Doc Savage: The Miracle Menace Read Online Free

institutions for learning in New England! I need no further education from the likes of you two!”
    Monk inserted, “Doc says otherwise.”
    “That’s why we lured you to the Oddities office on the pretext that we wished to invest in your worthless holding company,” added Ham.
    “I am not going anywhere with either of you!” the indignant man insisted.
    “I thought you might take that attitude,” snapped Ham.
    While Monk held the struggling swindler in place, Ham Brooks popped the face of his gold wrist watch and exposed a reservoir of a sticky brown substance resembling common molasses.
    He separated his elegant dark cane, revealing it to be a sword cane. The empty barrel he tossed onto a leather chair. Dipping the tip of the lean blade into the exposed reservoir, Ham coated it with the stuff.
    Then he placed the tip of it to the right cheek of the protesting prisoner. The man flinched, struggled vainly in Monk’s hairy grasp.
    Ham flexed one wrist, made a slight nick in the exposed cheek.
    Not three seconds passed before the other became a limp burden in Monk’s arms.
    “We will convey him to our warehouse hangar,” said Ham, restoring watch and cane to their original conditions. “Then we will fly to the college with this worthless scoundrel.”
    Monk shook his head.
    “Doc told me to take the new short-range dirigible.”
    “Won’t that be cumbersome?” Ham protested.
    “Doc wants the dirigible. It might have something to do with this.”
    From a pocket of his dilapidated coat, the hairy one pulled a telegram.
    “This came to the office downstairs.”
    Ham read it:
HAVE MYSTERY WORTHY OF YOUR ABILITIES STOP THERE IS A STRANGE HOUSE IN THE MISSOURI WOODS WEST OF LA PLATA STOP WHEN APPROACHED, IT VANISHES STOP ALWAYS TO REAPPEAR LATER STOP NO ONE CAN GET TO IT STOP HOUSE FORMERLY BELONGED TO DECEASED SCIENTIST.
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    “Who sent this?”
    “One of our graduates,” said Monk. “He lives out Missouri way.”
    “Doc’s new setup is sure harvesting fruit,” Ham declared. “First this scoundrel walks into the eighty-fifth floor information clearing house, now this lead comes from one of the college graduates Doc rehabilitated.”
    “Let’s get him up there, so he can join the cause,” said Monk, grinning from ear to ear. His grin almost split his head in two like a melon. Monk had a big mouth.
    They left the suite of offices through a reception room that consisted of an inlaid desk of Oriental workmanship, a huge safe built in the last century, and several comfortable leather chairs. This was Doc Savage’s formal reception room.
    Exiting to the corridor, Monk and Ham—the former carried the insensate captive over one sloping shoulder like a sack of oats—ignored the elevators and instead found a locked door, which they unlocked.
    Entering, they accessed a winding staircase and emerged in a round chamber that had been designed for the novel purpose of allowing commercial dirigibles to dock and discharge passengers.
    Previous attempts to perfect this maneuver had been disastrous. But Doc Savage, with his unbounded faith in scientific progress, had lately invented a small dirigible which could be docked here. It would never equal—much less rival—the great trans-Atlantic passenger airships, but for exploratory purposes, it nicely suited their needs.
    Moreover, it was small enough that should high winds rock it on its mooring, it could withstand considerable midair buffeting.
    Coming to the great gallery, Monk deployed a covered gangway. This extended outward accordion fashion, and made contact with the small gondola of the bobbing airship.
    Ham went first, balancing carefully. A fearful fall awaited should he pitch out through the lightweight silk sides.
    Monk followed, handing the prisoner up. Ham pulled him along by grasping his hair with his hand, while Monk pushed. They were not gentle about it.
    When the prisoner had been taken on board, Monk ambled after him, then released the gangplank,