Joe Shuster, this is a faithful

and authorized reproduction

with a ngw introduction by
Roger Stern
 5

These adventures fir

in 1942. This faithfu
tion of the classic or:'
first ever authorized

The First Superman Novel Ever—

the real story of Superman, just as
it was told in 1942, including his
early years on Krypton, Ma and
Pa Kent, and his first assignment
at the Daily Planet.

Illustrated in Black & White and Full Color by

Joe Shuster

The Adventures of Superman

“T here have been many versions of

the Man of Steel over the years, just
as there have been many and differ”
ing versions ofTarzan, of Sherlock
Holmes, of Mickey Mouse. That is
probably inevitable when a fiction¬
al character becomes a cultural
icon. But for all the differences in
time and place—in names and
details—from the hero we know
today, George Lowther’s Superman
still evokes the ideal of Siegel’s and
Shuster’s Superman. And you can’t
ask for more than that.”
—from the, Introduction by Roger Stern,
author ofthe bestselling novel
The Death and Life of Superman.

APPLEWOOD BOOKS
Publishers of America’s L
18 North Road
Bedford, MA017v
 ACPL ITEM
F:
DISCARDED
L-owcner, b'eorge Francis.
Sup erman

s-qs
ALLEN COUNTY PUBLIC LIBRARY
FORT WAYNE, INDIANA 46802

You may return this book toany-tocatiorhof

the Allen County Public Library.

demco
 Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2017 with funding from
Kahle/Austin Foundation

https://archive.org/details/supermanOOIowt
>
THE ADVENTURES OF SUPERMAN
Jor-el placed his infant son into the model
of the Space Ship. (Page 17)
 SUPERMAN
BY GEORGE LOWTHER
Based on the cartoon character created by
JERRY SIEGEL and JOE SHUSTER
Illustrations by JOE SHUSTER

APPLEWOOD BOOKS • BEDFORD, MASS.

 TO KEVIN

Copyright © 1942 DC Comics

Introduction copyright © 1995 DC Comics
All Rights Reserved.
Superman and all related indicia are trademarks of DC Comics.

Superman created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster

The jacket was reproduced from an original in the collection

of Don Phelps.
The color plates were reproduced from originals in the collec¬
tion of Charles Kochman.
onnnAunty Pub,'c Lioiarr
ISBN: 1-55709-228-1 £00 Webster Street *
P0 Box 2270
This is an Applewood E/c55kl^yn6i IN 46801-2270
Applewood reprints America’s lively classics — books
from the past that are still of interest to modern readers.
For a free copy of our current catalog, write to:
Applewood Books, 18 North Road, Bedford, MA 01730.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Lowther, George Francis, 1913
Superman / by George Lowther; based on the cartoon
character created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster; illustra¬
tions by Joe Shuster; foreword by Josette Frank; introduction
by Roger Stern,
p. cm.
Reprint. Originally published 1942.
Summary: Once he becomes aware of his super powers,
Clark Kent uses them to fight the forces of evil.
ISBN 1-55709-228-1
[1. Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. 2. Heroes-
Fiction.]
I. Siegel, Jerry. II. Shuster, Joe. III. Title.
PZ7. L9675Suc 1995 94-43029
CIP
AC
 CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. Warning of Doom. 3
II. The Space Ship. 13
III. Young Clark Kent. 20
IV. The Contest . 36
V. The Death of Eben. 49
VI. Clark Kent, Reporter. 59
VII. The Skeleton Ship . 73
VIII. The Vanishing Captain . 86
IX. Fire at Sea. 98
X. Mystery of the Old Man.109
XI. Attempted Murder.123
XII. Enter Lois Lane .141
XIII. Return of the Skeleton Ship.159
XIV. The Unmasking.172
XV. Special Investigator.189
XVI. Underwater Battle .198
XVII. The Mystery Solved .208
 ILLUSTRATIONS

Jor-el placed his infant son into the model

of the Space Ship.Frontispiece
The anvil in his hand was like a feather. 47
The steel bullet went hurtling into space. 53
Superman brought the Old Man to the
surface . 80
Leering down at Kent were skeleton faces
of a skeleton crew. 85
Superman felt the steel-like muscles of his
shoulder sink into the metal.132
Superman caught the white-hot shell in his
bare hands.153
Superman forced his shoulders between the
twin propellers ...165
Speed and power were behind the fist that
landed on the skeleton s jaw.180
Then Superman saw the convoy.202
VII
 FOREWORD

A merica has had many fabulous heroes. As

our country grew, there sprang up tall
tales of men whose wondrous deeds and strength
were beyond ordinary men. In the great lumber
country men told of Paul Bunyan, mighty log¬
ger, who moved mountains and changed the
course of rivers to suit the lumbermen. The
opening of the West created Pecos Bill, who
could lasso a tornado and mount a demon stal¬
lion. As the railroads pushed south and west
came black John Henry, steel-driver, spitting hot
rivets and laying his rails just ahead of the speed¬
ing trains. And now—Superman—wrestling with
the mechanized might of today’s world of air¬
planes and submarines and super-villainy.
Superman! Most of you who will read this
book already know him. Perhaps you have fol¬
lowed his adventures in the comics where first
X FOREWORD
he was introduced to an astonished world. You
may have heard his challenging voice on the air¬
waves of the radio or watched his flaming red
cape as he streaked across the screen at the
movies. His fame has spread to the four corners
of the earth. In South America, in China, in
South Africa his broad shoulders and flying cape
are a familiar symbol. His exploits are told in
many tongues.
Millions of boys and girls in America have
acclaimed Superman, strong and invincible,
nemesis of evil-doers. Many who have followed
his adventures with breathless interest have
wondered about him: Where did he come
from? Whence came his super-strength and mar¬
velous powers? They have asked to be told again
the story of his origin—of his arrival on earth
from a distant planet, of his boyhood and youth,
of his first discovery of his super-powers, and of
his dedication to the fight against the forces of
evil. So here is his story, from the beginning.
Josette Frank
Staff Advisor, Children’s Book Committee
Child Study Association of America
1942
 INTRODUCTION

\y/hat you hold in your hands is a little piece

YV of history
But then, you knew that already didn’t you?
After all, this book deals with Superman, and the
Man of Steel has been making history for over
half a century
Created by writer Jerry Siegel and artist Joe
Shuster, Superman was the first bona fide star to
emerge from the world of comic books. Intro¬
duced in 1938, in the first issue of Action Comics,
this strange visitor from another planet proved so
popular that within a year he had acquired a sec¬
ond comic book entitled simply Superman. Within
that year, the Man of Steel also began conquering
every other medium he could find.
On January 16, 1939, Siegel’s and Shuster’s
new Superman newspaper comic strip made its
debut. Though the strip began in just four
XI I INTRODUCTION

newspapers, within two years more than three

hundred papers carried the Man of Steel’s adven¬
tures, reaching a combined readership of some
20 million.
On February 12, 1940, “The Adventures of
Superman” radio program premiered on the
Mutual Network. The series became a classic of
the Golden Age of Radio and aired throughout
the decade.
In September of 1941, the first of seventeen
fully-animated cartoons appeared in theaters.
Produced by Fleischer Studios—home to Koko
the Clown, Betty Boop, and Popeye the Sailor—
the Superman cartoons were a milestone in the
history of animation and continue to influence
the industry today.
And in 1942, the story that you are about to
read was first published.
Amazing, isn’t it? In just four short years,
Superman had become a force to be reckoned
with not only in the comics, but on radio, at the
movies, and on the printed page. Further success
lay ahead for the Man of Steel ... in motion pic-
 INTRODUCTION xiii
tures, on television, and even on the Broadway
stage! And from the base of Superman’s continu¬
ing success in comics, one can only speculate
about what cyber-worlds he will conquer in the
years to come.
But our purpose here is not to contemplate
Superman’s possible futures ... it is, rather, to
consider an almost-forgotten chapter of his
equally intriguing past.
For, you see, with the exception of a rare — and
unauthorized — softcover facsimile copy pro¬
duced in 1979, this book has been out of print for
over fifty years!
This early prose version of the Superman leg¬
end was the work of George F. Lowther, who in
the early 1940s worked primarily as a scriptwriter
for the aforementioned Mutual Radio Network.
Born in 1913, Lowther had begun his career in
broadcasting at the ripe old age of thirteen, quit¬
ting school to become a page for the National
Broadcasting Company. In the years that followed,
he became a writer of some renown, writing
scripts for such long-running comics-to-radio
XIV INTRODUCTION

series as “Dick Tracy,” “Terry and the Pirates,”

and—of course—“The Adventures of Superman.”
Lowther later added producer’s and director’s
duties to his list of radio credits, and in 1945 made
the jump to television with the fledgling DuMont
network. In time he would become involved with
such classic dramatic anthologies as the “U.S.
Steel Hour” and “Armstrong Circle Theater.”
In 1963, Lowther lent his writing talents to
Westport, Connecticut’s Famous Writers School
as a supervisor of instructors, but he always kept
a hand in the creative end of writing. In the early
1970s, Lowther helped launch the “CBS Radio
Mystery Theater.” He had contributed over thir¬
ty scripts to the series before his death in 1975.
George Lowther was in his late twenties when
he wrote The Adventures of Superman, a book that
was most certainly produced with the juvenile
market in mind (although a special Armed
Services Edition was also issued that same year for
distribution to American servicemen . . . not at all
surprising, given the Man of Steel’s immense
popularity with soldiers and sailors). The fast-
 INTRODUCTION xv

paced story not only tells the origin of Superman,

but spins a yarn full of haunted shipyards, secret
agents, and Nazi saboteurs. In dealing with the
latter, Lowther quite pulpishly reflects the para¬
noia then prevalent in a United States that had
just become an active player in the Second World
War. Frankly, there are some lapses in the logic of
the plot which may seem glaring to the eyes of the
modern reader. Still, considering that it was writ¬
ten over fifty years ago—for an audience chiefly
composed of boys and young men—the tale
holds up remarkably well.
Holding up extremely well are the ten full-page
illustrations, four of them in color, and the
numerous sketches of Superman produced by
Joe Shuster and his studio. Shuster, the Man of
Steel’s premier artist and co-creator, had early
on been forced to hire assistants to meet the
ever-growing demand for more Superman mate¬
rial. Hurriedly sketching layouts for the stories in
pencil, he would rough in the main figures
before passing the art boards along to his staff,
who would tighten up the pencil drawings before
XVI INTRODUCTION

inking the backgrounds and some of the figures.

The master himself would then meticulously ink
the final renderings of the primary characters.
In later years, Shuster proudly recalled that,
during the Man of Steel’s first decade, he had
inked virtually every face of Superman that had
appeared in the comics. The power and dynamics of
Joe Shuster’s Superman are evident in every draw¬
ing in this book.
There are many firsts associated with this book.
With its publication, Superman became the first
comic-book character to have an original adven¬
ture told as a prose novel. Also, George Lowther
became the first writer other than Jerry Siegel to
receive a credit for writing Superman.
And then, there is the matter of Superman’s
Kryptonian parents. Siegel and Shuster originally
presented the alien couple as Jor-L and Lora in the
newspaper comic strip (the two Kryptonians
would not be formallv introduced in the comic
books until Superman #53 went on sale in 1948). In
Lowther’s story, for the first time they become
Jor-el and Lara. The spelling of Lara would carry
 INTRODUCTION XVII

over into the comics, and the Man of Steel’s sire

would eventually become known as Jor-El.
At the time this book was originally written,
life on the late planet Krypton had been shown
in just ten early installments of the daily comic
strip (and not at all in the comic books). It fell to
Lowther to flesh out the world of Superman’s
ancestors. To that end, he introduced Ro-zan,
the supreme leader of Krypton’s ruling Council,
and played heavily upon Jor-el’s frustration at
being unable to convince his countrymen of
their world’s impending doom.
More important, within these pages is the first
extensive depiction of Superman’s early life as
Clark Kent and of the couple who raised him.
Siegel and Shuster had shown the Kents in just
three panels on the first page of Superman # 1, and
had them dead and buried by page two. (The ear¬
lier story in Action Comics had given the impression
that Clark had been raised in an orphanage, as
had the newspaper strip. And amazingly, the first
radio program had Superman emerging fully
grown from the rocket which had borne him to
XVIII INTRODUCTION

