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

help me out.”
    “The name of this suspect?”
    “Countess Olga. A jewel thief. I was following her the other night, lost her on B
     Deck.”
    The other nodded. “I remember you, Brunk. You looked puzzled that evening.”
    Long Tom shrugged thin shoulders negligently. “Yeah. She gave me the slip, all right.”
    The other regarded Long Tom speculatively. “What if I told you that I know what happened
     to her?”
    “Go ahead and tell me,” invited Long Tom.
    “I warn you. You will scarcely believe my tale.”
    “Tell the tale and let me worry about the believing part,” countered Long Tom.
    The man waved his cigarette. “The lady in question passed by me. I noticed her. She
     appeared very beautiful in a ghastly way.”
    Long Tom said, “That was her. Pale as a glacier.”
    The other nodded. “She looked lonely, so I started to follow her myself. Around a
     corner she went, I was not far behind her. Then I beheld the most uncanny thing.”
    The man hesitated.
    “Out with it,” suggested Long Tom.
    “I rounded the way just in time to witness her depart from this Earth.”
    The lean man allowed that to sink in.
    “She didn’t jump,” Long Tom said flatly. “I would have heard the splash.”
    “No, Walter Brunk. She did not jump. I reached the spot where she stood in time to
     see—not the woman—but a hideous squirming mass of black vapor where she had been.
     Vapor that drifted slowly away in the wind, and left nothing. The woman had died in
     some incredible fashion. Right before my eyes.”
    Long Tom searched the man’s face for signs of lying. He found none.
    “Why didn’t you report this to a steward?”
    The man made fussy gestures with his hands. “I considered this. But first I needed
     a cigarette. That was when you happened along. That decided me. If you, who were not
     a few yards from the very spot where a woman had perished in so inexplicable a fashion,
     did not witness to the fatality, of what use would my testimony be? The authorities
     might—how you say—finger me for her disappearance.”
    “So you said nothing?”
    The man inclined his head slightly. “I have said nothing. But neither has anyone else.”
     His cigarette waved vaguely. “Look around you, do you see any search parties? Any
     commotion or alarm?”
    “No,” Long Tom admitted.
    “Neither do I. But I made discreet inquiries. And do you know what I discovered?”
     He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “There is no such passenger registered as Countess
     Olga.”
    “Olga wouldn’t be her last name,” retorted Long Tom.
    “No Olgas. No contesas. No missing woman passengers. What do you think of that, Mr. Brunk?”
    “It’s ridiculous!” snapped Long Tom.
    “No more ridiculous than a woman turning into a sable black ghost and drifting away
     with the ocean breeze.”
    Long Tom had nothing to say to that. He made a jaw, rubbed it thoughtfully.
    “I’ll check out your story,” he decided at last.
    “Which I will deny,” smiled the man. And pocketing his pistol, he took his departure.
    Long Tom grabbed the first steward he chanced upon.
    “The other night I talked to a tall woman. She called herself Countess Olga. Where
     can I find her?”
    “Never heard of her,” said the steward. “What last name?”
    “Don’t know.” Long Tom flashed another business card. “She’s on the lam. Jewelry heist.
     I’d like a look at the passenger manifest.”
    Long Tom was taken to the ship’s captain, who heard his story out. A passenger list
     was produced. His identification stood up to the scrutiny of a transatlantic telephone
     call. The private investigation organization was run by Doc Savage, and was legitimate.
     It had a worldwide reputation. Long Tom studied the list and found no one by the name
     of Olga.
    “Any passengers not accounted for?” Long Tom inquired.
    The captain advised, “There have been no reports of persons overboard, if that is
     what you mean.”
    “I guess that’s what I