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  Title: Doc Savage: The Terrible Stork

  Date of first publication: 1945

  Author: Lester Dent (as Kenneth Robeson) (1904-1959)

  Date first posted: May 23, 2019

  Date last updated: May 23, 2019

  Faded Page eBook #20190539

  This eBook was produced by: Al Haines & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net

  WHO IS

  DOC SAVAGE

  The bronze giant, who with his five aides became world famous, whose name was as well known in the far regions of China and the jungles of Africa as in the skyscrapers of New York.

  There were stories of Doc Savage's almost incredible strength; of his amazing scientific discoveries of strange weapons and dangerous exploits.

  Doc had dedicated his life to aiding those faced by dangers with which they could not cope.

  His name brought fear to those who sought to prey upon the unsuspecting. His name was praised by thousands he had saved.

  DOC SAVAGE'S AMAZING CREW

  "Ham," Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks, was never without his ominous, black sword cane.

  "Monk," Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Blodgett Mayfair, just over five feet tall, yet over 260 pounds. His brutish exterior concealed the mind of a great scientist.

  "Renny," Colonel John Renwick, his favorite sport was pounding his massive fists through heavy, paneled doors.

  "Long Tom," Major Thomas J. Roberts, was the physical weakling of the crowd, but a genius at electricity.

  "Johnny," William Harper Littlejohn, the scientist and greatest living expert on geology and archaeology.

  WITH THEIR LEADER, THEY WOULD

  GO ANYWHERE, FIGHT ANYONE,

  DARE EVERYTHING—SEEKING EXCITEMENT

  AND PERILOUS ADVENTURE!

  Omnibus #1 THE ALL-WHITE ELF, THE RUNNING SKELETONS, THE ANGRY CANARY, and THE SWOONING LADY

  Omnibus #2 THE MINDLESS MONSTERS, THE RUSTLING DEATH, KIND JOE CAY, and THE THING THAT PURSUED

  Omnibus #3 THE SPOOK OF GRANDPA EBEN, MEASURES FOR A COFFIN, THE THREE DEVILS, and STRANGE FISH

  Omnibus #4 MYSTERY ISLAND, ROCK SINISTER, MEN OF FEAR, and THE PURE EVIL

  Omnibus #5 NO LIGHT TO DIE BY, THE MONKEY SUIT, LET'S KILL AMES, ONCE OVER LIGHTLY, and I DIED YESTERDAY

  Omnibus #6 THE AWFUL DYNASTY, THE DISAPPEARING LADY, FIRE AND ICE, and THE MAGIC FOREST

  Omnibus #7 THE MEN VANISHED, FIVE FATHOMS DEAD, THE TERRIBLE STORK, and DANGER LIES EAST

  DOC SAVAGE

  THE TERRIBLE STORK

  Kenneth Robeson

  THE TERRIBLE STORK

  PRINTING HISTORY

  The Terrible Stork was originally published in Doc Savage magazine, June 1945. Copyright 1945 by Street and Smith Publications, Inc.

  DOC SAVAGE

  THE TERRIBLE STORK

  I

  "What? Sixty-five?" screamed the auctioneer. He clutched his forehead, indicating that the shock was about to kill him. He said, "I'm dying! I'm murdered!"

  This got just one titter, from one man, out of the eighty or so in the auction room. The others were silent; it was hot in the room, the chairs were hard, and nothing much was happening.

  "Sixty-five dollars!" the auctioneer said. "Who'll bid seventy?"

  But this didn't get a laugh either, until he yelled, "Okay, okay, my error, the bid was sixty-five cents. Seventy? Do I hear seventy cents?"

  Monk Mayfair, the famous chemist, said, "That auctioneer is quite a comedian. Bob Hope had better watch out."

  Ham Brooks, the equally famous lawyer, shifted miserably on the hard wood chair. "He's about as unfunny as you are," Ham said, wishing he had a pillow to sit on. He stared at his black cane.

  "Ain't I unfunnier 'n that?" Monk Mayfair asked. He was a short, wide, hairy man. It was obvious why he was called Monk. "Shucks, now you got me worried," he said anxiously. "You've really got me worried."

