CHAPTER 2 POISON IN PITTSBURGH

In only two hours, Doc, Monk, and Ham were approaching Pittsburgh.

“Where are we gonna land, Doc?” Monk asked.

“The radio reports we’ve been listening to en route locate the disturbance in the downtown area along the Allegheny River,” said Doc. “We’ll land right there.”

All of Doc’s airplanes were equipped with retractable “triphibian” capability. They were equipped with landing gear which could be lowered for land, water, or snow. The Man of Bronze was prepared for any eventuality. Only an ace pilot would attempt a water landing on one of Pittsburgh’s three rivers. Smoke from the city’s heavy industry blankets the area most days, providing for very limited visibility. The city's numerous bridges provide a most forbidding obstacle. To land on the water, the pilot must make a low-level approach, then dart down under a bridge, being extraordinarily careful not to “nose in” -- the cause of most fatal water landings. But this kind of landing was old hat to Doc and his men.

Doc dropped the speedy bronze job down under a bridge near as you please. Skimming the river, he eased the plane down so gently that even Monk and Ham, experienced as they were, couldn’t tell when the float plane’s pontoons touched the water.

As Doc taxied up towards a large crowd standing by the Seventh Street bridge, a small motorboat bearing a red-faced police sergeant chugged out from the shore to meet them.

“Clear off from here!” the sergeant yelled. “We don’t need anymore newspaper scribblers or Hollywood newsreel photographers coming to act like vultures about this thing. Now get that airplane out of here!”

Doc stuck his head out of the cockpit window.

“Doc Savage!” The veteran cop recognized him instantly. “Thank God you’ve come! This is a horrible, horrible thing that’s happened here, sir, and I know we’re going to need your help. Let me take you right to the commissioner.”

Doc got up out of the pilot’s seat. Monk and Ham had finished securing the plane’s anchors.

"Monk, begin taking residue samples that the poison gas may have left behind. We’ll be able to analyze them when Long Tom arrives with the tri-motor and our equipment.”

“Gotcha, Doc.”

“Ham, see what eye-witnesses to this thing you can find.”

“I’m on it, Doc.”

Doc shouldered the equipment case he had carried from the eighty-sixth floor laboratory and stepped down lightly into the waiting motorboat. The red-faced sergeant sped him quickly to shore, and then led him through the crowd.

“Outta the way, outta the way! We got Doc Savage coming through here!”

For Doc, who shunned publicity, it was an embarrassing display of attention, but he suffered it as the quickest way to get to the authorities he needed to see.

“Mr. Savage, I am prepared to have you take complete charge of the case,” the Pittsburgh police commissioner announced upon Doc’s arrival. He knew that Doc held the honorary rank of “Senior Inspector” with the Pennsylvania State Police.

“Commissioner, I’m sure you and your men are capable of handling this,” Doc said.

The commissioner beamed at the implied compliment. “My associates and I would just like to offer our assistance.”

“We certainly won’t turn that down,” the commissioner replied.

“My associates would like to help gather evidence and interview witnesses. I would like to go to the hospital where the victims have been taken. I’ve developed a new treatment therapy for poison gas.” He indicated the bronze equipment case resting lightly on his shoulder.

“We had them taken to the Veteran’s Hospital. We figured those doctors would have the most experience in dealing with poison gas attacks.”

“Excellent, commissioner. But time is important now. Can you give me a squad car to take me there quickly?’

“Of course. Sergeant Rayburne, get Doctor Savage out to the Veteran’s Hospital right away!”

“Ten-four, commissioner!” the sergeant barked, and headed for the street. Doc followed him, head and shoulders above the crowd, the 200-pound equipment case still easily balanced on his shoulder.. MONK was engaged in the business of taking air and surface samples. His stubby fingers skillfully and quickly opened small glass collection vials. In each he took either a sample of air, or a sample of liquid. Each vial he then labeled with the exact location where it had been taken, as well as the time. Monk followed a grid pattern, taking regular samples.

Later, when he ran chemical analysis tests on the sample, he would be able to develop a picture of the intensity of the poison gas attack, as well as identify the gas involved. He would be able to do this once Long Tom arrived with Doc Savage’s large tri-motor aircraft, which had on-board an ultra-modern portable laboratory. Ham Brooks went through the witness’s statements. They all agreed about the attack starting with a loud, crackling sound.