Earth.) It was not until George Lowther put words

to paper that we truly met Clark’s parents . . .
Sarah and Eben Kent.
Believe it or not, it wasn’t until 1952, some ten
years after this book was written, that both Martha
and Jonathan Kent became the names firmly recog¬
nized within the Superman canon. In Superman
# 1, Pa Kent was not named at all and Ma Kent
was only fleetingly referred to as Mary\ It was not
until the aforementioned Superman #53 that we
would see the names of both—and then only
inscribed on gravestones—as John and Mary. In
fact, barely a year later, Clark’s earthly father is
referred to in a story as Silas Kent.
That being the case, we can’t really blame
Lowther for inventing Sarah and Eben. After all,
in the matter of the Kent family, he didn’t have
much source material to draw upon.
At any rate, it was the Lowther version of the
story—including Ro-zan, Sarah, and Eben—
that was eventually used as the basis of the origin
sequences in both the opening chapter of
Columbia Pictures’ 1948 “Superman” serial and
 INTRODUCTION XIX

in the initial episode of the long-running syndi¬

cated "Adventures of Superman” television series
starring George Reeves.
There’s one last interesting facet to Lowther’s
novel.
In coming up with a realistic explanation for
how the Kents, a normal human couple, could
conceivably raise their alien foundling, Lowther
chose to discount the two brief scenes from the
comics of the infant boy performing amazing
feats of strength. Instead, he hit upon the idea of
having young Clark’s powers manifest themselves
gradually. Some four decades later, writer/artist
John Byrne—working without the benefit of
Lowther’s long-out-of-print text—arrived at the
same solution for the 1986 Man of Steel miniseries
which renewed and reestablished the hero in the
world of comics. And so, this book has parallels
to even the newest version of the Superman
comic books.
There have been many versions of the Man of
Steel over the years, just as there have been many
and differing versions of Tarzan, of Sherlock
XX INTRODUCTION

Holmes, of Mickey Mouse. That is probably in¬

evitable when a fictional character becomes a
cultural icon. But for all the differences in time
and place — in names and details—from the
hero we know today, George Lowther’s
Superman still evokes the ideal of Siegel’s and
Shuster’s Superman. And you can’t ask for more
than that.
— Roger Stern
September 26, 1994

A veteran comic-book writer—including seven years on

Superman and Action Comics —Roger Stern wrote the
best-selling novel The Death and Life of Superman.
 CHAPTER I
WARNING OF DOOM

I he great hall of Krypton’s magnificent

I Temple of Wisdom was a blaze of light.
Countless chandeliers of purest crystal reflected
the myriad lights into a dome of glass where they
were shattered into a million fragments and fell
dazzling over the Great Hall.
Below the brilliant dome the Council of One
Hundred waited. Attired in togas of scarlet and
blue, they looked impatiently for the arrival of
3
4 SUPERMAN
Jor-el, Krypton’s celebrated scientist. They had
been summoned from the length and breadth of
the planet to hear a message Jor-el would deliver.
What the message was they did not know. They
knew only that when Jor-el spoke all men
listened.
Now they waited, curious as to the nature of
Jor-el’s message. Rarely did the brilliant young
scientist leave the mysterious regions of his lab¬
oratory. Whatever he had to say tonight they
knew would be of great importance to Krypton
and its people.
There was a sudden movement and a mur¬
muring wave of voices rose and fell, echoing in
the Great Hall.
Jor-el had arrived at last.
All eyes centered on the tall, thin figure that
moved forward on the raised platform and took
the hand of white-bearded Ro-zan, supreme
leader of the Council. There were those who
noticed at once that the handsome face of Jor-el
was drawn and haggard. Something, they knew,
was wrong. The Council of One Hundred waited
in hushed suspense.
 WARNING OF DOOM 5
Wearily, the young scientist turned to the
gathering. Standing tall in the yellow and pur¬
ple robes of his calling, he drew a deep breath.
There was a moment's pause and then his voice
filled the vast Hall.
“Krypton is doomed!”
Had a thunderbolt crashed through the crystal
dome of the Temple at that moment it could not
have produced a more startling effect!
Ro-zan rapped heavily for order, and in time
the tumult aroused by Jor-el’s startling words
died down. Silence reigned as the two men, one
the aged supreme leader of the Council, the
other Krypton’s foremost scientist, faced each
other. Ro-zan’s kindly face was grim as he strove
to keep his voice steady.
“Say on, Jor-el.”
Jor-el nodded and again faced his audience.
He spoke slowly now, carefully, choosing his
words.
“Members of the Council, I repeat—Krypton
is doomed!”
A gathering wave of protest began, but Jor-el
stilled it with a lifted hand. The wide yellow
6 SUPERMAN
sleeve of the gown he wore fell away from his
upraised arm and showed the gauntness of it,
accentuating the thin boniness of his fingers.
Whether the Councilmen believed him or not,
they could see that long hard weeks of toil had
aged this man. They listened respectfully as he
went on.
“Would that I could bring you good news,
but I cannot. Week upon week, pausing for little
sleep and less food, I have worked in my labora¬
tory, striving to understand the signs which have
come to us from outer space. You, my friends,
for months past have seen the sudden showers
of stars that have fallen upon our planet. Comets
of great magnitude have appeared from no¬
where, whirling dangerously close to Krypton.
Not many weeks ago a monstrous tidal wave rose
from the sea and roared toward our city. Good
fortune was with us, for the wave died before it
reached our shores. It was then I first realized
there might be something wrong and I set my¬
self to discover the meaning of these phe¬
nomena. I have found out. Krypton is doomed
to destruction/’
 WARNING OF DOOM 7
Again a murmur of protest rose among the
Councilmen and again Ro-zan was forced to rap
for order. When quiet had been restored, he
said, “Jor-el, how explain you this?”
The young scientist shook his head.
“Would that I might answer you, Ro-zan, but
even the learned men of science who work under
me cannot fully comprehend my equations and
formulae. I will be as clear as I can. The Planet
Krypton may be likened to a volcano—a volcano
that for years has slumbered peacefully. Now it
begins to come awake. Soon it will erupt!
Whether that eruption will be slow or sudden,
I cannot tell. But it will come! And when it does,
the mighty Planet Krypton will burst into a
million molten fragments!”
The glowing eyes set deep in the haggard face
of the young scientist held everyone in the
Chamber spellbound as he added, “Time is
short! I bid you prepare!”
The spell, however, lasted only for a moment.
Then, with a mighty surge, a roar of anger and
protest burst forth. Jor-el had lost his mind,
some cried; others that he had made a mistake
8 SUPERMAN
in his calculations. He was over-wearied with too
much work and needed rest. In brief, they could
not and would not believe him.
His arms half-raised, the scientist turned be¬
seechingly toward Ro-zan, a tragic, almost help¬
less figure.
“Make them understand/’ he pleaded. “You,
Ro-zan, can make them believe!”
Ro-zan’s smile was filled with pity. He spoke
in a kindly voice.
“Come, Jor-el,” he said softly, “surely you
have made a mistake. Surely—”
“I have made no mistake! Ro-zan, you must
believe—”
Ro-zan’s upraised hand commanded silence.
“I understand well what faith you must have
in your deductions, Jor-el. But certainly it is
difficult to believe the thing you tell us. Krypton
doomed? Krypton fated to destruction? Impos¬
sible! You yourself must realize that, Jor-el, in
your—er—saner moments.”
The scientist stiffened, as if Ro-zan had
struck him across the face. He waited a moment
to master himself before replying. “You think
me out of my mind?”
 WARNING OF DOOM 9
Ro-zan shook his head slowly, smiling patient¬
ly as he did so.
“No, Jor-el. I think that not at all. A mind as
lordly as yours knows not destruction. But cer¬
tain it is, friend, that you are weary. You have
toiled long and well in the service of the people
of Krypton, and you need rest.”
“I tell you—” Jor-el began, but again Ro-zan
stayed him with an upraised hand. There was
now a slight trace of annoyance in the older
man's voice.
“Please, Jor-el, this is unlike you! What if
your strange deductions are correct? What if
your scientific equations and astronomical
formulae are true? What can we do about it?
Where can we go?”
With desperate eagerness Jor-el seized the
opportunity to answer Ro-zan’s question.
“I have not come here with this tragic news,”
he said hastily, “without bringing with me a so¬
lution for it. You ask me where we can go? My
answer is—to the Planet Earth!”
There was a pause before the Councilmen
realized what Jor-el had said. Then the Great
Hall rocked with laughter.
10 SUPERMAN
“Listen to me! Listen to me!” Jor-el cried
over and over again. But his voice was drowned
in the thunderous laughter. Even Ro-zan did not
rap for order this time, but turned away to hide
the sudden smile that came to his lips. Only
when the laughter had worn itself out did he
again address Jor-el.
“Dear friend,” he said, “you see how right
we are? You see how badly you do need rest? No
—please—speak not till I have finished. You say
if Krypton is destroyed we can escape to the
Planet Earth. How could we live there, Jor-el?
You yourself—you who have studied the Earth
for years through the great telescope—have told
us how inferior to ourselves are the Earth Peo¬
ple. They are thousands of years behind us in
everything, mental and physical. Their cities
are as nothing compared to the cities that have
existed here on Krypton for centuries. Their
minds are so far beneath the capacity of our own
that actually, in comparison, they have no in¬
tellect at all! As for their bodies, you yourself
have said that they are weaklings. It takes a
hundred Earth People together to do what one
 WARNING OF DOOM 11
man on Krypton can do alone! They have not
the power to fly, but must walk at snail’s pace on
the Earth’s surface! They cannot breathe be¬
neath the sea!”
Ro-zan shook his head slowly from side to side.
“Would you send us to live among such a peo¬
ple, Jor-el? Nay, I think not! Death is preferable
to life in a world of such inferior people.”
“I have studied the problem with the utmost
care, Ro-zan,” Jor-el persisted. “The atmosphere
that surrounds the Earth is the only one that
can sustain us. There is no other planet to which
we can go, no other—”
“Stop!”
Ro-zan’s voice was harsh and his face had be¬
come stern.
“I would not be angry with you, Jor-el, but
you drive me beyond patience. The Council of
One Hundred and I have heard enough. What
you tell us is sheer nonsense. Krypton is not
doomed, nor will it ever be! You are weary and
need rest—I hope it is no more than that. Now,
until you have recovered your senses, please
come to us no more.”
12 SUPERMAN
Again Jor-el stiffened, for again it was as if
Ro-zan had struck him. After a moment’s pause
he turned to go, then stopped and faced the
Council.
“I will go,” he said, bitterly, “but before I do,
I would have you know one thing.” He paused,
letting his eyes rove over the assembly. “I am
right. I know this. You must learn it. When you
do learn it, I trust it will not be too late. I am
at work on a model of a Space Ship-” A titter
ran through the audience, but Jor-el did not
stop. “-a Space Ship that I had hoped would
carry us all to the Earth! I shall continue with
my work, for only in that way may I still save
you from yourselves when this tragedy comes up¬
on us. And now—I leave you.”
Not a word was spoken as Jor-el turned and
moved slowly out of sight through the high arch¬
ed doorway—a tragic, beaten figure.
 CHAPTER II