  "Worried about what?"

  "When we're gonna get outa here," Monk said. "That's what's worrying me."

  "I agree heartily," Ham said.

  "Seventy," a voice said.

  "Sold!" the auctioneer said.

  "Oh, dry up!" muttered Ham. He wondered if a crack in the seat of the chair was going to catch him and pinch him. That was all he needed to make the afternoon complete.

  Doc Savage asked, "Why don't you two take a nap?"

  Doc Savage was a bronze-colored giant of a man who was conspicuous in the auction room in spite of the long raincoat he'd worn so as not to be conspicuous. Monk and Ham looked at Doc Savage. Ham asked, "Go to sleep? On these chairs!"

  "Doc's being funny," Monk said. "He made a joke. Yes, sir, the auctioneer's humor is contagious." Monk's very large humorous mouth was all that saved his face from being frighteningly homely. He added, "No kidding, why don't we go somewhere else? What've we lost in here?"

  Ham Brooks showed lively interest. "You bet! Go somewhere else. We've got the afternoon off, and we just started out for a walk, got tired, and came in here for a rest. Now what are we staying for?"

  "Why don't we repair to a burley-cue show?" Monk asked.

  "That's two good ideas from you in a row," Ham said. "Goodness, what kind of vitamins are you taking?"

  The auctioneer held up a small shiny metal statuette of some kind of a bird, apparently a stork. "Who'll start it at fifty cents?" asked the auctioneer.

  "Fifty," a voice said.

  "Fifty cents is bid. Who'll give—"

  "Fifty dollars is bid," the bidder corrected.

  Doc Savage straightened on his chair. Straightening made him taller than anyone in the room, enabled him to see over people's heads. He said, "What on earth!" His eyes, which had been sleepy, became wide with interest—his eyes were more gold than brown, like pools of flake gold. He added, "Fifty dollars for that thing!"

  "What is that thing?" Ham pondered.

  "Some kind of a boid," Monk said. "This is gettin' dull, pal. What say we scrammo to the girlies?"

  "Fifty dollars!" The auctioneer got his eyes back in their sockets. "Who'll give a hundred?"

  "Good God!" Monk sat up suddenly. "Fifty dollars?" He added, "Say, what's that thing made of, platinum?"

  Clear and tight as a bell, a voice came from the other side of the auction room.

  "Two hundred dollars," it said.

  Monk swallowed. "My, my," he said.

  Doc Savage had swung his head. The bell-like voice of the second bidder belonged to a clear-skinned young man who looked brown and outdoorsy.

  "Five hundred!"

  This was the first bidder again.

  Doc located him. He saw a wide man who had blue eyes and the cherubic smile of a cupid.

  Ham asked, "Know the bidders, Doc?"

  "No."

  The bell-voiced young man said, "Five hundred and one dollars is bid."

  "A thousand," said the fat, wide, smiling man.

  "A thousand and one."

  "Two thousand." The fat, wide man'
s smile wasn't genuine. Apparently his face just happened to be shaped that way.

  "Two thousand and one."

  "Three thousand."

  "Three thousand and one."

  Monk swallowed.

  "Five thousand."

  "Five thousand and one," said the bell-voiced young man grimly.

  Astonishment was sweeping the auction room. Here and there customers were getting to their feet in order not to miss anything; some still dozed, not knowing what was going on.

  A lull had hit the bidding. Outside, the noises of Forty-sixth Street made a quarrelsome background. The auction room itself was large, forty feet wide and about sixty feet long. It was a ground-floor storeroom which, for lack of any more permanent tenant, had been rented to the auction company, together with an upstairs floor and mezzanine for storage purposes. The auction firm itself was not a large one, but it was reliable. It made a business of disposing of estates, usually art objects and furniture collections.

  "Five thousand and two dollars," a voice said.

  Doc Savage and Ham Brooks both started violently, for the bid had come from between them. It was Monk Mayfair.

  "You fool!" Ham was dumfounded. "You haven't got five thousand and two dollars!"

  "Huh? Gosh, I haven't, have I?"

  "Why'd you bid?" Ham demanded.

