Doc Savage: Death's Dark Domain by Will Murray Lester Dent Kenneth Robeson Page A

corner.
    When Long Tom caught up, rounding that same corner, there was no sign of the elegantly
     tall countess.
    There was only a man lounging at the rail, idly smoking a cigarette. The man looked
     up as Long Tom came into view, then looked away with a disinterested expression. He
     had the smooth-faced look of a man who shaved twice a day, but was otherwise unremarkable.
    Ignoring him, Long Tom followed the deck to its terminus, found no trace of Countess
     Olga. He went to the rail and looked overboard. He had not heard any splash, and peering
     into the Atlantic rushing by saw no disturbance in the water. He returned the way
     he had come, ruddy features faintly puzzled.
    In the interim, the lounging cigarette smoker had vanished.
    A reconnoiter of other decks produced no sign of Countess Olga, so Long Tom reluctantly
     retired for the night.
    OVER the next two days, Long Tom kept his eyes peeled for the mysterious countess.
     But she never showed herself, nor did he manage to spy her at meals. It was very strange.
     It was as if she had gone overboard.
    On the third night out, with Southampton less than a day’s steady steaming, Long Tom’s
     luck turned.
    He was circumnavigating the decks, the mystery of Countess Olga still uppermost in
     his mind, when he heard weird music.
    The music sounded like nothing he had ever heard before. It was muffled, but even
     so there was an unearthly quality to it that pulled and impelled, as if the melody
     exerted a magnetic attraction.
    Sail-like ears hunting, the slender electrical wizard made for the sounds which seemed
     to be emanating from a cabin on B Deck.
    Going from door to door, Long Tom laid an ear against each one until he discovered
     the correct cabin.
    Bunching knuckles, he knocked.
    The music continued its unearthly sweep. But there was another sound discernible.
     A busy clattering. It, too, was muffled. It reminded Long Tom of a typewriter, except
     that the keystrokes continued seamlessly, mechanically, without pause or change in
     rhythm.
    Knocking hard, Long Tom raised his voice.
    “Steward!”
    That failed to elicit a response. The music continued and the clattering as of a busy
     typewriter went on unceasingly.
    Cabin doors are not of the type that can be unlocked with a lock pick, so Long Tom
     didn’t bother. It was possible that the combined sounds masked his knocking. Not likely,
     but possible.
    Noting the cabin number—B-12—Long Tom withdrew to a safe point of vantage. Settling
     into a deck chair in the shade of one of the great horn-like deck ventilators, he
     pretended to read a magazine.
    After a while, the cabin door opened.
    Out from it stepped a rather wolfishly lean man. Long Tom took him in. It was the
     smooth-faced fellow he had seen lounging on the lower deck the night he had lost Countess
     Olga in the maze of passageways that was the Transylvania.
    Something about that coincidence caused him to get up and follow the lean man when
     he passed by. Long Tom was no believer in coincidences.
    Keeping a discreet distance, the ruddy electrical wizard stayed on the man’s heels
     a fair part of the way to the dining room—the man’s evident destination.
    Rounding a corner with caution, Long Tom walked into the barrel of a long-nosed automatic
     of foreign make.
    The smooth-faced man spoke tersely. “You are following me. No?”
    “I am following you, yes,” admitted Long Tom, deciding to get the preliminaries out
     of the way.
    “Why?”
    “To keep in practice.” He proffered a business card that said: WALTER BRUNK, PRIVATE
     INVESTIGATOR. Long Tom added, “It’s how I make my living. I’m on my way to England
     on a hot case. Following strangers keeps me in shape. Nothing personal. Guess I’m
     not doing so hot to-day, eh?”
    The man’s eyes narrowed. It was evident that he did not take to that explanation.
    “You lie,” he said smoothly.
    Long Tom elected to shift tactics.
    “O.K., I’m following a suspect. Maybe you can