"Den why would he come here?" put in another fellow. "Don't be a nut! Dat's what the shootin' upstairs was. Yer remember we heard a typewriter turn loose. Dat's what scared us off."
Doc Savage gave the tiniest of nods. He understood now why the five captured by Monk and Ham had come dashing out of the elevators with their guns in hand. They had heard the machine-gun fire upstairs, and had become terrified.
"I wonder how Keelhaul de Rosa got ahead of us at de skyscraper?" mumbled the leader.
"He tried to grab de blind guy from under our snozzles at de concert hall, didn't he?" asked the other thug. "He drove off mighty fast in dat taxi, but he could've circled back an' followed de blind guy to dat skyscraper just de same as we did, couldn't he?"
Doc listened with interest to all this. These fellows must have arrived at the concert hall in time to witness the street fight. And they had been cunning enough to keep out of sight.
The leader swore loudly. "Cripes! Yer remember dat guy in a cab who had a trick mustache? De one dat was puffin' a cigar? He followed de roadster to de skyscraper, den went in right after dis bronze guy an' old Victor Vail. I'll bet dat was Keelhaul de Rosa!"
"What we gonna do?" growled a man. The leader shrugged. "Ben O'Gard will wanta know about dis. I'll go an' have a talk wit' 'im!"
This apprised Doc of another fact. These men were hirelings of Ben O'Gard!
Victor Vail had mentioned a strange feud between Ben O'Gard and "Keelhaul" de Rosa on the arctic ice pack. It was evident that this old feud still continued.
But what was back of it? Did Victor Vail's unconsciousness at the time of the disaster to the liner Oceanic, and his awakening with a queer smarting in his back, have anything to do with this mystery?
The leader of the thugs came over and confronted Doc. He looked small and unhealthy before the mighty bronze man. He held up the hypodermic needle.
"What's in dis?" he questioned.
"Water," Doc said dryly.
"Yeah?" sneered the man. He eyed the unmoving forms of his fellows on the floor, shuddered violently, then got hold of himself. "Yer a liar!"
"There's really nothing but water in it," Doc persisted.
The thug leered. His hand darted like a striking serpent. The hypo needle was embedded in Doc's corded neck. The implement discharged its contents into his veins.
Without a sound, the giant bronze man caved down to the floor.
"So it was only water in dat t'ing!" snorted the gangster straw boss. "Dat needle is what got our pals!"
He gave orders. The big bronze man was turned over, kicked a few times, and soundly belabored. He showed no signs of consciousness.
"Dat guy is harder'n brass!" muttered a thug, blowing feverishly on a fist with which he had taken an overly hard swing at the limp, metallic form.
"Watch 'im close!" commanded the leader. Then he pointed at a telephone on a stand against one wall. "I'm goin' to talk wit' Ben O'Gard in person. I'll either give you mugs a ring about what to do wit' the bronze guy, or come back myself an' tell yer."
The man now departed.
The other gangsters expended some minutes in seeking to revive their unconscious fellows. However, they had no luck.
They smoked. They muttered to each other, and one of their number took a post outside in the hallway as lookout.
Suddenly a shrill voice came from the room where the two thugs lay senseless on the bed.
"C'mere, quick!" it piped. "I got somethin' important!"
A number of gangsters rushed into the room. Others crowded about the door.
For a moment, not an eye watched the bronze figure of Doc Savage!
"Dat's funny!" declared a man, examining the pair on the bed. "He must've gone back to sleep! They're both out like a light now!"
"I never heard either one of dem guys talk in a shrill voice like dat," another fellow said wonderingly.
They came out of the bedroom, a puzzled group of villains.
Not one of them glanced at the telephone. So none noticed that a match had been jammed under the receiver hook, holding it in a lifted position!
The strong lips of Doc Savage began to writhe. Sounds came from them. Clucking, gobbling sounds, they were absolutely meaningless to the listening thugs. The sounds were very loud.
"What kinda language is dat?" growled a man.
"Dat ain't no language!" snorted another. "De guy is jest delirious an' ravin'!"
The gangster was wrong. For Doc Savage was speaking one of the least-known languages in existence. The tongue of the ancient Mayan civilization which centuries ago flourished in Central America! And his words were going into the telephone!
When all the gangsters looked in the bedroom, they had given Doc sufficient time to call Monk at his skyscraper office. The thugs had been too excited to hear him whisper the phone number.
Doc was a ventriloquist of ability. He had thrown his voice into the bedroom to get the attention of his captors.
It would have surprised the absent leader of the thugs to know the hypodermic needle he had used on Doc had actually contained nothing more harmful than water! Doc had chanced to have the needle on his person. And he had slipped it up his sleeve for the purpose of deceiving the villains.
It was not the needle with which Doc made his enemies unconscious so mysteriously.
DOC SAVAGE continued to speak Mayan. The lingo sounded like gibberish to the listeners in the shabby room.
To homely Monk in the uptown skyscraper, however, it carried a lot of meaning. All of Doc's men could speak Mayan. They used it when they wanted to converse without being understood by bystanders.
"Renny, Long Tom, and Johnny should be there by now," Doc told Monk in the strange language.
The three men he had named were the remaining members of his group of five adventuresome aids!
"Tell Johnny to get the contents of Drawer No. 13 in the laboratory," Doc continued. "The contents will be a bottle of bilious-looking paint, a brush, arid a mechanism like an overgrown field glass. Tell Johnny to bring the paint and brush here."
Doc gave the address of the dive where he was being held.
"There are two sedans parked outside," the bronze man went on in the gobbling dialect. 'Tell Johnny to paint a cross on the top of each one. He is to bring his car which is equipped with radio. He is to wait in a street near by when he has finished the painting.
"Long Tom and Renny are to take the overgrown field glasses and race to the airport. They're to circle over the city in my plane, Renny doing the flying, while Long Tom watches with the overgrown glasses. The glasses will make the paint Johnny will put on the sedan tops show up a distinctive luminous color. Long Tom is to radio the course of the sedans to Johnny, who will follow them.
The gangsters were listening to the clucking words. Evil grins wreathed their pinched faces. They didn't dream the gobble could have a meaning!
"You, Monk, will visit the police station where the thugs who attacked Victor Vail and myself outside the concert hall were taken." Doc said. "Question them and seek to learn where a sailor called Keelhaul de Rosa would be likely to take Victor Vail.
"Ham is to remain in the office and question the rat you found unconscious in the laboratory, also seeking to find Keelhaul de Rosa and Victor Vail.
"If you understand these instructions, snap your fingers twice in the telephone transmitter."
Two low snaps promptly came from the wedged-up telephone receiver. They were not loud. Not a thug in the room noticed them.
DOC SAVAGE now became silent. He lay as though life had departed from his giant form.
"Reckon he's kicked the pail?" a crook muttered.
Another man made a brief examination.
"Naw. His pump is still goin'."
After this, time dragged. The guard outside the door could be heard. Once he struck a match. Twice he coughed hackingly.