Then came the yellow-green cloud, and then the screaming. Beyond that, the witness’s did not agree about anything. Some said the cloud came right down out of the sky. Others said the normal gray smog the city of Pittsburgh is noted for had turned yellow-green. One witness swore the gas had come from grenades thrown by crooks to cover a bank robbery. Ham began cross-checking the statements. The witness who denied that the sound was actually loud turned out to be almost entirely deaf. Several of them witness who swore the yellow-green cloud descended from the sky were actually in office buildings at the time of the attack, and really were only guessing.

The witness who “swore” the poison gas came from gas grenades thrown by bank robbers turned out to be only “guessing” about the grenades. The bank robbery turned up a number of wild stories.

“There were four of them!”

“There were at least a dozen!”

“There were ten of them!”

“They had handkerchiefs over there faces!”

“They had hoods over there heads!”

“They were dressed in yellow-green suits, like men from outer space!”

“They had pistols!”

“They had tommy guns!”

“They had ray guns!” Having gone through all of the statements, Ham wasn’t even sure that the bank robbery had anything to do with the poison gas attack. Perhaps it was nothing more than a coincidence, though an amazing one at that. He looked through his list of statements. There was one more person he needed to talk to. A patrolman named Wetzel had been on patrol in the area where the attack had first been reported. As a police officer he would be a trained observer, and a reliable witness. Having been where the poison gas attack started, he should be able to give plenty of details. Ham asked to have Wetzel brought to the police command post.

Tobias Wetzel had had a long day. He was tired, wet, muddy, and more than a little angry. The utter terror of the attack had in turn given way to the rush to try and save any survivors, followed by the never-ending routtine police paperwork. He was not happy having someone want to go over his statement again.

“I put everything in there,” he said roughly. “Believe it or not, but the river stated crackling and turned into the screaming poison gas cloud. That is what I saw happened.”

“Your statement is fine, Officer Wetzel,” Ham said in the same tone he had used to calm a thousand witnesses on the stand. “But what I’m trying to nail down is how you were able so quickly to determine that this was poison gas.”

“I guess I saw enough of it during the war to know it when I see it.”

“And your statement said you saw the man named ...”

“Dakota Pete. He came running up behind me and grabbed me. I turned around, and suddenly it was like I was back in France again. His eyes...” Wetzel shuddered.

“Just one more thing. What direction did Dakota Pete come from?”

“From Seventh Street. Had to be. I’d already checked the Sixth Street bridge, and he wasn’t there, so he had to have come from Seventh Street. How many times do I have to tell you Doc Savage guys this?” Wetzel complained.

“Lots of times, ‘cause lawyers bill by the hour, and they’re real slow learners!”

It was Monk’s squeaking voice as he arrived at the police command post. “Shut up, you hairy mistake!” Ham shot to Monk. And then to Patrolman Wetzel he asked, “What do you mean when you say you’ve told this to Doc Savage guys?”

Speaking slowly, as if he were talking to a small, rather stupid child, Wetzel said, “I already told his to the big guy. Renwick. Told him the entire story. Nearly three hours ago. Don’t you fellows ever talk to each other?”

“Say,” Ham said to Monk, “have you seen Renny since we landed?”

“Nope. Hey, where do you suppose he’s got to?” “I don’t know. In fact, this man,” Ham indicated Wetzel, “is the first person who’s even mentioned him.”

“That’s because he was hardly even here,” Wetzel said.

“But you did see him?” ham asked.

“Oh sure. Talked to him right when he got here. He got here before they even carried old Dakota Pete off in the meat wagon. Then I took him and showed him exactly where I was when it happened.”

“Looks like Renny’s way ahead of this on this one,” said Ham.

“Wonder what he found ?” wondered Monk.

“He found that blonde girl,” answered Wetzel.

“What!” exploded Monk and Ham together.

“Good-looking little thing. Came up and said she was looking for her brother. They started arguing, and she went all crazy, started trying to hit him. He finally grabbed her and hauled her off. Said he was going to keep her in custody until Doc Savage arrived.”

Monk and Ham checked with police officials. There were no blonde girls in being held in custody, good-looking or otherwise. And Renny could not be found. Since he and the blonde had left Wetzel, it was as if he had vanished from the face of the earth!