THE SPACE SHIP

A long silver rocket—the model of Jor-el’s

Space Ship—gleamed under the powerful
lights of the scientist’s laboratory, amidst a clut¬
ter of scientific instruments. Jor-el, the sleeves
of his robe rolled back, worked over the model
with feverish haste. So deep was his concentra¬
tion that he did not hear a panel in one of the
walls slide back, and did not see his wife, Lara,
as she entered with their child in her arms. She
waited until Jor-el looked up and noticed her.
13
14 SUPERMAN
“I heard you at work/’ she said. “I knew you
had returned. What did the Council say?”
Jor-el shook his head sadly. “As you warned
me, Lara, they refused to believe me.”
“But you intend to continue your work on the
Space Ship?”
Jor-el fitted a valve into place before he an¬
swered. “Of course! Whatever they think, Lara,
I am right—I know it! And if there is still time,
I will save them! ” He gave the valve a final twist.
“I shall start constructing the Space Ship itself
as soon as this model is finished.”
Lara nodded, understanding. The child in her
arms whimpered and she began to rock it back
and forth. “Little Kal-el has been strangely rest¬
less these past few days,” she said. “He has
scarcely slept at all. Jor-el, do you think he feels
the approach of this thing you have foretold?”
“It may be,” said Jor-el. “He has always been
sensitive to the elements.”
The scientist continued his work, his thin
hands moving swiftly and surely over the intri¬
cate mechanism of the model Space Ship. Lara
sat and watched, rocking the child in her arms.
 THE SPACE SHIP 15
Finally she gave voice to the question that
troubled her. “Is there much time, Jor-el?”
“No,” he answered, “there is little time. That
is why I hasten to finish the model. It is almost
ready. I have only to install the Atomic Pressure
Valve and ——”
Whatever he was about to say froze in his
throat as an ear-shattering crash burst over Kryp¬
ton! He clutched the model Space Ship to steady
himself, for the entire room was rocking. Things
were falling and splintering all about. A tall
cabinet filled with tubes and measuring glasses
fell with a mighty crash. Gaping cracks appear¬
ed in the walls and the cement floor surged
underfoot like an awakening monster. The high
arched window broke into a thousand fragments.
And through the yawning hole where the
window had stood, Jor-el saw a seething fan of
flame spread upward and envelop the sky.
“It has come, Lara!” he cried. “It has come!”
And come it had! In seconds, night was
turned into flaming day. Across the sky, count¬
less comets whirled screaming through brilliant
space. The stars began to fall, showering upon
16 SUPERMAN
Krypton a rain of liquid fire. Asteroids of every
color careened across the heavens. Lights of
every size and hue, dazzling and eye-searing,
scattered over Krypton.
The elements, as Jor-el had predicted, had
gone mad!
Jor-el, a man of science, remained calm in the
face of this sudden cataclysm. As the sky fell, as the
ground seethed, his mind teemed with the pos¬
sibilities of the moment. The Space Ship was
not ready. It was too late to save the people of
Krypton. Too late to save Lara and himself. But
the child-
“Lara!” his voice commanded. “We can do
naught for ourselves or the others. But there is
hope for Kal-el!”
“Jor-el-?”
He answered her question before she asked it.
“The model of the Space Ship!” he cried. “I
have only to install the Atomic Pressure Valve.
A few moments will do it! And then, Lara, if it
works-”
Even as he spoke he was collecting the tools
he would need. And as he worked, Lara stood
 THE SPACE SHIP 17
with the child in her arms, gazing out at a
crumbling world.
Flames of every color roared from great fis¬
sures in the land. Against the frightful glow
could be seen the majestic spires of Krypton
shattering into dust. And under all this was a
strange rumbling, as if some mighty force were
stirring fitfully and gathering its strength for one
great and final upheaval. Lara knew that when
that upheaval came it would be the end.
“It is ready!”
She turned at Jor-el’s words to see him stand¬
ing beside the gleaming silver model.
“Give me the child,” he said, “and pray the
model works! For in it we shall send him to the
Earth and to safety!”
Lara said not a word but placed the tiny form
of Kal-el in his father’s arms. She watched silent¬
ly as Jor-el placed it, whimpering, into the model
of the Space Ship and closed the steel door.
When he was certain the door was sealed secure¬
ly, he quickly threw a lever.
Together they waited. And, waiting, they
heard the strange rumble gathering under them
18 SUPERMAN
for the final upheaving surge that would spell
the end of Krypton. As the rumbling increased,
the flaming sky grew brighter, the comets whirl¬
ed faster, the stars fell in greater showers!
They heard but saw none of this, for their eyes
were fixed on the needle of the gauge that mark¬
ed the atomic pressure of the model. Something
seemed to be wrong. The needle had not moved.
The pressure necessary to send the steel bullet
hurtling into space was not increasing. But the
ominous rumble beneath was increasing, build¬
ing toward that final cataclysm that would burst
the Planet Krypton!
Jor-el clutched at the lever, working it back
and forth. He stared at Lara with wild eyes, and
beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. Sec¬
onds, literally, stood between the infant Kal-el
and safety. The moment of Doom had come! A
monstrous crash in the distance marked the end
of Krypton! The fissures in the ground opened
into yawning chasms. The laboratory began to
fall about them! And the atomic pressure of the
tiny, futile Space Ship-
The needle moved. There was a hissing, as of
 THE SPACE SHIP 19
some tremendous skyrocket. Jor-el had only time
to let go the lever as the model strained and
trembled and, rending loose, shrieked into flam¬
ing space, bearing toward Earth its tiny passen¬
ger.
 CHAPTER III
YOUNG CLARK KENT

E ben Kent reined his horse to a stop, leaned

on the worn handle of his plow, and look¬
ed off across the rolling land he had just tilled,
to the point where hill met sky. There was some¬
thing strange about that sky. He knew the
weather, as well as any farmer born to the soil,
and off-hand he would have said a storm was
brewing. Yet he was not quite sure. It seemed
20
 YOUNG CLARK KENT 21
to him there was the feeling of something more
than just a storm in the air. He had seen that
same slate sky before, had felt the same heav¬
iness in the air, had seen the thunderheads ris¬
ing in the west. And yet-—
Eben reflected for a moment, shook his head
in a puzzled way, clucked to the horse, and set
about finishing the South Forty before night
closed in.
He heard thunder rumble in the distance, and
thought vaguely that there was something pe¬
culiar even about that. Unlike the thunder he
had ever heard before, it did not die away but
was continuous, increasing in volume. He
clucked again to the horse, for the animal had
stopped in its tracks with the first rumbling
sound, its ears flattened against its head.
As Eben continued his plowing, the sun
broke through the heavy slate sky. At least he
thought it was the sun, for there was a sudden
blaze of light in the heavens, a light that grew
larger as he watched it. In the next instant he
became alive to the fact that it was not the sun!
22 SUPERMAN
The plow was wrenched from his strong
hands as the horse reared, screamed in fright,
and bolted across the fields, dragging the plow
after it. As Eben stood in mute amazement at the
animal’s singular behavior, he heard a strange
whine in the air, and then a distant roar that
changed to a series of thunderous explosions.
Dizziness overcame the old farmer as the whin¬
ing filled his ears. He almost cried out for help
as, reaching out with his hands, he sought to
steady himself. It was then, as he stood tottering
and afraid, that the growing blaze he had
thought to be the sun struck the earth not far
from him. Blinded and afraid, he threw himself
to the ground, burying his face in the new-turn¬
ed loam, his fingers clutching the good brown
earth for safety. Then, trying feebly to crawl
away on his hands and knees, he fainted.
The crackling of flames was the first sound he
heard as consciousness returned to him. The air
was unbearably hot, but not so hot that he could
not stand it. The thunderous explosions had
stopped and the strange whine in the air had
 YOUNG CLARK KENT 23
died away. Eben raised his head and looked
about him.
Not a hundred yards away was a strange, bul¬
let-shaped object, almost completely enveloped
in flames. Hesitating only a moment, Eben ran
toward it, a conviction growing within him that
someone might be inside that flaming silver
shell.
Peering through the flames, he saw a child ly¬
ing helpless behind the thick glass window of
the door that sealed the rocket. Already Eben
had come as close as the wall of heat would let
him. He realized instantly that unless he broke
through that searing wall the child would die.
He made up his mind quickly, took a deep
breath, and plunged through to the rocket.
When he emerged again from the flame and
smoke, agony stood in his eyes, for he had been
severely burned. But in his blackened arms he
held the child!

Eben Kent and his wife, Sarah, never knew

where the child had come from, never pierced
24 SUPERMAN
the mystery that surrounded his strange appear¬
ance on earth. Destiny perhaps played a part in
directing the rocket to the Kent farm, for the
Kents were childless and desired a child above
anything else on earth. And here, like a gift
from Heaven, was the infant Kal-el. The old
couple took him into their home and raised him
as their own.
They called him Clark, because that was Sarah
Kent’s family name. The circumstances sur¬
rounding his peculiar arrival were almost for¬
gotten as year ran into year and the infant grew
to be a strong and handsome boy, helping Eben
with the chores about the farm, listening to
stories at Sarah’s knee in the long winter eve¬
nings. He seemed no different from other boys
of his age. He attended the little country school,
played games, went fishing in the hot summer
afternoons, and worked and studied as all boys
do.
It was not until his thirteenth year that the
incident occurred that was to set him apart from
ordinary humans, and was to give him his first
 YOUNG CLARK KENT 25
glimpse of the powers he possessed, beyond those
of the earth people who were his companions.
It happened on the last day of school. The
pupils of the eighth grade, young Clark’s class,
waited with great expectations for the arrival of
Mr. Jellicoe, the principal. It was Mr. Jellicoe’s
custom to award personally any prizes that had
been won by the pupils during the year—prizes
for excellence in composition, mathematics,
spelling and so on.
Miss Lang, Clark’s teacher, had taken the
prizes from the drawer of her desk and placed
them on a small table, where the children’s eyes
could feast on them while waiting for Mr.
Jellicoe. There were books of all descriptions,
medals, and ribbons. Hearts beat faster as each
child wondered which of these he would receive.
At last Mr. Jellicoe arrived, a short, bald, and
immensely stout man who was much given to
laughter. There was great excitement as he be¬
gan to award the prizes—a book for one, a medal
for another, a blue or gold ribbon for a third.
Young Clark himself was awarded a copy of
26 SUPERMAN
Shakespeare’s plays. He had shown remarkable
talent in composition and had the highest marks
in English Literature. He had even begun to
have thoughts of making his living later on as a
writer—a novelist, perhaps, or a playwright, or
what was even more exciting, a reporter.
As he returned to his desk, carrying the book
Mr. Jellicoe had just given him, he heard Miss
Lang say, “That’s strange, Mr. Jellicoe. I’m sure
it was here.”
“I don’t see it,” Mr. Jellicoe said.
“Then it must still be in the desk,” Miss Lang
answered. “I’ll get it.”
She opened the drawer of her desk and began
searching for something. Mr. Jellicoe went on
handing out the awards, occasionally casting an
anxious glance in Miss Lang’s direction.
It was at this moment that the strange thing
happened.
Clark watched the teacher as she poked about
in the desk drawer, and as he did so he became
slowly aware that he was also looking at the in¬
side of the desk, that his eyes had pierced the
 YOUNG CLARK KENT 27
wood, and that the interior of the desk was quite
plain to him. Caught behind the top drawer
where Miss Lang could not see it was a blue rib¬
bon.
“Are you looking for a blue ribbon?” Clark
asked.
Miss Lang looked up in surprise. “Yes,
Clark,” she said.
“It’s a ribbon for General Excellence,” said
Mr. Jellicoe. “It’s for Lucy Russell. But it does¬
n’t appear to be on the table here. Do you know
where it is, Clark?”
“Why, yes,” Clark answered. “It’s caught be¬
hind the top drawer of Miss Lang’s desk. If
you’ll pull the drawer out, you’ll—you’ll-” He
paused and began to falter. The eyes of every¬
one were upon him, eyes filled with a growing
amazement. He realized suddenly that what had
seemed to him a natural and ordinary thing was
actually most remarkable.
Miss Lang lost no time in pulling out the top
drawer of her desk. A moment later she was hold¬
ing the blue ribbon in her hand. She looked at
28 SUPERMAN
Mr. Jellicoe, then at Clark, and then back to Mr.
Jellicoe again.
The silence that filled the classroom was al¬
most more than Clark could bear, and he was
relieved when Miss Lang said, finally, “How
did you know the ribbon was at the back of that
drawer, Clark?”
Clark tried to answer but the words would
not come. He was as startled as anyone else at
what had happened. The simple truth was that
he had looked through the desk as though the
wood were transparent. He was about to say as
much when he realized that he would not be be¬
lieved.
“I—I just knew,” he said at last. “I had a—a
feeling that—that was the only place the ribbon
could be.”
There were another few moments of silence
in which everyone looked at him queerly. Then
Mr. Jellicoe frowned and cleared his throat.
“Very strange,” he said. “Very strange.”
The cold, unfriendly tone of Mr. Jellicoe’s
voice could mean only one thing. Clark looked
 YOUNG CLARK KENT 29
at Miss Lang. Her mouth was set in a hard, thin
line. Even his classmates seemed to shrink away
from him. All at once he realized what they were
thinking—that he had rummaged through Miss
Lang’s desk—that he had done a dishonest thing.
And there was no way of clearing himself.
When he arrived home puzzled and confused
he found a surprise waiting for him. Greeting
Eben and Sarah as he came in, he showed them
the book he had won.
Eben rose from his chair and put an arm
around the boy.
“Son,” said old Eben, “ye’ve done a fine job—
a mighty fine job. That book—that book of plays
—why, shucks, boy, that’s one o’ the finest things
that’s ever happened to yer ma and me. We’re
proud o’ ye!”
Clark looked up at them and felt everything
going soft inside him. He loved these two, loved
them as nothing else on earth.
Old Eben cleared his throat.
“Yer ma’s got a—well, a kinda present fer
ye, son. Ye know the masquerade thet’s bein’
30 SUPERMAN
given up to Judge Marlow's place tonight-"
“Yes, I know," said young Clark. “But we de¬
cided I couldn't go."
“ 'Course ye kin!" cried Eben, slapping him
on the back. “It’s bein' given in honor of all
them young students that won prizes! Ye got t’
go!"
“But we talked this all over, Dad!" said Clark.
“You said we couldn't afford to rent a costume
from the city-"
“That’s right, son," Sarah Kent said. “We
couldn't afford to rent a costume, but there was
nothin' stoppin' me from makin' one—now was
there?"
“Get the costume, ma, and let him see it,"
Eben said.
When Sarah Kent returned with the costume
and draped it over Clark's arm, he felt he had
never seen anything quite so exciting. There
was a tight-fitting suit of blue, a wide belt of
leather, knee-length boots, and—most thrilling
of all—a scarlet cape. He could hardly wait till
he reached his room to try it on.
It took him but a few moments to slip out of
 YOUNG CLARK KENT 31
his clothes and into the costume. Arrayed in the
blue suit, with the scarlet cape draped from his
shoulders, he stood before the mirror and sur¬
veyed himself. It was a wonderful costume! And
to think that he had not expected to go to the
party at all-! He whooped suddenly with de¬
light and leaped into the air, spreading the cape
for effect.
The shock of what happened next was almost
more than he could bear. He had merely started
to jump up and down in his boyish happiness
over the costume. When his feet touched the
floor again, he was standing at the other end of
the room!
He stood motionless, staring about him in ut¬
ter amazement. He could not believe that he had
actually flown across the room, and yet-. He de¬
cided to try it again. He bent his knees and push¬
ed upward. And then—he was in the air, flying
about the room!
He was frightened at first and his heart beat
like a triphammer. Just as his eyes could pierce
the wood of Miss Lang's desk, so he could fly.
What was the answer? How could he do these
32 SUPERMAN
things when other boys, he knew, could not?
Was he different from other boys? He had never
thought so before and he didn’t want to think
so now. He had a feeling that to be different
would set him apart, and he saw himself as a
queer and lonely figure, shunned by all.
He tried in the months that followed to forget
the strange powers he had discovered in himself.
Yet as time wore on he would begin to wonder
whether he still possessed them, and the tempta¬
tion would be too great. At such times he would
look at whatever was nearest and, using his re¬
markable vision, see straight through it. At
others, when he was sure no one could see him,
he would leap lightly into the air and fly about.
And after a time, when his fear of these odd
things wore off, he came to like them and found
joy in practicing them.
As months became years, a superhuman
strength was growing in him as well, but he was
not aware of it. It was not until he was
seventeen that he had his first knowledge of it.
It came about in an unexpected way.
The Kent farm had never been successful. Old
 YOUNG CLARK KENT 33
Eben was a good farmer and a hard worker, but
as far back as Clark could remember, bad luck
always struck at the very moment when it seem¬
ed the Kents were about to find some small
measure of success. About the time Clark reach¬
ed his seventeenth birthday old Eben found
himself heavily in debt. He told the boy about
it on the eve of the State Fair.
They were standing in the field together.
Eben had finished haying for the day and was
unhitching the old horse in the light of the set¬
ting sun. Clark, having completed his chores
about the house, had come to help him.
4 4Looks like a mighty fine day for the Fair to¬
morrow/' Eben said, gazing off across the fields
to where the sun was dropping behind the hills.
4‘Yes, Dad, it does,” Clark said.
Eben seemed thoughtful and moody, and
Clark knew he had something on his mind. He
would speak of it in his own good time. He did.
He said, finally, “Son, what would ye say if I was
t’ tell ye I was thinkin’ o’ enterin’ the Anvil Con¬
test tomorrow?”
Clark straightened up and looked at Eben in
34 SUPERMAN
surprise. He could not believe the old man
meant it.
“I know it sounds silly to ye, lad,” Eben went
on, ‘‘but we need the money bad! I won the con¬
test once. ’Twas many a year ago when I was a
younger man. Still, mebbe I might have a
chance. If I can win the prize-”
But how could he hope to win it? Only young
men—yes, and only those noted for their strength
in the county—ever thought of entering the
Anvil Contest. To compete, a man had to grasp
an anvil in his arms and lift it from the ground;
whoever lifted it highest won $500. The prize
had been won the year before by a farmer who,
because of his tremendous strength, was locally
known as ‘‘The Bull.” A close second had been
Fred Hornbach, whose powerful muscles had
made him the champion wrestler of the state.
Both were young men, and both would un¬
doubtedly enter the Anvil Contest this year, yet
here was Eben Kent, an aging man, proposing
to pit himself against two such adversaries. The
need for money must be desperate indeed.
It was, as Clark now learned. For the first
 YOUNG CLARK KENT 35
time, Eben unburdened himself to the boy, told
him of the unsuccessful struggles of the past
years, and of the inability to make both ends
meet. As the two walked toward the barn, Clark
listened and found growing within him an over¬
whelming desire to help Eben Kent.
How he was to do it only time could tell.
 CHAPTER IV
THE CONTEST

