Doc Savage had listened patiently, but now he lifted a hand, arresting attention with the gesture.

"Gentleman, we came here to get a few facts," he said. "Let's come to the point at once. Are we going to get them?"

No one spoke for a while. Gibble mopped perspiration from his forehead. Then J. C. Ziff, who seemed to be the spokesman, got to his feet, pocketed his hands and looked levelly at Savage."I think you're the man we want," he announced. "In fact, if I had known what was going to develop, I would have suggested we hire you-you don't work for money, do you? So I'll re-phrase that-get you interested in our unusual avocation some time ago."

"An avocation," Doc said, not taking his eyes from the man's face, "is not a man's princ.i.p.al business, but a sideline, a hobby."

"That's right."

"And you think your avocation would interest me?"

"It already has," J. C. Ziff said unhappily. "At least, you're now poking into the mess it has become."

Doc moved a hand impatiently, said, "Let's find a beginning and start there. What is this avocation?"

J. C. Ziff hesitated, glanced at Gibble and Munroe, and said, "I'd better vote my partners on this. We sort of work one for all and all for one." He waited for Doc's nod, then the three of them got in a corner and nodded and shook their heads and mumbled words. They all nodded at the end, and took chairs again, and J. C. Ziff said, "We appointed Gibble spokesman. Go to it, Gibble."

Gibble cleared his throat, "Mr. Savage, we'd like your a.s.surances-"

Doc was already shaking his head. "No promises. Let's not start that. You tell a straight story, and we'll go from there, and the chips won't fall on any innocent parties."

Gibble sighed. "First, we three men"-he indicated Munroe, Ziff, himself-"developed a friendship years ago. It sprang out of our mutual a.s.sociations with the petroleum industry. We also developed a common interest-research into the supernatural. I won't bore you with the details of our research activities. I'll just say that we've concluded there is nothing to the so-called mediums, spiritualists, ghost-raisers and their ilk. It's a lot of bunk. They're fakers and phonies who either prey on the public for money, or do a great deal of harm to the mental tranquility of their friends and the people with whom they come in contact. So we've opposed them."

Ziff said, curtly, "Gibble's trying to say we formed a society to debunk mediums and spiritualists."

"Let Gibble tell it," Doc commanded. "He started the story."

Gibble explained, "It's like Ziff says. For several years, we've debunked commercial spiritualism. We've put up large rewards for anybody who can produce a genuine spirit, and hired experts to expose the trickery involved."

Munroe said, "We've had a lot of fun out of it."

"Let Gibble talk," Doc said sharply.

"Well, that's the story," Gibble explained. "Our hobby is exposing phony mediums and spirit-workers.

We've spent a lot of money on it. And got value in return."

"And that's all?" Doc demanded.

"Yes."

"Oh, no, it isn't. There's quite a bit more," Doc told them coolly. "There's Gibble pretending to be a worker at the radar Station, two impossible hangings, and an attempt on Miss Adams' life, plus Morand, some wild stories, and wilder incidents."Gibble seemed surprised. "I was going to come to that."

"Do it, then. You said you'd finished. Let's not finish until we come to the end."

J. C. Ziff grinned uncomfortably. "You're a direct fellow, Savage."

"Gibble is doing the talking, Ziff."

Gibble renewed his recital. "More than a year ago, a man named Morand applied to our a.s.sociation for funds for research into the spiritual world."

Doc said, "Let's be specific with dates. When did Morand apply?"

"Last January 18, about noon," Gibble said.

"All right. How did he apply?"

"In person. Morand talked to Mr. Munroe. Munroe thought he was a crackpot, but was nonetheless impressed enough to call a meeting at which a seance was arranged. Only Morand insisted it wasn't a seance, but a scientific demonstration. Well, we brought some scientists ourselves-and our professional ghost-debunkers. We have two magicians on our staff who are experts."

"Morand was going to produce a spook for you?"

"Yes. That is, he was going to prove scientifically that there was a kind of reservoir of evil in existence and that it was from this reservoir that the evil spirits entered the mentality of men and women-if that makes sense to you. It didn't to us. Not then. Since, we've wondered."

Doc examined the three men in turn. "I take it you all attended this debunking party you held for Morand."

"That's exactly what it started out to be. And we did," Gibble said. He fell silent. He shuddered. He added, "But this time, the outcome was different."

"You mean that you've always debunked spirit-raisers in these seances?"

"Before that time, always."

"This time you didn't?"

"Well-not exactly."

"Morand got the best of you and your experts?"

J. C. Ziff jumped up from his chair and yelled, "By d.a.m.n, I wish we knew the answer to that ourselves.

Morand sure as h.e.l.l made it look as if he had something."

"Sit down," Doc said sharply.

Gibble was nodding his head. "As Mr. Ziff says, we were left guessing. Here's what happened: I had a dog, a pet, a large Great Dane, a very gentle and faithful animal which I prized highly. This dog was killed in our very midst, murdered, strangled, mutilated horribly. And there was no way anyone could have entered the room and committed the awful deed."

"What killed the dog?""Well-one of Morand's evils-if you believe Morand."

"And you believed Morand?"

"He was very convincing. Also very apologetic. He said the thing had gotten free for a few moments. He seemed frightened about it."

"An act?"

"If so, a good one."