  "The suspense got me," Monk muttered. "I guess I became hypnotized or something."

  "What do you want with that thing?" Ham asked angrily.

  "I don't want it." Monk became alarmed. "My God, do you reckon I'll get it?"

  Ham looked at him bitterly. "I hope you do," he said. "I would like to see what you would do with a five-thousand-and-two-dollar tin stork."

  "You think it's tin?"

  "How the hell do I know what it's made of!" Ham was irritated with his friend. "If you think you're going to borrow a single thin dime off me to pay—"

  "Ten thousand and three dollars," bid the bell-voiced young man.

  "Whoosh!" Monk subsided gratefully. "Saved by the bell," he said. Sweat had popped out on his narrow forehead. "What'd I bid on the thing for?"

  Doc Savage's flake-gold eyes were alert, interested. He said, "Ham, that thing can't be worth ten thousand." His size, which was considerable, was deceptive until one was close to him. "The intrinsic value of the statuette cannot possibly be ten thousand," he added.

  "How about platinum?" Ham was doubtful. "Would it be worth that kind of money if it were platinum?"

  "Very doubtful."

  Monk had an idea. "Maybe it's got diamonds and rubies in it." He became enthused. "I'm gonna bid again!"

  Doc and Ham eyed him in alarm.

  "Ten thousand on something you don't know what it is!" The usually punctilious Ham was getting mixed up.

  "Ten thousand and four dollars," Monk explained. "That's what I think I'll—"

  "Fifteen thousand dollars!" bid the fat man. He seemed angry. His smile was beatific.

  Monk swallowed.

  "Go ahead, bid," Ham sneered at him. "You didn't have five thousand, so it won't hurt you to bid fifteen."

  "Fifteen thousand and one," said bell-voice.

  Doc Savage was on the edge of his chair. "Monk." He nudged the homely chemist, directed, "Monk, go up and take a look at that thing. See what it is."

  Monk batted his eyes. He was dazed by the bandying of so much money around an eight-inch-high statuette of a skinny bird, apparently made of tin. He seemed stupefied.

  Ham said, "Dopey has dropped his marbles." He added, "While he's picking them up, I'll go look at that thing."

  Doc shook his head. "Monk is a chemist. Let him look. Or both of you go look."

  Ham leaped erect. "Come on, Gunga Din." He began tramping on toes, reaching the aisle. Monk lumbered after him, and the seat occupants hastily removed their toes from danger. Monk was mumbling, "I'm a chemist. I can tell what kind of tin that thing's made of. God bless us!"

  The fat, smiling, cherub man had drawn a gun and was pointing it at Monk and Ham. "Get back!" he said. The gun was about two and a half pounds of blue steel, an impressive cannon. "Sit down!" he added. He sounded determined.

  Monk and Ham halted.

  "Hey!" Monk yelled. "That guy's got a gun!"

  Suddenly this was no longer an amusing interlude in a dull afternoon.

  Monk and Ham froze. There was nothing else they could do. Doc Savage instinctively ducked for safety. So did the others who were quick thinkers.

  "Here, here," said the auctioneer loudly. "Sit down! Don't interrupt the auction." He hadn't noticed the gun. "Sit down!" he yelled. Then he saw the gun and turned remarkably white.

  Doc warned, "Be careful, Monk!"

  Monk addressed the fat man loudly. He asked, "Brother, you wouldn't want to shoot me, would you? You don't even know who I am."

  Ham said, "Sit down, you fool!"

  "Sit down!" the smiling fat man said.

  He didn't sound as determined this time. Monk was encouraged to be foolish.

  "Brother, I'll sit down," Monk said, "as soon as you put away that gun. Not before. I won't be threatened. I won't be—"

  Blam-m-m-m! Gun sound was the voice of thunder in the auction room.

  Monk croaked, "Oh, God!" He went down, upsetting two chairs and also bringing Ham Brooks to the floor.

  Ham thought Monk had been shot. He gasped, "Why, the dirty—" He started to grab for his own armpit holster. Monk clutched him, kept him from getting to his feet. "Stay here," Monk said. "There's nothing like having something solid under you when you quake with terror."