7 he day of the State Fair dawned bright and

clear, but there was little happiness in Clark
Kent’s heart. He had slept poorly during the
night, his active mind trying vainly to invent
some method, to find some way, of helping the
aging farmer. He found none, and as dawn
broke he sat at his window, looking out across
the misty fields, vaguely troubled at thoughts of
what the day might bring.
36
 THE CONTEST 37
After a hearty breakfast, Old Eben and Clark
started for the Fair Grounds. Sarah Kent re¬
mained at home. The misfortunes of the past
years had been harder on her than on her hus¬
band, and she had aged, it seemed, much more
than he. Fair-going days were over for her, and
she preferred now to sit at home.
The Fair Grounds presented a lively sight.
Hordes of farmers and their wives and children
milled about the various exhibits, and as the
sun rose higher and hotter in the heavens the
scene became even more hectic. There were
competitions of all sorts, prizes given for the
finest cows, the best hogs, the sturdiest bulls, the
plumpest chickens. There were horse-shoe con¬
tests, potato-sack races, all sorts of tests of skill
and strength. People filled themselves with hot-
dogs and ice cream and pickles and a hundred
other good things to eat. And everywhere there
were laughter and gleeful shouts and the happy
din of people who have come to celebrate.
Somehow young Clark and Eben bore the sus¬
pense of waiting through the day, for the Anvil
Contest was not held until late in the afternoon.
38 SUPERMAN
At last, as the shadows lengthened across the Fair
Grounds, the crowd began to move toward the
platform on which stood the mighty anvil.
The platform itself was decked out gaily with
red-white-and-blue bunting. Toward the rear
was a bench reserved for the three judges, and
to the side another bench where the contestants
were to sit. The anvil, newly polished, stood in
the very center for all to see.
Clark’s eyes roved over the crowd, sought and
found what he most feared—the faces of “The
Bull” and Fred Hornbach. Throughout the day
he had hoped they would not be there, that
something might happen to keep them away. He
was not disappointed when he saw them, how¬
ever, for he had felt from the outset that his
hopes would be in vain.
Old Eben looked at his son. Clark did not
like what he saw in the farmer’s face, for one
glance was enough to convince him that Eben
regretted having come. The old man realized,
perhaps for the first time, the impossibility of
his winning against such heavy odds. It was too
late for him to back down now, however, for his
name had been entered on the list, and already
 THE CONTEST 39
one of the judges was beckoning to him to come
up on the platform.
“Well, son,” he said, “wish me luck!”
“Good luck, Dad!” Clark said, and as he said
it he felt empty inside. If only he could help, if
only he could mount that platform in Eben’s
place. But how futile that would be! Even now,
Fred Hornbach and “The Bull” were taking
their places on the side bench, and there was no
mistaking the power of their muscles, the
strength of their broad backs. Instinctively he
felt the muscles of his own arms. Yes, they were
strong arms, but they could hardly compare with
those of the other two. His heart sank as old
Eben mounted the steps.
A ripple of laughter went through the crowd
as it caught sight of Eben. Beside the other two
he looked indeed a futile, piteous figure. The
crowd could not know the desperation that had
brought the aged farmer here, could not know
the dire need for money that had spurred him
to take his chances against impossible odds. It
knew only that he looked ridiculous in compari¬
son with the other two.
Clark looked about at the laughing faces and
40 SUPERMAN
felt a rage smoldering within him. Jeers and
cat-calls were heard as the old man’s name was
called, and he took his place beside Hornbach
and “The Bull.” Clark, watching Eben, saw his
face flush.
“There’s no fool like an old fool,” a voice said
close to Clark. The owner of the voice was a mid¬
dle-aged man with graying hair and a face as sour
as a lemon. He wore rimless glasses and squinted
through them as if he found difficulty in seeing
anything even with their aid. He was well-dress¬
ed, and it needed but a glance to tell that he was
from the city.
Clark glared at the man, who returned the un¬
friendly stare. He was about to say something,
when one of the judges was heard announcing
that the contest was about to begin.
The first name called was that of a man who
had mounted the platform after Eben. He was
not a young man but his strength was apparent.
He walked to the anvil and stood over it a mo¬
ment. Then, amidst encouraging shouts from
his friends, he took the anvil in his arms and
tried to lift it. Strain and struggle as he might,
 THE CONTEST 41
the anvil would not budge, and he was forced
at length to give up.
Fred Hornbach’s name was called next. Stand¬
ing beside the anvil, he spat upon his hands,
tightened his broad leather belt about his waist,
and waited for the crowd to quiet down. Then
he braced himself, his arms about the anvil, and
lifted. His face grew dark with the effort it cost
him, and the muscles bulged on his arms and
neck and shoulders. A roar of approval burst
from the crowd as the anvil left the floor. Horn-
bach held it as the judges quickly measured the
distance. One inch. The relief on Hornbach’s
face was evident as he set the anvil back in its
place.
Now came “The Bull”—huge in body, with
sturdy legs and a broad muscular back. He was
stripped to the waist, and as he approached the
anvil the crowd, noting his deep chest, his pow¬
erful stomach muscles, the strength of his mighty
arms, cheered their champion.
This was “The Bull’s” moment, and he did
not intend to let it pass quickly. He clasped his
hands above his head in the manner of a prize-
42 SUPERMAN
fighter and turned to all corners of the platform,
acknowledging the plaudits of his admirers. As
his gaze moved over the crowd it fell upon young
Clark. Their eyes met, and the boy disliked the
man instantly. There was a smugness in “The
Bulks” smile, an arrogance in the curve of his
lips, that brought a flush to Clark’s face and stir¬
red his heart to anger.
Having given his followers time to admire
him, “The Bull” now prepared to lift the anvil.
His legs spread wide, his feet firmly planted, he
put his arms around the anvil and lifted it from
the floor. He seemed to accomplish the feat almost
without effort, holding the anvil a good three
inches above the boards. He waited till the
judges had accurately marked the distance, and
then slowly lowered the anvil. Strutting a bit,
he returned to his seat amid deafening applause.
Now the name of Eben Kent was called and
again a ripple of laughter was heard. Jeers and
derisive shouts filled the air as Eben moved to¬
ward the anvil in the center of the platform.
“Ye ain’t got a chance now, Bull!” somebody
called, and the crowd rocked with mirth.
Eben Kent was not a man to be stopped by the
 THE CONTEST 43
unfriendliness of others. He braced himself,
gripped the anvil and, gathering all his strength,
heaved mightily. Slowly the laughter died and
the cat-calls ceased, for Eben Kent had succeed¬
ed in lifting the anvil off the floor and was now
straining to win the contest! One inch—two
inches—- Clark, watching the old man’s face,
saw it slowly redden, saw the veins standing out
like whipcords on his neck. He felt like scream¬
ing, ‘Tut it down. Dad! You’ll never make it!
You’ll kill yourself!” But he could do nothing
except stand in the crowd and watch, as Eben
Kent refused to own himself beaten and strained
in vain to raise the anvil more than three inches
from the floor!
A spasm of agonizing pain suddenly shatter¬
ed the old man’s face. He gasped and dropped
the anvil. He staggered for a moment—but only
for a moment. In the next instant he had
straightened up and was smiling gallantly but
painfully at the crowd.
Many laughed, for now that Eben had failed
he again became for them a ridiculous figure. He
was something to laugh at, and the crowd wanted
to be amused. Again jeers and cat-calls and de-
44 SUPERMAN
risive remarks were thrown his way. As Eben
sat down on the contestants’ bench, “The Bull”
made a dumb show of being afraid of him,
throwing up his arms in mock fear. This was
what the crowd wanted and they encouraged
“The Bull” to continue. This he obligingly did,
to their great delight.
Clark could stand it no longer. Blinded by hot,
unreasoning anger he fought his way through
the crowd and onto the platform. He stood be¬
fore “The Bull” with tears of rage streaming
down his cheeks.
“Let my father alone!” he shouted. “Let him
alone—you hear?”
“The Bull” looked at him in mild astonish¬
ment and amusement. He reached out a power¬
ful arm to push Clark away.
“Go ’way, kid, or I’ll-”
He never finished what he started to say. As
his hand reached out for Clark, the boy stepped
aside and swung his fist against the other’s jaw.
“The Bull” shuddered and sank limply to the
floor.
Hardly realizing what he had done, white-hot
 THE CONTEST 45
anger still seething within him, Clark turned to¬
ward the anvil, his eyes blazing. Laugh at his
father, would they? He’d show them! He reach¬
ed down, gripped the anvil in both hands, and
lifted. He was almost thrown off balance at the
ease with which he raised it and held it aloft,
high above his head!
Not a sound, not a breath, came from the as¬
tounded onlookers. Clark stood there, looking
into the amazed faces of a silent, gaping crowd.
And then slowly the wonderment of what he had
done came over him. He raised his eyes to the
anvil, held aloft in his hands. He shifted it a lit¬
tle to feel its weight. There was no weight. The
anvil was like a feather.
He looked toward the other end of the plat¬
form. Three of the four contestants, Eben
amongst them, were staring at him dumbly. The
fourth, “The Bull,” lay stretched full-length on
the floor. He turned his head still further to
where the judges sat. Three pairs of startled eyes
were looking at him.
He lowered the anvil to the floor.
And then the crowd went wild!
46 SUPERMAN
Shouting and cheering, they surged toward
the platform and onto it, milling about the boy.
Hands clapped him on the shoulders approving¬
ly and fingers reached out to feel the muscles of
his arms.
Questions came from all sides. How had he
managed to do it? Had he practiced a long time?
What was the secret of such amazing strength?
A middle-aged man with graying hair pushed
his way through the crowd to where Clark stood.
It was the man with rimless spectacles and the
city clothes who had stood beside him not so long
ago and called Eben an old fool. He took hold of
Clark's arm.
“Young man," he said, “you're what I’ve been
looking for! You’re a scoop! I represent the Daily
Planet in Metropolis. I want the full story of how
you developed your amazing strength!"
Clark gulped and seemed unable to find his
voice.
“Out with it!" snapped the reporter. “No
false modesty now! Give me the story—all of it!"
Clark tried to speak but the words would not
come.
“All right, all right, have it your way!" the
The anvil in his hand was like a feather. (Page 45)
48 SUPERMAN
man barked. ‘Til write the story my way! But
I’m in your debt, anyway, young man. You’ve
given me the beat I’ve been looking for all day.
If you ever need anything, look me up at the
Daily Planet!”
He shook the boy's hand and started off
through the crowd.
“I don’t know your name,” Clark called after
him.
“Eh?” He paused, squinting back at the boy.
“Oh yes. Couldn’t very well find me without
knowing my name, could you? Well, son, if you
ever come to the Daily Planet just ask for Perry
White. That’s all. Just Perry White!”
A moment later he was gone in the crowd.
 CHAPTER V