"What did your experts say, your ghost-lawyers. The magicians, for example?"

"They were flabbergasted," Gibble said. "Of course, later, they formed various acceptable theories to account for it. And they did duplicate it afterward, without of course, murdering another dog."

"Then what happened?"

"We let well-enough alone for a few months. Washed our hands of it."

"You didn't finance Morand's work?"

"No. We felt we had been foxed. . . . Frankly, we were afraid to have anything to do with it."

"And then?"

Gibble looked uncomfortable. "Morand came to us again," he explained. "He seemed terrified. He said that he feared that, in his experiments, he'd opened up a way the evils could escape by themselves and wreak their will on humanity. He wanted us to finance him while he stopped the leak."

"You didn't?"

"Naturally not."

"What did you do?"

"Well, we started a careful investigation. I, for instance, took an anonymous job at the Station in order to make observations."

"What observations, and why the Station?"

"Morand had said that the evils could, and would, become visible in radar scopes. He said that was the way he'd been observing them. And his experiments were being conducted here in this city, and he said he feared the evils would a.s.sault the radar scope operators."

Gail gasped, and clamped her hands to her cheeks. Monk moved to her side hurriedly, and laid a comforting and rea.s.suring hand on her arm. Ham scowled at Monk for this.

Doc said to Gibble, "All right, you've been observing. What has it got you?"

Gibble flushed. "Nothing."

"Nothing at all."

"No.""Why," Doc asked, "did you go to New York?"

"To meet Morand. You see, he has demanded money. Not a request this time-a demand. Morand claims that it was his demonstration before us that gave the evils a chance to escape their environment.

So it's our fault, and Morand demands we finance his efforts to stop the evils."

Doc asked, "Finance him to what extent?"

"A hundred thousand dollars."

"That's quite a bit of financing," Doc said dryly.

"So we thought."

"But you went to New York. Why didn't you just talk it over with Morand here?"

Gibble flapped his hands hastily. "Oh, you don't understand, Mr. Savage. . . . Morand doesn't know we are here watching. We've been secretive. He thinks we are in New York, where we have our headquarters. Morand wired us to meet him for an appointment in New York today, and I flew to keep the appointment."

Doc nodded. "You didn't stay long in New York."

Gibble, becoming somewhat pale, said, "I had better explain why I fled so hastily when I saw Miss Adams, Mr. Savage."

"Yes, you had better explain that, Gibble," Doc said coldly.

"Well, I was terrified. There had been two murders. I'm merely a man whose hobby is ghost-laying, and so are Mr. Munroe and Mr. Ziff. I was horrified by the murders, and greatly upset at the idea of being connected with them. I knew, the instant I saw Miss Adams there in New York, that there would be explaining to do. And this fellow"-he pointed at Monk-"didn't establish my confidence a bit when he rushed at me. So I fled."

"And came back here at once by plane?" Doc suggested.

"Yes. To confer with my friends here. I wished their advice on what to do."

"And their advice is?"

Gibble looked at his two a.s.sociates. He muttered, "I don't know. We hadn't had our conference."

J. C. Ziff scowled at Doc Savage. "Can I say a word now?"

"Go ahead," Doc said, nodding.

"This is conference enough for me," Ziff announced. "I say toss it into Doc Savage's lap. Make it his baby." He eyed Munroe. "What about it, Sam? Hand the baby to Doc Savage? How does that strike you?"

"Sure, hand it to him," Munroe said hastily. "G.o.d knows, I don't want the ugly thing in my lap."

Doc Savage's hand went up arrestingly. "Now wait a minute. I'm not in the habit of letting anyone hand me anything. They are perfectly welcome to hold it out for inspection, and then I decide whether I'm interested.""You're interested in this," Munroe pointed out. "You're already mixed up in it."

"Not," Doc said curtly, "with the idea of helping you fellows."

"Oh now, wait a minute-"

"Don't," Doc said, "start pushing. You fellows are wealthy men, and accustomed to shoving folks around with your money. But don't shove on me."

J. C. Ziff grimaced, and said, "Well, suppose the three of us just pack up bag and baggage and clear out?"

"Suppose that gets you in jail?" Doc inquired. "I can predict it will. As material witnesses attempting to flee. Perhaps as collaborators with Morand in this thing. Maybe the collaboration was unwitting, but you'll have to prove it was."

Munroe, the short-tempered one, swore violently. Gibble lost more color, and hurriedly poured himself a drink from a bottle he removed from a cabinet. But J. C. Ziff looked at Doc Savage thoughtfully, and asked in a more reasonable manner, "Let's put it this way: We've held this thing out for your inspection.

We've told you all we know, and can and will fill in details-but they'll add nothing. Now, are you interested? We'd like your help and we need it. We want this thing solved, the murderers caught, and the straight of this penetralia mentis, as Morand called his evils, learned." Munroe ended with the air of a man who had delivered a convincing argument.

"Very persuasive," Doc said. "I'll meet you half-way. I'll take this thing off your hands. But it will cost you."

"How much?" said Munroe cautiously.

J. C. Ziff complained, "But you don't work for fees! That's what I've heard, anyway."

"Twenty thousand dollars," Doc told Munroe. "And you give the sum to a cancer research foundation.

Any foundation you name, providing I approve it."