  "They shot you!" Ham was gasping with rage. "I'll show the fat so-and-so—"

  "Shot me! Where?" Alarmed, Monk felt of himself in search of wounds. "Where? Are you sure? I thought the fat man got shot. I thought the guy with the bell voice shot him."

  Ham reversed himself. "Go ahead, stand up, get shot," he said. "I've got a notion to shoot you myself. What's the idea, scaring people?"

  Monk said, "Who's more scared than I am?" He started to lift up and look around, changed his mind. "Take a look and find out what's going on, will you?" he suggested.

  "I wonder if we can crawl to the door without getting shot at?" Ham pondered. He didn't do any looking.

  Suddenly, deafening, the gun sounded in the room again. Blam-m-m-m! It sounded like the same gun. Blam-blam-blam-m-m-m! That time it seemed to be a different gun. It ran more to soprano.

  "Who're they shooting at now?" Monk wanted to know.

  "Doc, probably," Ham said.

  "Serve him right, too," Monk said. "It was his suggesting we look at that stork thing that got everybody all worked up."

  Except for the ear-splitting sounds of the guns, it had been remarkably quiet in the room. It was a paralytic sort of a stillness. Born of astonishment, it lasted only until understanding arrived. Everyone seemed to get the idea simultaneously: the idea was that bullets were flashing about. Suddenly every man was trying to get behind or under something, preferably two or three of his neighbors. The noise was an avalanche.

  The auctioneer gazed in horror at the confusion before him. Abruptly he emitted a girl-like scream, whirled and dashed into the nearest refuge, which happened to be a large vault in a rear corner of the room—the premises had once been tenanted by a bank. The auctioneer hauled the door shut behind him, foolishly locking himself inside the vault.

  He had taken the stork statuette with him because he had been holding it in his hand at the time.

  The fat, smiling man and the young, bell-voiced man now got cautiously to their feet. They saw each other. Blam-m-m! Blam-mm! Each shot at the other. Neither hit his target.

  Crawling on the floor, the fat, smiling man and the young, bell-voiced man now departed. The fat man reached the street ahead of the other and was out of sight down a subway kiosk by the time his enemy appeared. Fortunately the latter did not choose the subway. He ran a block and hailed a taxi.

  II

  Noisily, and too late, the police a
rrived, two green and white carloads of them. The sirens fell silent in the street as they entered the auction gallery premises. There they began collaring everyone who had lacked the foresight to make a discreet departure.

  Half an hour later, the police vacated. They had failed to connect the two most outstanding events of the afternoon—the sky-high bidding for a worthless-looking statuette, and the target practice between the two bidders. The explanation for this error lay in the fact that the auctioneer, who had had the only really good view of proceedings from his podium, fainted shortly after they released him from the vault.

  He had the stork statuette in his hand when he came out of the vault. He dropped it when he passed out from shock. Someone picked it up and put it on a table with the other stuff that was to be sold.

  Before departing, the police gave a verdict: Two guys who didn't like each other had shot it out.

  An ambulance, which had arrived with the swarm of police, carried the swooning auctioneer off to a hospital.

  Another auctioneer mounted the stand. "Quiet! Quiet!" he yelled. "Your attention, please!" He beat on the stand with a wooden mallet. "Quiet! The auction sale will be resumed as soon as we get quiet," he bellowed.

  Doc Savage, Monk Mayfair and Ham Brooks found seats for themselves.

  This auctioneer was large, sandy-haired and serious looking.

  Monk Mayfair said, "I hope he's funnier than the other one."

  Ham whispered, "I hope the police don't find out that we failed to tell them the shooting started because we started to take a look at that tin bird." He was worried.

  "Why didn't we tell them?" Monk wanted to know. "I mean, why didn't you tell them? You're so pure and honest."

  "Because I didn't want to go to a police station and spend an hour or two re-telling the story," Ham said. "Why didn't you?"

  "I don't wanta tell 'em." Monk looked coy.

  "Why not?"

  "They woulda run me in their bastille, I was afraid," Monk confided. "On account of our telling them the shooting started because we wanted to look at the tin stork wouldn't have been a very logical story, do you think?"