THE DEATH OF EBEN

C lark kent never forgot that day, nor the

night that followed. When the wonder of
what he had done abated somewhat and the
crowd began to move off and leave him, he found
his way to Eben who still sat on the contestants’
bench. In his hand Clark held five new one
hundred dollar bills, which the judges had
awarded him, and he was anxious to give these
to the old farmer, happy that a kind, though
rather strange, fortune had given him the chance
to help.
49
50 SUPERMAN
Eben Kent looked up at the boy and tried to
smile, but his face was ashen with pain.
“I—Eve done somethin’—inside—here,” he
faltered, pressing his hand against his chest.
“We’d—we’d best be gettin’ on for home.”
Supporting the tired old man, Clark broke a
way through the crowd. Five miles or more lay
between them and home. They had walked the
distance that morning, but Clark knew Eben
would never be able to walk it now. How right
he was he did not know until they reached the
narrow wagon-road that led to the Kent farm.
Here Eben suddenly went limp in the boy’s
arms, and Clark knew he had collapsed.
Clark looked about him. There was no one
in sight. Speed was vital. He must get to the farm
quickly and call a doctor. There was no time to
waste. And so now he did what he had never at¬
tempted before. He lifted Eben Kent in his arms
as easily as if he were a child and, like a bird, left
the ground.
Sweeping through the air, with the old man
cradled in his arms, the full realization of his
powers dawned on him. Up to now this curious
 THE DEATH OF EBEN 51
ability of his to fly, to see through things—this
wondrous strength discovered only that after¬
noon—all these had seemed like strange play¬
things, not to be taken seriously. But now, as he
sped through the air, he knew suddenly that he
was a man apart, that he was not like ordinary
men, that he was a super-being. He understood
more than this. He understood that these mi¬
raculous powers could be harnessed and put
to use. If a man could fly, if his eyes were gifted
with X-ray vision, if he possessed the strength of
countless men—what could he not do? He turn¬
ed these things over in his mind as he flew toward
home.
Once arrived at the farm, he quickly sum¬
moned the local doctor. Clark and Sarah Kent
waited anxiously while the doctor completed his
examination of Eben. At last he finished and
joined them in the parlor.
“Well?” Clark questioned anxiously. “What
is it, doctor?”
The gray-haired physician placed his instru¬
ment bag on the table.
“It isn’t easy to tell you this, Sarah, or you,
52 SUPERMAN
son, but lifting that anvil, I'm afraid, was too
much for Eben’s heart—more than it could
stand. I could put it into scientific language for
you, but—well—the simplest way to say it is that
he used up all his strength. I—well, frankly—I
don’t expect him to last the night.”
When the doctor had left, Sarah Kent went
into the room where Eben lay. She was with him
a long time. When she came out, Clark saw that
she had been crying, even though now her eyes
were dry.
“He wants to see you,” she said.
Clark nodded and entered the room.
Eben lay propped up in bed. Against the
white pillows his face was haggard and drawn
with pain. He smiled wanly as Clark entered the
room. He motioned the boy to a chair near the
window through which a setting sun was sending
its last, weak rays.
“Dad-” Clark began, but the old man
raised a restraining hand.
“There’s not much time, lad,” he said, “so I’ll
do the talkin’.”
He leaned back against the pillows and re-
The steel bullet went hurtling into space. (Page 19)
\
 THE DEATH OF EBEN 55
garded Clark with a sad smile. For some mo¬
ments he lay thus without saying a word. Then
he began to talk. As he talked the shadows deep¬
ened in the room as the sun sank lower behind
the hills. The western sky became a blazing flood
of color. Then the colors began to fade, melting
into each other, blending at last into a somber
gray. And the old man talked on, telling the boy
the story of how he had been found and adopted,
of his early years, of the mystery that surrounded
his life before the arrival of the miniature Space
Ship on earth.
"And now ye know,” he said at length. "Lad,
ye have within ye powers there’s no explainin’.
Ye’re a—a modern miracle, that’s what ye be.
’Tis not for you nor me to question the ways of
God.” He raised himself against the pillows.
"But these powers ye have, lad, and it rests with
you whether ye’ll put them to good use or to
bad!”
Clark said nothing. He sat looking out at the
western hills, tears burning his eyes. Old Eben
went on.
"Let me guide ye, son, as I have these seven-
56 SUPERMAN
teen years. There’s great work t’ be done in this
world, and you can do it. Ye must use these pow¬
ers of yours to help all mankind. There are men
in this world who prey on decent folk—thieves,
murderers, criminals of every sort. Fight such
men, son! Pit your miraculous powers against
them! With you on the side of law and order,
crime and oppression and injustice must perish
in the end!”
Clark sat and said nothing and the shadows
deepened in the room.
“One thing more-” Old Eben’s voice came
feebly out of the growing darkness.
“One thing more. Men are strange. They be¬
lieve the wrong things, say the wrong things, do
the wrong things. ’Tisn’t that they want to, but,
somehow, they do. They’d not understand ye,
lad. ’Tis not given me t’say how they’d act to¬
ward ye, but I know it would not be in the right
way.”
He took a deep breath before going on.
“So ye must hide your true self from them.
They must never know that you’re a—a super¬
man. Aye, ye must hide yerself from ’em-”
 THE DEATH OF EBEN 57
His voice trailed off oddly.
“Ye must hide yerself—from—’em-”
Clark leaped from the chair to the bedside,
and his arms were around the old man in an
instant.
“Dad-” he choked.
“Listen to me, son.” Clark could barely hear
the words and bent his ear close to old Eben’s
mouth. “It strikes me now. I called ye a—a super¬
man, and that’s what ye be. Remember that.
You’re Superman!”
Once again, for the second time that day,
Eben Kent went limp in Clark’s arms. But this
time was the last. No need for words now. Clark
left the room. Sarah Kent was waiting outside.
Their eyes met. Without a word she stepped in¬
to the room and closed the door behind her.
Clark walked to the front door, opened it, and
went out into the cool, night air. Stars were
twinkling now in the blue vault of the heavens.
He started across the fresh-turned fields, the
smell of the earth in his nostrils, the damp air
against his cheeks. He never knew how long or
how far he walked. He only knew that when
58 SUPERMAN
finally he sat down on the brow of a lonely hill,
with nothing about him but the quiet moonlit
land, he had decided definitely what he must do,
what course his life must take.
 CHAPTER VI
CLARK KENT, REPORTER

Y ears passed before Clark Kent took ad¬

vantage of the invitation given him by the
newspaperman, Perry White. During that time
he became more and more aware of his mirac¬
ulous powers. Soon he realized that he was in¬
deed a superman, and that he was capable of do¬
ing things no other person on earth could do.
59
60 SUPERMAN
The realization carried with it great respon¬
sibility. He told himself that he must not let
these marvelous powers go to waste, that he must
put them to their fullest use. He pondered over
Eben’s last words to him and reached the con¬
clusion that the old man had been right. The
one way in which he might best use his super¬
human talents was in service to mankind. Hav¬
ing decided on this, he dedicated himself to com¬
bating evil and injustice in all their forms and
wherever they appeared.
It was not as Superman, however, that he pre¬
sented himself one morning at the offices of the
Daily Planet newspaper in the city of Metrop¬
olis. Although he had adopted as his Superman
costume the blue suit and flowing red cape that
Sarah Kent had once made for him, he was care¬
ful to keep it well concealed under his ordinary
business clothes. Remembering Eben Kent’s ad¬
vice, he made certain that no human being ever
became aware of his double identity.
So it was that a tall, handsome, but rather
quiet-mannered young man wearing horn-rim¬
med spectacles walked into the offices of the
 CLARK KENT, REPORTER 61
Daily Planet, introduced himself as Clark Kent,
and inquired mildly if he might see Perry White.
He was surprised to learn that Perry White was
now editor of the Daily Planet, one of the great
est newspapers in the country.
“No, Mr. White isn’t expecting me,” he re
plied in answer to a secretary’s questioning, “but
just tell him that Clark Kent is here. I’m sure
he’ll remember me and want to see me.”
The girl motioned him to a seat and disap¬
peared through a door marked Private. As the
door opened and closed a voice blasted forth
briefly.
“Who’s running this paper, Lois—you or I?
By Harry, I tell you-!”
Kent had heard enough to recognize Perry
White’s gruff, perpetually angry voice. He might
have heard more, possessing, as he did, the abil¬
ity to hear through walls and across vast distances
—but he was careful to keep his strange talents
in check and never listened or looked when he
felt he should not.
As he waited, the door from the hallway open¬
ed and a man entered.
62 SUPERMAN
“White in?” he asked, addressing himself to
Clark.
Instinctively Kent did not like the man’s
looks. He was small and thin and his face re¬
minded Kent somehow of a weasel’s. He was ex¬
pensively but not tastefully dressed, his clothes
having the appearance of fitting him too well.
Kent sensed at once that there was something
sinister about the man. His eye caught a bulge
in the right-hand pocket of the stranger’s jacket.
Using his super-vision, he was startled by what
was revealed to him. The bulge, he saw, was
made by an automatic revolver!
He was about to reply to the other’s question,
when the door to Perry White’s office swung
open and the editor’s secretary came out.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Kent,” she said, “but Mr.
White can’t see you. He’s in conference.”
Kent looked at the girl in surprise.
“But he told me to come and see him,” he
said. “I know it was years ago, but-”
The girl interrupted.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “The truth is Mr. White
doesn’t recall your name at all.”
The realization that Perry White did not re-
 CLARK KENT, REPORTER 63
member him was a disappointment. He under¬
stood immediately, however, that it was no fault
of White’s. In the years that followed Clark
Kent’s boyhood feat with the anvil, Perry White
must have encountered many stories just as ex¬
citing and thrilling. It was reasonable that he
should forget the name of the boy whom he had
once told to come and see him at any time.
Kent thanked the girl and turned to leave. As
he moved toward the door leading to the hall¬
way, the little man with the flashy clothes brush¬
ed by him. He heard him say: “I wanna see Mr.
White.”
Kent opened and closed the door behind him
without listening for the secretary’s reply. Some¬
thing, however, made him turn and make use of
his super-vision to peer back into the room
through the wooden door. The gun in the man’s
side-pocket worried him and he wanted to be
sure there was nothing wrong before leaving.
It was fortunate that he did turn, for he was
just in time to see the man push White’s secre¬
tary aside with the words “Outta my way, sister!”
and throw open the door to the editor’s private
office.
64 SUPERMAN
Perry White, older and grayer, but still wear¬
ing rimless spectacles, sat behind a desk and
looked up as the man entered. Seated in a chair
before the desk was a slim, dark-haired girl.
Kent was hardly aware of these things, however,
for his eyes were fixed on the gun hand of the
weasel-faced intruder. The man’s right hand had
slipped into his jacket pocket, and when it came
out again it was holding the revolver.
He heard the man say, quietly: ‘‘You don’t
know me, do you, White?”
Perry White, who had half-risen from behind
the desk, and whose eyes also were glued to the
gun, shook his head slowly and tried to speak,
but the words would not come.
‘‘Then I’ll tell you who I am,” the man said.
‘‘A friend of mine went to the electric chair last
night. Frankie Gondero—remember?” White
nodded slowly, and when the man spoke again
his voice was cold as steel. ‘‘You and your
paper sent him there. You started the investiga¬
tion, dug up the evidence, testified in court.
What happened? They sent little Frankie to the
chair.”
 CLARK KENT, REPORTER 65
The speaker paused, his eyes piercing and
holding White’s own. Then he wet his lips and
went on.
“Fm Frankie Gondero’s brother. I swore I’d
get you, and that’s why I’m here. Say your pray¬
ers, White. I never miss.”
Kent, peering through the door to the hall¬
way, saw the girl who sat before the editor’s desk
turn pale as her hands tightened on the chair.
White started to say something, but the killer
cut him short.
“I didn’t come here to listen to any stories.
Frankie’s dead—and so will you be, White, in
just two seconds!”
In what seemed like a split second Clark Kent
was standing on the threshold of the private
office. The little man swung around sharply.
“Shut that door!” he snapped.
“Yes, sir, I—that is-” Kent faltered.
“Shut it!”
Kent closed the door with a hand that shook
visibly. He was playing his part well. He turned
toward the killer, his face a study in fear.
“I—I don’t know what—this is all about,” he
66 SUPERMAN
stammered. “I just came back to—to see Mr.
White and—and-”
“Come here!”
Gondero motioned Kent toward him with the
gun. Kent approached timidly. Gondero’s lips
curved in a sneer.
“Keep coming,” he said. “I’m not taking any
chances.”
“You’re a fool,” Perry White muttered. “You
can’t get away with this!”
“Don’t worry about me,” Gondero answered,
watching all three people with a wary eye. “I
won’t get caught, because I don’t expect to leave
here alive. When I’ve finished with the three of

