THEY returned to the outer office.

"Isn't there any possible way we can get hold of Doc Savage?" Big Eric asked desperately.

"Absolutely no way!" declared Ham. "He will appear here. Until he does, no one can get word to him. Doc demands absolute solitude when he does his greatest work. It may be weeks before he returns. It may be minutes."

"I've got millions of dollars," Big Eric muttered. "If money will—"

"It might interest you to know," Ham smiled dryly, "that during the past year Doc Savage has probably spent on worthy causes more millions than you possess."

"Where'd he get his jack?" inquired Big Eric, with the natural curiosity of a man who has made a success wishing to know how another man accomplished the same thing.

Ham ignored the question to make a statement.

"Doc Savage has merely to step into a radio station at a certain hour on a certain day, and broadcast a few words in a language not one person in ten million understands. Within a few days, he will receive automatically a shipment of several million dollars' worth of pure gold."

Big Eric goggled.

"Golly!" he sputtered. "Where does it come from?"

Ham shook his head. "I am not at liberty to tell any one."

Nor could the most agonizing tortures have forced Ham to reveal the source of Doc Savage's fabulous and perpetual wealth. It came from a lost valley in a remote section of Central America, did that limitless flow of gold—from a valley defended by descendants of the great Mayan civilization of ancient times. The wealth was supplied by the Mayans to be devoted solely to the benefiting of mankind, and it was through Doc Savage that they knew it would be expended for that purpose.

But the source of the gold was a secret to all but Doc and his five friends, of whom Ham was one.

Beautiful Edna Danielsen twined her fingers together thoughtfully. She was beginning to realize Doc Savage was a personage mighty beyond all her imaginings.

She wondered what he looked like. He'd probably be a shriveled little wart with a head like a barrel. He would wear glasses with lenses as thick as milk-bottle bottoms.

Doc's body would be just ample enough to carry his magnificent set of brains around, Edna decided. That was always the way with geniuses. They had spent all their life studying intensively—which in truth is what makes a genius. But as a consequence, they became pale, shriveled, bald specimens.

It wasn't a complimentary mental picture Edna painted of what she expected Doc Savage to look like. She reflected he'd have whiskers. They'd look like he was going around with his chin buried in a bird nest.

Edna was due for a shock.

SUDDENLY Ham jumped as though stung. Into the office there had penetrated a weird sound!

It was low, mellow, trilling. It might have been the alarm note of some strange feathered songster of the jungle, or the sound of an undulating breeze filtering through a jungled forest. Beautifully melodious, it still had no tune; and it was inspiring without being in the least awesome.

"Doc Savage!" Ham said softly.

For this was the sound that was a part of Doc—a small, unconscious thing which he did in moments of intense concentration. To his friends, it was both the cry of battle and the song of triumph. It would come from his lips in moments of stress—when events of importance impended.

It had the peculiar quality of seeming to come from everywhere rather than from a definite spot. It might have been emanating from inside the office. Yet Doc Savage was certainly nowhere about.

A commotion burst in the corridor outside.

A man screamed. It was a terrified scream. A pistol exploded. It filled the corridor with deafening echoes.

A moan followed.

Then silence came.

THE corridor door opened swiftly. An amazing picture was revealed.

In mid-air before the door, a man was suspended. Bandages which had swathed the man's features were disarranged. A yellow-haired wig hung askew, revealing hair that was black and slick as the back of a greased turtle.

It was the man who had attempted the life of Big Eric and Edna in the passenger air liner. He must have raced to New York in a chartered plane.

But the slick-haired man was forgotten as Big Eric and Edna stared at the arm and hand which held the fellow in mid-air.

Such an arm! It was Herculean, yet so perfectly formed that Its great size was evident only in comparison to the man it held as effortlessly as it would suspend a rag.

The muscles and tendons were like bundles of piano wire. The fingers were long, yet so muscular that they had utterly paralyzed the slick-haired man by their mere grasp upon his scrawny neck.

Most remarkable of all was the unusual deep bronze color of the flesh. Indeed, the skin seemed to be simply a bronze lacquer applied to the corded steel of the tendons.

The remainder of a mighty bronze form which had been masked by the door now appeared. The slick-haired victim was carried easily, his feet twitching weakly several inches off the floor.

"Doc Savage!" Ham said softly once more.

Pretty Edna Danielsen was stunned. Could thisbe the famous Doc Savage, who she had pictured as a shriveled runt, with whiskers and bottle-bottom glasses?

Why, this man was the most astounding physical specimen she had ever seen! The muscular development of that bronze body was little short of incredible.

And the bronze face! The beautiful Louisiana girl knew she had never gazed upon more striking features. They were perfect in their strong regularity. The hair, of a slightly darker bronze, lay back smoothly.

It was Doc Savage's eyes that held her though. They were strange, marvelous eyes. They glittered like pools of flake gold as they caught little lights from the ceiling chandelier. Those golden eyes seemed to have a power of conveying commands solely by their expressive quality.

Doc Savage released the slick-haired man. So terrible had been the grip upon his neck, the fellow fell to the floor as though paralyzed.

"He was listening outside the door," Doc said. "He had a gun in his hand, as though he were going to leap in here, shooting. Fortunately, the gun missed me when it went off as I seized him."

Doc's voice was capable of wondrous tonal changes.

"He's one of the Gray Spider's men!" said Big Eric.

Big Eric's words were little more than a whisper. He was awed by the impressive presence of this great man of bronze.

And it was the first time Big Eric had been awed by any man!

DOC SAVAGE moved into the laboratory. His going was so light and effortless that he seemed to flow like a quick puff of bronze smoke across the carpet.

"I've seen what I thought were strong men!" Big Eric mumbled. "But I never saw anythinguntil a minute ago!"

Beautiful Edna Danielsen added a thought which reached nobody's ears. "I can say the same thing about his good looks!"

Doc Savage came back. He carried a small leather case. This held, on a plush bed, two hypodermic needles.

Doc applied one of the needles to the eavesdropper's arm.

Nothing seemed to happen. The fellow merely sat there, absently rubbing the spot where the needle had pricked.

"Get up and sit in a chair!" Doc commanded compellingly.

The man obeyed meekly.

Noting the astounded faces of the others, Doc tapped the hypodermic needles and explained.

"The first holds a drug which affects a certain portion of the brain, rendering the victim incapable of thinking. This fellow, for instance, will now do anything I tell him because he cannot think of reasons why he shouldn't. I could tell him to go over and jump out of the window, and he'd do it without being able to think that the fall meant certain death. This drug is one of my late developments."