eyes on Startell Pompman. Both sets of orbs narrowed in the fashion of threatened felines.

“If it were not for that scoundrel,” Mark Chan accused, “we would have only one problem, not two.”

Mary Chan said nothing. She merely stared daggers at the uncomfortable fat man.

Startell Pompman took a seat in the rear of the plane as Doc and his men readied the amphibian for take-off. This was accomplished in short order.

Soon, the ship was skimming through rollers, then crashing along wave tops with a violence that threatened to shake the wings loose from their roots.

Moaning, it vaulted into the sky.

Presently, they were volleying northeast, in the direction of the China coast.

“I just thought of somethin’,” muttered Monk, eying the blue crackle-finished box, which Doc had temporarily locked in an equipment case.