“The three-?” Perry White stopped, staring

at the man in disbelief. “You can’t kill these peo¬
ple! They’ve done nothing. Kill me, if you want
to, but this girl had nothing to do with sending
your brother to the chair, and neither did that
young man. I don’t even know who he is!”
“If I kill you I might as well kill us all. What’s
the difference?”
“You’re crazy! You’re out of your mind!”
 CLARK KENT, REPORTER 67
Gondero laughed. It was a short, queer laugh.
“Sometimes I think I am,” he said. His voice
hardened again. “You!” he snapped, motioning
to Kent with the gun. “Turn around!”
It was exactly the moment for which Kent had
been waiting. As he turned he staggered as
though he were about to collapse. He fell for¬
ward, throwing his arms about Gondero’s neck,
his body pinning the gun between the two of
them.
Cursing, Gondero struggled to free himself.
Kent heard White shout: “Look out, Lois, I’ll
handle this! ” The gun went off several times and
Kent felt the bullets strike his chest harmlessly.
Then he slumped to the floor, dragging Gondero
with him. With a well-concealed movement he
sent the gun flying from the would-be killer’s
hand as they fell.
The sound of shots brought people running
from the outer room. In a few moments Gon¬
dero was a prisoner. He was led away, vowing
vengeance against Perry White. It was time,
Kent decided, for him to regain his senses. He
moaned slightly and opened his eyes.
68 SUPERMAN
“Young man,” White cried, helping him to
his feet, “I’m in your debt/’ Exactly the same
words, Kent recalled with a smile, that White
had used to him years before.
“What—what happened?” he asked.
“You fainted, that's what happened.”
It was the voice of the dark-haired girl, and
Clark thought he detected a note of sarcasm in
it. He looked toward her and saw that she was
regarding him with a scornful smile. He knew
at once that she thought him a coward. Well,
that was the part he must play.
“I—I’m sorry,” he faltered. “Guns always
make me nervous.”
“And why shouldn't they?” White demanded.
“I’m glad you're nervous, I'm glad guns frighten
you. I’m glad you fainted. If you hadn't we’d all
be dead now. I want to shake your hand. Who
are you, young man, who are you?”
“I’m Clark Kent. Your secretary said you
couldn’t see me, but I came back, thinking you
might give me an appointment.”
“Of course I'll give you an appointment—and
right now!” The editor’s face almost beamed
 CLARK KENT, REPORTER 69
with pleasure. He took Kent by the arm and led
him to a chair beside the desk. 4‘Sit down,” he
said, “do sit down.” He turned to the others
who still crowded the office. “And you,” he bel¬
lowed, “get out! What do you mean, barging in¬
to my office this way? Get out—y’hear?—get out!”
In a few moments the office was empty, except
for White, Kent, and the girl.
“You’d better go too, Lois,” White said. “Ill
talk to you about that other matter later.”
“All right.”
She paused at the door and glanced over her
shoulder.
“If our young hero is looking for a job as a
reporter he should be good at digging up ma¬
terial for the Women’s Page.”
She smiled derisively, turned on her heel, and
went out.
“Don’t mind Lois,” Perry White said. “Sar¬
casm is her middle name. Do you want a job as
a reporter?”
“I’d like nothing better, Mr. White.”
The editor regarded him thoughtfully.
“I certainly owe you something for saving my
70 SUPERMAN
life,” he said finally. “But a job as a reporter-
well, I don’t know. Ever written anything?”
“Nothing to speak of, sir,” Kent said.
“Hmmmm. That makes it difficult, you see.
Can’t take chances on an unskilled man. Still,
maybe we might be able to train you.”
“All I ask is a chance,” Kent said.
“And I’d certainly like to give it to you,”
White replied, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful,
puzzled way. “Trouble is, though, I can’t take
chances with an inexperienced-. Wait a min¬
ute!” He struck the desk with the palm of his
hand. “I’ve got it! The very thing!”
He searched hurriedly through some papers
on his desk and finally found what he was look¬
ing for, a long sheet of heavy yellow paper. He
handed it to Kent who saw that it contained a
number of short items teletyped, apparently,
from one of the news services.
“That item there,” said White, pointing to a
paragraph in the center of the page.
Kent read it.
BOLTON, ME. (SPECIAL SERVICE)-

REPORTS CIRCULATED HERE TODAY THAT

 CLARK KENT, REPORTER 71
THE NANCY M, A CLIPPER SHIP LOST IN

A STORM AT SEA TWO CENTURIES AGO,

HAS BEEN SEEN BY WORKERS AT THE

LOWELL SHIPYARD. SOME EYEWITNESSES

CLAIM THAT THE PHANTOM SHIP IS

MANNED BY A SKELETON CREW.

“Well, what do you think of it?” White asked.

“I’m not quite sure, Mr. White.”
Perry White pulled his chair closer to Kent’s.
“I’ve always played hunches,” he said, “and I’ve
got a hunch there may be something in this
Skeleton Ship story. It’s not a good enough
hunch, though, for me to send a valuable man
all the way to Maine to look into it.” He sat
back and regarded Kent with a quizzical smile.
“How would you like to go?”
Kent looked at the editor in mild surprise.
“I mean it,” said White. “It’ll be good ex¬
perience for you and it’ll prove whether my
hunch is right or wrong. I’ll put you on a small
salary, and if you make good—if you manage to
dig up the kind of story I’m looking for—I’ll
make you a full-fledged reporter when you get
back. Will you accept?”
72 SUPERMAN
Would he accept!
Clark Kent left the offices of the Daily Planet
with the feeling that he was walking on air. That
feeling, he reminded himself with a smile, was
not too unusual for him
 CHAPTER VII

THE SKELETON SHIP

A sinister gray fog shrouded the Maine

shipyard, hung from the spars of creaking
ships like tattered banners. Somewhere in the
sleeping town behind the shipyard a steeple
clock tolled the hour of eleven, and off in the
distance a foghorn mourned sorrowfully.
A close observer of the scene might have no¬
ticed a man standing in the fog—a tall man dress-
73
74 SUPERMAN
ed in dark gray. The man was Clark Kent. He
stood at the beginning of a pier that jutted out
into the mist-choked river. He had not moved
for over an hour, remaining perfectly motion¬
less so that in his gray garb he had indeed be¬
come part of the fog itself.
Such was his intention, for he wanted to see
without being seen. Something was about to hap¬
pen, though what exactly it might be he could
not foretell. It would be something sinister and
fraught with danger, this much Kent knew. And
he waited now as the clammy fog swirled
around him and the last note of the steeple clock
echoed through the darkly glistening streets of
the town behind him.
Then it came! His keen ears picked up the
sound at the other end of the long pier. His body
stiffened. Something had moved at the end of
that pier, something that had no business being
there. For the first time in over an hour Kent
stirred, slipping silently into the fog in the di¬
rection of the sound. He did not bother to re¬
move his ordinary clothes to reveal the scarlet
cape and blue suit he wore beneath them. For,
 THE SKELETON SHIP 75
as he told himself with a grim smile, this was not
yet a job for Superman.
He had taken only a few steps when he stop¬
ped suddenly. The thing at the end of the pier
had moved again. Kent waited, listening. The
sound was not repeated. He heard nothing now
but the creaking of ships that rode at anchor, the
lapping sound of the dark river water against the
pilings, and the muffled moan of the foghorn off
in the channel. Once more he slipped forward
through the fog.
Then came a hoarse cry—a cry for help. Hurt¬
ling forward, Kent stripped off the everyday
clothes of the meek, mild-mannered reporter.
Superman was needed now—and it was as Super¬
man, in flaming red cape and blue tights, that
he reached the scene of action!
His piercing eyes saw and understood the sit¬
uation in a flash. Three mysteriously robed and
hooded figures were advancing on an old, white-
bearded man who retreated before them to the
edge of the pier. And in the flash it took Superman
to size up the situation, he also saw the Old Man
slip on the wet edge of the pier, strike his head
76 SUPERMAN
and fall backward into the water, clutching at
thin air.
Superman leaped forward, his mighty arm
sweeping aside the three cowled figures. Over
the side of the pier he went, cleaving the water
in a perfect dive. Under the surface his eyes
sought and found the limp form of the Old Man
as it sank through the murky depths. His arms
were about the unconscious figure in an instant
and a mighty surge of his powerful legs brought
them both to the surface. The next moment they
were on the pier again and Superman was des¬
perately beginning the job of fanning into flame
the spark of life that still remained in the Old
Man’s body.
As he worked over the wet, seemingly lifeless
form, the fog thickened and the moaning horn
off in the channel took on a more somber note.
It was not until the town clock struck the half-
hour and its mournful echo wandered through
the empty streets of the town like some lonely
ghost, that the Old Man gasped, opened his eyes,
and then started up in sudden fear.
“It’s all right,” said the higher-pitched voice
 THE SKELETON SHIP 77
of Clark Kent, for Superman had assumed again
his disguise of the mild-mannered reporter.
The fear died slowly in the Old Man’s eyes,
and his bony fingers relaxed their grip on Kent’s
shoulder.
“Who are ye?” The Old Man’s voice bore the
unmistakable twang of a Yankee accent.
“Clark Kent’s my name. I’m a newspaper re¬
porter. Who are you and who were those men
who almost succeeded in killing you?”
“Men?” the Old Man echoed. “Have they
gone?”
Kent nodded. “Disappeared in the fog. Who
were they and why did they gang up on you?”
The Old Man regarded Kent queerly.
“Didn’t ye—didn’t ye see their faces?”
Kent shook his head.
“No,” he said, “their backs were toward me
and they wore hooded robes. What about their
faces?”
“That’s it.” The Old Man’s eyes narrowed.
“They didn’t have none!”
Kent, wondering whether the Old Man was
crazy, said nothing but waited for him to go on.
78 SUPERMAN
And as he waited he suddenly sensed danger.
He could never explain these premonitions, but
he trusted them implicitly. Somehow a different
note had crept into the banshee wail of the fog¬
horn off in the channel, and the thickening fog
had become like a thing alive, its clammy fingers
plucking at his face.
The Old Man did not continue, but merely
sat staring off into the distance.
“You say they had no faces?” Kent prompted.
“No faces,” the Old Man echoed. He turned
his gaze slowly on Kent. “That is, not human
faces. They were skeletons!”
Again he paused, staring off into the fog, and
after waiting a reasonable length of time, Kent
said: “Look here, sir, I wish you'd start at the
beginning. There are a lot of things I don’t un¬
derstand, things I’d like explained. First of all,
who are you? And what were you doing out here
on the pier at this strange hour?”
The Old Man looked at him intently for a
long time before replying. Then he said: “Ye
saved my life, lad, and I’d like to trust ye—but
I daren’t! ’Twould be fatal for both of us if I
Superman brought the Old Man to the surface. (Page 76)
 THE SKELETON SHIP 81
was to tell ye who I am and what I do here/’ He
stopped Kent's protest with an uplifted hand.
“Ye'll know all in good time—but not now. I
cannot trust ye, lad, but I must ask ye to trust
me."
Kent nodded. “I trust you. But you can at least
tell me about those men. They had the faces of
skeletons, you say?"
The Old Man nodded.
“Aye," he said. “They're from off the ship."
“What ship?" Kent asked.
“The Skeleton Ship," came the reply, “the
Nancy M."
Again there was silence between them. The
foghorn moaned its eerie note, the boats at
anchor creaked mysteriously, and the fog wrap¬
ped itself about the two figures on the pier like
some great gray cape. The clock in the town
struck the three-quarter hour. Kent raised his
head slowly. Once more he had caught that
strange scent of impending danger. Something
was going to happen and it was going to happen
soon.
The Old Man was saying:
82 SUPERMAN
“If ye’re a reporter, lad, ye’re here doubtless
t’find out what ye can about the Skeleton Ship.
Do ye know the story of the Nancy M?”
“No,” Kent said. “I wish you’d tell me.”
“I will,” said the Old Man. He began: “Two
hundred years ago this little town was a thriving
seaport. Clipper ships left this pier we’re sitting
on, bound for the spice lands of China and
Arabia and India—all the ports of the Seven Seas.
Sometimes, as ye’ll understand, they didn’t re¬
turn.” He paused and raised his head, cocking
it to one side. He seemed to be listening for
something. After a time he went on.
“One of the finest ships o’ that time was the
Nancy M, a full-rigged schooner owned and cap¬
tained by Joshua Murdock. Nancy Murdock was
his wife and the ship had been named after her.”
The steeple clock in town struck the hour of
midnight. The Old Man waited till the last om¬
inous note had died before he continued.
“Joshua Murdock’s wife had a dream the
night afore his last sailing. The dream affrighted
her so that she begged her husband not to
leave. He laughed at her fears, o’ course, but to
 THE SKELETON SHIP 83
quiet her he promised no matter what happen¬
ed he would return. Ye must know, lad, that
Joshua Murdock was never known to break a
promise. Well, sir, the ship went down in a storm
while rounding the Horn and all hands was
lost.”
The Old Man paused again. Kent said, “Then
you mean that this ship—this Skeleton Ship-”
The Old Man nodded. “Joshua Murdock
promised his wife to return. And that he does,
even though he sails a ghost ship with a skeleton
crew. Ye see, lad-”
He broke off suddenly as a strange sound came
out of the night.
“Steady,” Kent whispered.
They both had heard the single hollow foot¬
step at the same time. It came again. Someone
was moving toward them from the end of the
pier with slow and measured tread.
A slight breeze had sprung up and the fog
began to move like some great gray monster stir¬
ring in its sleep. Through the shifting pall the
footsteps echoed nearer.
And then out of the swirling fog he came,
84 SUPERMAN
walking slowly, head bent as if in thought—a
tall broad man dressed in the garb of two cen¬
turies ago. Sensing the presence of Kent and the
Old Man, he stopped.
“You-” Kent challenged. “Who are you?”
The stranger looked up. The Old Man utter¬
ed a low cry and slumped into Kent’s arms. For
it was* no face at all that the man had raised to
them, but the death’s-head of a skeleton.
“You ask my name?” he said. “It is Captain
Joshua Murdock.”
He began to laugh quietly, and raising the
fleshless index finger of his right hand, pointed
through the fog in the direction whence he had
come. And the sound of his hollow laughter
seemed to roll back the fog, for Kent, looking
beyond him to the end of the pier, saw a ship
tied alongside where there had been no ship be¬
fore. And leering down at him from the wooden
rail were the skeleton faces of a skeleton crew-
the crew of the Nancy M!
Leering down at Kent were skeleton faces
of a skeleton crew. (Page 84)
 CHAPTER VIII
THE VANISHING CAPTAIN

