Doc nodded grimly. "You stay here, Renny. I'm going down and investigate — alone."

For the first time, passengers on the Malay Queen saw the exotic-looking Hindu moving about without his black man. Several eyes followed him as he entered the elevator.

"I wish to be let out on D deck," he told the elevator man, speaking the precise English of one to whom the tongue is not native.

D deck, being the lowest on the ship, held the cheapest accommodations. The staterooms were not perfectly ventilated, and it was necessary to keep the ports of the outside cabins closed much of the time lest waves slosh in and cause damage.

Cabin No.66 was far forward.

Sure enough, two slant-eyed fellows lounged before the door. These were not half-castes, but of pure Mongol strain. Both of them looked fairly intelligent.

Blank-eyed, they watched the robed Hindu approach. With each step the Hindu's rich sandals appeared under his robes. He came to a stop within arm reach of the two Mongols.

What followed next was forever a mystery to the Mongol pair.

Two sharp cracks sounded. Each man dropped.

Doc had struck with both fists simultaneously, before either victim realized what he intended to do. Indeed, neither Mongol as much as saw Doc's white-swathed arms start their movement.

The stateroom door was locked. Doc exerted pressure. The door caved in. Doc glided warily through.

The stateroom was empty!

Doc was not given long to digest this disappointing discovery. Two shots crashed in the passage outside. They came close together, deafening roars.

Doc whipped over to a berth, scooped up a pillow, and flashed it briefly outside the door. More shots thundered. Bullets tore a cloud of feathers out of the pillow.

With a gesture too quick for watching eyes to catch, Doc flicked a glass ball of anaesthetic into the passage.

He held his breath a full four minutes — not a difficult task, considering Doc had practiced doing that very thing every day of his life since he had quitted the cradle.

In the interim he heard excited shouts. Men ran up. But their shouts ceased and they fell unconscious as the gas got them.

When he knew the anaesthetic vapor had become ineffective, Doc stepped out.

Only stewards and ship officers lay senseless in the passage. Of the man who had fired the shots there was no sign.

Both of the Mongols had bullet holes through their brains.

For the moment no other observers were in sight. Doc hurried past the unconscious sailors and returned to the royal suite.

Renny was disappointed when Doc appeared without their three friends.

"What did you find?" he demanded.

"That Tom Too is about as clever a snake as ever lived!" Doc replied grimly.

"What'd he do?"

"Spread a false story about three madmen being in the cabin just on the chance I was aboard. He figured that if I was, I'd investigate. Well, I accommodated him. And now he knows who I am."

"A bad break!" Renny growled.

"Tom Too is an utterly cold-blooded killer. He sacrificed two of his men, murdering them just so they would not fall into my hands. No doubt he feared they would be scared into betraying him."

Renny jerked a cast of dental composition out of his mouth. It was this which had thickened his lips.

"No need of us wearing these disguises any longer!" he declared.

"No," Doc agreed. "They'd just make us that much easier to find. Ham and Mindoro are safe for the time being in their disguises, though."

The two men busied themselves shedding their make-up.

Remover used by theatrical players took the stain off their skin and hair. Doc peeled his throat scar off as though it were adhesive tape.

"This puts us in a tough spot," Renny rumbled as they returned themselves to normal appearance. "They'll spare no effort to put us out of the way. And no telling how many of them are aboard."

It was a vastly different-looking pair of men who stepped out of the royal suite. They were so changed an approaching deck steward did not recognize them.

"Is the Hindu in?" questioned the steward. "I got a note for him."

Doc plucked the note Out of the startled steward's fingers.

It read:

There is an ancient saying about the straw that

broke the back of the camel. Your next move will

be the straw needed to break my patience.

Your three friends are alive and well — as long as

my patience remains intact.

TOM TOO.

"The brass of the guy!" gritted Renny.

"Who gave you this?" Doc demanded of the steward.

"I dunno," muttered the flunky. "I was walkin' along, an it dropped at my feet. There was a five-dollar bill clipped to it, together with a note askin' me to deliver it. Somebody must

'a' throwed it."

Doc's golden eyes bored into those of the steward until he was convinced the man spoke the truth.

"On what deck did that happen?"

"On this one."

Chapter 11

PERIL LINER

MORE questioning revealed that no one had been in sight when the steward looked around after having the note drop at his feet.

The steward departed, perspiring a little. That night he didn't sleep well, what with dreaming of uncanny golden eyes which had seemed to suck the truth out of him like magnets, pulling at steel bars.

In the royal suite, Renny made grim preparations. He donned a bullet-proof vest and harnessed two of Doc's compact machine guns under his arms, where they wouldn't bulge his coat too much.

"Tom Too is not gonna set back and wait to see if we intend to lay off him," he rumbled wrathfully. "We've got to watch our step."

"Not a bad idea," Doc agreed. "From now on we take no more meals in the dining saloon."

"I hope we ain't gonna fast," grunted Renny, who was a heavy eater.

"Concentrated rations are in our baggage."

"Any chance of a prowler poisoning the stuff?"

"Very little. It would be next to impossible to get into the containers without breaking the seals."

Renny completed his grim preparations. He straightened his coat, then surveyed himself in the mirror. His garments had been tailored to conceal guns worn in under-arm holsters. The bullet-proof vest was inside, worn as an undergarment. Renny did not look like a walking fortress.

"What are we going to do about Tom Too?" he asked.

"We'll move slowly, for the time being. We don't want to get him excited enough to kill our pals," Doc said. "Our first move will be to consult the captain of the ship."

They found Captain Hickman, commander of the Malay Queen, on his bridge.

Captain Hickman was a short-legged man with a body that was nearly egg-shaped. Sea gales and blistering tropical suns had reddened his face until it looked as if it had been soaked in beet juice. His uniform was resplendent. with gold braid and brass buttons.

Four nattily clad apprentice officers stood on the bridge, keeping watch over the instruments.

The first mate strode sprucely back and forth, supervising the apprentices and the general operation of the liner.

The first mate was somewhat of a fashion plate, his uniform being impeccable. He was a slender, pliant man with good shoulders and a thin-featured, not unhandsome face. His skin had a deeply tanned hue. His eyes were elevated a trifle at the outer corners, lending a suspicion some of his ancestors had been Orientals. This was not unusual, considering the Malay Queen plied the Orient trade.

Doc introduced himself to Captain Hickman.

"Savage — Savage — hm-m-m!" Captain Hickman murmured, stroking his red jaw. "Your name sounds very familiar, but I can't quite place it."

The first mate came over, saying: "No doubt you saw this man's name in the newspapers, captain. Doc Savage conducted the mysterious submarine expedition to the arctic regions. The papers were full of it."