Doc Savage: Glare of the Gorgon (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 19) by Kenneth Robeson, Lester Dent, Will Murray Page B

Janet’s apartment, if she is indisposed as you say?”
    Long Tom had no good answer for that. So he snapped, “It’s none of your business. Call another time.”
    “I’ll call the Chicago police,” snapped the voice over the calling system.
    Long Tom realized this would not do. He would have to deal with the caller.
    “If you insist. I’ll buzz you up.”
    “I thank you,” said the man waiting below as Long Tom pressed the push-button that electrically disengaged the vestibule door lock.
    By the time a rattling knock came at the apartment door, Long Tom had inserted his unusual pistol under the horsehair chair seat cushion where the incriminating weapon would be out of sight, and went to the door.
    Throwing open the panel, he was met by a remarkable sight.
    The noteworthy thing about Long Tom Roberts was the fact that he looked as if death were following in his footsteps. The man who had presented himself at the door appeared as if he had been overtaken by the Grim Reaper long ago.
    He was thin to painful proportions. Taller than Long Tom, he looked nevertheless far more unhealthy, to an almost unbelievable degree.
    For the skin of this man was as gray as that of a corpse that had been lying in its coffin for weeks. His hair had a dry quality that made it seem lifeless. His eyes were a lighter gray than his skin, but the combination was vaguely repellent.
    The corpse-faced caller took one look at the pale electrical wizard, and started. “Why, you’re Long Tom Roberts, aren’t you?”
    “What’s it to you?” returned Long Tom belligerently.
    A curious light came into the other’s eyes. “I’ve been an admirer of your work, particularly in the field of television.”
    Taken aback, Long Tom demanded, “Who are you?”
    “Malcolm McLean. I am a chemist of some note. Perhaps you have heard of me.”
    Long Tom shook his head vigorously. “Chemistry is not my line.”
    Peering over Long Tom’s shoulder, McLean asked, “May I enter?”
    Reluctantly, Long Tom let the man in. As soon as he entered the apartment, his strange gray eyes fell upon Janet Falcon lying on the divan.
    “What—what happened to her?”
    “She fainted, I guess,” Long Tom said vaguely. “So I laid her out on the sofa. She ought to wake up before too long.”
    Malcolm McLean looked back at the pallid electrical wizard and said thinly, “So you were not lying, after all. But what is your business with Janet?”
    “My business is my business,” snapped Long Tom. “Or maybe I should say Doc Savage’s business, get me?”
    “There is no need to be rude about it,” said Malcolm McLean dolefully. “I merely stopped by to pay my respects, and to ask if there was anything I could do to help Janet in her bereavement.”
    “News travels fast,” clucked Long Tom.
    “We live in an age of scientific marvels,” retorted McLean.
    The two men studied one another like a pair of alley cats waiting for the other to make a wrong move. But neither man did.
    When nothing untoward transpired, Malcolm McLean turned his attention back to Janet Falcon, and observed that she appeared to be sleeping peacefully.
    Then he spied the two spots of moist crimson on the young woman’s forearm. His gray eyes narrowed, gristle-like lips writhing with some unexpressed emotion.
    “Janet appears to have injured herself,” he commented finally.
    “She fell when she fainted,” returned Long Tom. “I was about to tend to the wounds when you showed up.”
    “I know where she keeps her first-aid kit,” McLean offered. “Let me get it.”
    “Help yourself,” said Long Tom casually, not taking his pale eyes off the man.
    The corpse-gray man disappeared into the bathroom, rummaged around for a time. When he returned, he was carrying a small white metal box with a red cross stamped on it.
    “Would you hold this while I perform the appropriate ministrations?” he requested.
    Long Tom saw no reason why not, so he held out his hands and took hold of the metal