7 he weird figure of Captain Joshua Mur¬

dock stood not ten feet in front of Kent,
pointing with bony finger to where the Skele¬
ton Ship was tied to the pier, skeleton seamen
leering down from the rail. In his arms Kent
held the limp figure of the Old Man. The fog
had in this brief instant become thick again, roll¬
ing in smoke-like waves across the scene, so
that even now it was obscuring the Skeleton Ship
and its grisly crew. Kent knew he must work
fast—and did I
86
 THE VANISHING CAPTAIN 87
He let go of the Old Man, who groaned as he
slipped to the dock planking. Quickly Kent
moved toward the skeleton figure of Captain
Murdock. It was the very quickness of his move¬
ment that resulted in failure, for as he started
forward something wrapped itself around his
ankles and he went down!
He was up instantly, but in that fraction of
lost time the scene had become again what it had
been before. Fog—nothing but gray, swirling
fog. The horn, moaning off in the channel. The
faint creaking of ships at anchor. Of the Skeleton
Ship there was not a trace, and Captain Mur¬
dock had vanished completely.
Kent looked down to see what had caught at
his ankles and sent him sprawling. It was the
arms of the Old Man. Somehow, as Kent let him
slip down, his arms had fallen about Kent’s
ankles, causing the young reporter to trip as he
moved suddenly forward.
Clark Kent did not believe in ghosts, yet he
could not deny what he had just seen with his
own eyes. There was no doubt that the Skeleton
Ship was the Nancy M, for he had seen the name
88 SUPERMAN
in worn, discolored letters on the bow. She had
all the tragic marks of a sunken ship, for her can¬
vas hung in tatters, her spars lay tangled and
splintered, and her entire hull was covered with
barnacles and coral, showing that she had lain
for a long time at the bottom of the sea.
As for the crew that lined the rail, he was con¬
vinced they were skeletons. His vision was su¬
perior and he trusted without question the evi¬
dence of his own eyes. Those men were skele¬
tons. He had seen the empty sockets of their eyes,
the glistening jawbones, the fleshless joints of
their fingers as their arms rested on the ship’s
rail.
Captain Murdock was something else again.
Kent couldn’t exactly say why, but there was
something—well, unreal—about him. The bony
finger with which he had pointed toward the
ship had not seemed to be bone at all. The same
held true for his skeleton face. No, there was
something not quite genuine about Captain
Joshua Murdock, and Kent made up his mind
to find out what it was.
The Old Man moaned and stirred at Kent’s
 THE VANISHING CAPTAIN 89
feet. As Kent lifted him from the dock, holding
an arm about him to keep him from falling, the
Old Man looked up questioningly.
“You—you saw it?”
“Yes, I saw it.”
“Then it’s true,” the Old Man said. “There is
such a thing as the Skeleton Ship!”
“I don’t know yet,” Kent said.
“But you saw it! It was there!”
Kent shook his head. “It was there, and yet it
wasn’t there. There’s a Skeleton Ship, yet there
isn’t a Skeleton Ship.”
“Just what do ye mean by that?”
The Old Man’s wrinkled face was close to
Kent’s, his small eyes peering intently into
Kent’s own.
“What do ye mean?” he repeated.
“I don’t exactly know,” said Kent at length.
“Not yet, at any rate.”
Kent looked about him. The fog still rolled in
heavily from the channel and the horn still
moaned out its warning to ships at sea. The
steeple clock off in the dark, echoing town struck
the quarter hour. But the air of mystery and
90 SUPERMAN
expectancy which had gripped Kent before was
no longer there. The thing had already happen¬
ed; there would be no further adventure on the
pier that night.
“Look here/’ Kent said, “there’s nothing
more to be done here. I’m going back to my
hotel. What about you?”
“Don’t ye fret none about me,” said the Old
Man. “Just ye leave me bide here. I’ll be all
right.”
Kent shook his head. “I’m not so sure about
that. You almost lost your life a while back.”
“That won’t happen again,” the Old Man re¬
plied. “I’ll know what t’expect from here on.
You go along. I’ll be all right.”
“As you wish,” said Kent, and turned to go.
He paused for a moment. “Are you sure you
can’t tell me who you are?” he asked.
The Old Man stared at him a brief instant.
Then he reached out and took Kent’s hand in
his.
“Lad,” he said, “we’ve both got a job to do
here, and we’re in this together. As for who I
am, it don’t matter. Ye’ll understand everything
 THE VANISHING CAPTAIN 91
some day. Before that day comes, you and me’ll
see a lot o’ dangers. Mebbe well live through
'em, mebbe we won’t. But all I can say to ye
now is—don’t ask any questions.”
Kent returned the friendly pressure of the Old
Man’s hand.
“I’ll trust you,” he said. Turning, he walked
off toward town.
On his way to the waterfront hotel where he had
engaged a room, Kent decided to walk past the
grounds of the small estate of John Lowell, own¬
er of the local shipyard. He had made a point of
meeting Mr. Lowell at the shipyard that morn¬
ing, had told him who he was and what he
wanted to do, and had received the owner’s per¬
mission to investigate matters as he saw fit.
Lowell, a small, sallow-faced man nearing fifty,
gave evidence of the strain of the situation in
which he found himself and was anxious for
whatever help he could get. Kent hoped that the
shipyard owner might still be up and about. He
wanted to tell him what had happened that night
and discuss it with him.
Arriving at the gate of the iron fence that sur-
92 SUPERMAN
rounded the estate, Kent saw lighted windows
shining through the murk. He was in luck.
Lowell, apparently, had not yet retired for the
night.
Kent thrust open the gate and entered the
grounds. Walking up the winding, pebbled path
that led to the front door, he was again assailed
by that strange sense of impending danger. It
was so strong, in fact, that he stopped short,
listening, waiting, trying to feel the texture of
the atmosphere about him.
Here as elsewhere the fog hung thick and
clammy. The trees were weird figures when seen
through the mist, some gnarled and twisted and
waiting like sentries, others towering through
the murk with wide-spread clutching arms.
Sounds came through the fog—mysterious little
sounds that told of numberless insects that
crawled and flew about through the trees. A
bull-frog croaked from the swampy depths of a
near-by pool, and in one of the trees an owl hoot¬
ed sorrowfully.
Kent paused only for a moment and then,
shrugging his shoulders, went on. Reaching the
 THE VANISHING CAPTAIN 93
house, he went up to the front door and rang
the bell. Through the leaded bay window that
gave on the lawn, he could see John Lowell
seated behind the desk in his study, going over
accounts by the light of a desk-lamp. The door
opened and an elderly woman in a black house¬
keeper’s dress stood in the yellow light that
shone from within.
“Yes?” she said.
“I’d like to see Mr. Lowell,” Kent said. “I
know it’s late, but I think he’ll see me. Please tell
him that Clark Kent is calling.”
“Come in, please,” she said. “I’ll tell Mr.
Lowell you’re here.”
She returned in a few moments and led Kent
into the study, where Lowell rose from his desk
to greet him.
“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,”
he said in a dry, nasal voice. “Has anything
happened?”
“Yes, something has,” Kent replied.
“Sit down and tell me about it.”
Kent told the weird story from beginning to
end. Lowell was silent for a long time after Kent
94 SUPERMAN
had finished. Finally he said: “You believe it
was a Skeleton Ship you saw?”
“I’m sure of it,” Kent replied.
The shipyard owner nodded and sat for a few
moments deep in thought. Then he rose and
moved toward the window where he stood look¬
ing out into the fog-shrouded night. When he
spoke again, his voice was low and filled with all
the worry and perplexity this strange situation
had brought on him.
“I didn’t believe it at first,” he said. “When
the night watchman was found wandering about
the pier and babbling insanely, I refused to be¬
lieve. When several of the men on the night shift
saw the ship and walked out, followed by the
others, I still couldn’t believe that such a thing
was possible. That a clipper ship and its crew, at
the bottom of the sea for over a century, could
return—no, it was ridiculous even to think of it.”
“I can understand your feelings,” said Kent.
“I spent nights on that pier myself,” Lowell
continued. “I wanted to see it with my own eyes.
Nothing ever happened. But now you tell me
you have actually seen it! Somehow I believe
you. You impress me as a man not easily fooled.”
 THE VANISHING CAPTAIN 95
He started, peering intently through the win¬
dow. “What the devil-!”
Kent was at his side immediately.
“What is it?”
Lowell shook his head and grinned sheepishly.
“Sorry, Mr. Kent, but I’m afraid my nerves
are getting jumpy. I thought for a moment I
saw a man walking out there under the trees.
The fog plays strange tricks at times.”
He sat down again behind the desk, and be¬
gan to fill a pipe with nervous fingers. Kent
glanced briefly through the window, but saw
nothing.
He was about to say as much when the door
from the entrance-hall was opened by the house¬
keeper. As she came into the study, Kent saw
that something was wrong. The woman’s face
was deathly white, and her lips trembled. As she
took several steps into the room, she looked back
over her shoulder as if she were afraid of being
followed.
“What is it, Anna?” Lowell asked.
“There’s—there’s someone to see you, sir,”
the woman faltered.
“Send him in.”
96 SUPERMAN
'‘He won’t come in, sir. Insists that you’ll have
to come out and see him. He’s in the entrance-
hall now. If I may say so, sir, there’s something
very strange about him.”
“What do you mean?” asked Lowell.
“I—I can’t say, sir. He’s a sailorman, and yet—
the clothes he’s wearing aren’t like any I’ve ever
seen before. And there’s something about him
that—that sends the chills up and down your
spine.”
The housekeeper shuddered.
“Did he give you any name?”
It was Kent who spoke, and his voice was
sharp.
“Yes, sir,” replied the housekeeper. “He says
his name is Joshua Murdock—Captain Joshua
Murdock!”
Kent’s eyes met those of Lowell and in an
instant both men had brushed by the frighten¬
ed housekeeper and into the entrance-hall. And
then even Kent felt the hair rise at the back of
his neck.
The front door was wide open, and through
it they could see the black vault of the fog-draped
 THE VANISHING CAPTAIN 97
night. They heard the clock strike once in the
distance and the far-off muffled moan of the
channel-horn.
But the entrance-hall was empty. Captain
Joshua Murdock had vanished into the ghostly
darkness leaving behind a grim reminder of the
sea.
On the floor in the spot where he had stood
lay a pile of wet seaweed.
 CHAPTER IX
FIRE AT SEA

K ent, lowell and the housekeeper stared in

amazement at the pile of seaweed on the
floor. Lowell opened his mouth to say something.
As he did, the night was pierced by a wail that
rose and fell ominously.
“What’s that?” Kent snapped.
“Coast Guard siren,” Lowell answered.
“There’s a station near here. Something’s hap-
 FIRE AT SEA 99
pened. I’ll have to get down there at once—I’m
a member of the Auxiliary.”
The housekeeper paled.
“Don’t leave me alone here, Mr. Lowell,” she
pleaded. “There are strange things happening
in this house tonight. That seaweed-”
She stared at the dripping pile on the floor,
eyes wide with horror.
“Go to your room and lock yourself in, Anna,”
Lowell said. “There’s nothing to fear. Come on,
Kent!”
A short time later the two men were speeding
to the Coast Guard Station in Lowell’s car. They
spoke little, each busy with his own thoughts
concerning the strange pile of seaweed, seeking
explanation as to how it got there, wondering
about Captain Murdock, striving to pierce the
veil of mystery that enveloped the Skeleton Ship.
Tangled in the mesh of their thoughts was the
wail of the Coast Guard siren in the foggy dis¬
tance. The road they sped along reached and
followed the edge of a cliff down to the sea. Look¬
ing through the window Kent saw a dull reddish
glow far out on the ocean. The reddish glow
100 SUPERMAN
meant flames, flames meant a burning ship, and
Kent knew at once what tragedy had called out
the Coast Guard on such a night as this!
Lowell brought the car to a stop in front of
the Station. The scene about them was one of
feverish activity. One cutter was already a speck
on the horizon. A second cutter, twin motors
roaring, was headed out to sea. Men worked with
furious efficiency readying a third for action. A
tall, broad-shouldered officer wearing captain's
stripes stepped up to Kent and Lowell.
“Sorry, but-—He stopped short. “Oh, it's
you, Mr. Lowell."
The shipyard owner nodded. “Yes, captain. I
heard the siren and hurried down. This is a
young reporter friend of mine, Clark Kent.
Kent, shake hands with Captain Rogers."
The two men gripped hands. “I’m glad you
brought Mr. Kent with you, Mr. Lowell," Rog¬
ers said. “We're going to need every man we can
get. Your station's Number 3, Mr. Lowell. I'll
make use of Mr. Kent in a moment."
Lowell hurried off to the third cutter. “That
burning ship," Kent said. “What is it, captain?"
 FIRE AT SEA 101
“Big oil tanker. She’s seventy miles out, wrap¬
ped in a pea soup fog. We’re going to have trou¬
ble rounding up her crew. Wait here a minute.
I’ll be right back.” Rogers vanished into the
darkness.
Kent waited only long enough to be certain he
was not observed before stripping off his street
clothes and revealing the blue and red costume
of Superman. There was a job to be done—a job
that might be too difficult for the men aboard
those cutters.
Seconds meant lives, and only Superman
could save those seconds—and those lives!
Faster than a speeding bullet, red cape stream¬
ing in the wind, Superman raced out across the
dark waters like some giant bird. Straight as an
arrow he flew, the reddish glow in the distance
becoming ever brighter as he approached swift¬
ly. In a matter of seconds he had passed the slim
gray shape of the second Coast Guard cutter
cleaving the water far below him, and he smiled
in admiration, thinking of the courageous men
aboard her, men who challenge any danger and
often give their lives that others may live.
102 SUPERMAN
It was not until he overtook the first cutter, far
ahead of the second and almost at the scene of
the tragedy, that his keen ears picked up the
sinking tanker’s radio signals. What he heard
sent him hurtling through the night even swift¬
er, if possible, than before.
The message, halting and broken like the
voice of a dying man, read: “Sinking—fast—but
—don’t—want—help. Submarine—standing—by-
in—fog—to—machine-gun—crew—and—sink—as¬
sisting—vessels.” The message began to repeat.
“Sinking fast submarine—standing—by ”
The signals stopped abruptly, and Superman’s
jaw set in grim determination as he saw in his
mind’s eye that gallant radio operator sticking
to his post, vainly working a key gone dead. And,
oddly, there flashed through his mind all the
wonderful stories he had ever heard or read of
King Arthur and his bold knights—of daring
Launcelot and brave Galahad. And suddenly he
laughed aloud. It was a laugh brimming with
defiance, the battle cry of a knight who sallies
forth to meet the Powers of Darkness!
No prancing white chargers for those men on
 FIRE AT SEA 103
the tanker, no burnished shields gleaming in
the sun. Their charger was a sinking ship, their
burnished shield an oil-flame’s glow. Yet they
were finer, braver knights than any who had
lived before, knights who fought their fight up¬
on a flaming sea!
The scene of action was below him now. A
huge inferno of fire to his left marked the strick¬
en tanker. He heard the crackling of the flames,
saw men in small boats rowing through a glow¬
ing sea. Burning oil covered the water and here
and there dark heads bobbed in the liquid fire.
The molten air was alive with hoarse shouts and
cries of agony.
Standing by, waiting like some great gray
monster for the kill, her sides illuminated by the
glow of the flaming oil, lay an enemy submarine.
It was the first time Clark Kent had ever seen
a sub. What was there about it that seared his
veins with white-hot anger? He never knew.
He only knew that he suddenly brimmed with
the joy of being Superman and gathered within
himself a power of energy that he had never
known before.
104 SUPERMAN
He went into action as the first Coast Guard
cutter shot into the circle of flaming light and re¬
versed her engines to an abrupt halt. Even Super¬
man could never quite recall what happened
during the minutes that followed.
As the cutter hove into the scene, the sub let
go with a withering burst from a forward gun,
to spray the men in the lifeboats with deadly fire.
The bullets never met their mark! In the split-
second it took to press the automatic trigger of
the gun. Superman grasped the situation and in
a swooping dive cut across the line of fire! Hun¬
dreds of rounds of bullets ricocheted off him
harmlessly as, flying low, placing his body be¬
tween the sub and the small boats, he took the
full force of the blast. As he reached the end of
his lightning dive, he heard the dull roar of the
sub’s 6-inch gun, the scream of the shell as it
sped toward the cutter, dead on its mark. He
turned, hung for a fraction of time like a hawk
in flight, and in the next instant caught the
white-hot shell in his bare hands! Then his
arm, holding aloft the shell, swung back and he
hurled the explosive back at the submarine!
 FIRE AT SEA 105
The explosion was titanic. The sub reeled
over violently as an orange tongue of flame shot
high into the air.
The enemy sub was a fighter, however, and
Superman was still needed here. Even as the shell
crashed into the steel hull, the sub’s guns sent
round after round into the helpless small boats.
Superman dove like a thunderbolt across the
raider’s bow, and his fist smashed into the ma¬
chine gun, ripping it from the deck, rendering
it into a mass of twisted scrap that spun into the
sea! Bolting toward the 6-inch cannon, he swept
its crew aside and almost in the same instant
crashed his mighty shoulders against the gleam¬
ing barrel. The gun had just been fired. Jam¬
ming his hand over the muzzle, Superman forced
the shell back into the chamber. It exploded in¬
side the gun, splintering the metal into a thou¬
sand jagged pieces.
The sub was now listing to port, wallowing
like a crippled whale in the trough of the sea.
Superman leapt from the deck into the air,
turned in mid-flight, and prepared himself for
the mighty shock to come. For he knew what
106 SUPERMAN
must be done, and he knew also that only Super¬
man could do it!
He hunched his shoulders, flexed his mighty
muscles, took careful aim, and then—hurled him¬
self forward!
He hit the water ten feet from the sub and
struck the mighty monster of the deep beneath
the water-line! Head, shoulders, and body shat¬
tered the metal sides of the craft as if they were
made of plywood. On he went, never stopping,
coming out on the other side, rising up through
the water into the air. He turned again in
mid-flight, aimed his body once more, and again
bore in under the water-line, piercing the sub
at yet another place!
Nor did he stop, until the great gray fish set¬
tled to her gunwales and, turning belly upward,
sank beneath the waves.
Now he gave his attention to the smoldering
inferno about him. The decks of the burning
tanker were awash; she wallowed hissing and
smoking, as the great fiery seas broke over her.
The Coast Guard had done its job well; all
hands had been picked up and the tiny boats
bobbed on a glowing, empty ocean.
 FIRE AT SEA 107
A great wave towered above the crippled
tanker that less than an hour ago had been a
staunch voyageur of the ocean lanes. Her rud¬
der rose dripping into the air, waving, as it were,
a farewell to the life she knew, and then slipped
into the ocean depths.
The water boiled over the spot where she
went down. Red cape spread to the wind, Super¬
man remained poised for a moment above the
foaming circle, saluting silently a monarch of
the deep and the men who manned her.

An hour later, Clark Kent sat on the rocky

headland, looking out over a sea rosy with the
dawn. Below him and to his right was the Coast
Guard Station from which he had just come.
Lowell, he reflected, had been singularly cool
when, arriving with the survivors, he had found
Kent still on the pier. Captain Rogers, too, had
not bothered to conceal his contempt for (so he
thought) the man who had remained behind.
Kent removed his horn-rimmed glasses and
began to polish them. Absently moving the
handkerchief between thumb and forefinger, he
gazed thoughtfully out over the rolling blue of
108 SUPERMAN
the ocean. Gulls wheeled above him and the air
was fresh and salty against his cheek. He recalled
that only a few hours ago he had saved the lives
of Lowell, Captain Rogers, and the helpless crew
of the oil tanker. Yet they all looked at him with
frigid eyes. If only he could tell them!
That he was Superman, however, must re¬
main his secret, whatever the cost to Clark Kent.
The cost to Kent, he began to realize, would be
considerable. He wondered idly about this,
wondered too about the connection between the
Nazi submarine and the Skeleton Ship. There
was some connection, of this he was sure. It was
only a ‘‘hunch,’’ but he did not possess the
brain, the supersensory powers of Superman for
nothing.
There would be more submarines, more at¬
tempts to sink coastwise shipping, and he must
be ready for them.
He smiled. Twenty-four hours had passed
since his arrival. Much had happened. Much
more would happen before he was through.
 CHAPTER X
MYSTERY OF THE OLD MAN

It began to happen, in fact, only a few hours

I later. Clark Kent was walking along the main
street of the seaport town, having just come
from the railroad station where he had tele¬
graphed a story of the tanker’s sinking to the
Daily Planet. He wondered, strolling along,
what Perry White’s reaction to the story would
be. He had done his best, but whether Perry
White thought his best good enough was
another matter.
109
110 SUPERMAN
Leaving the telegraph office, Kent walked out
onto the station platform just in time to see a
crowded troop train pass through. He reflected
idly on where the troops were being moved, and
their ultimate destination, as car after car rum¬
bled north.
From the railroad station he started toward
the Lowell Shipyard. Crossing the main street,
he saw the Old Man he had met the night before
standing in front of a ship chandler’s shop on the
opposite corner. The shop was some distance
away, but the sharp eyes of Superman behind
the horn-rimmed glasses of Clark Kent could not
mistake the shrunken figure, the seedy clothes,
the whiskered face.
Kent made up his mind instantly to have a
talk with the mysterious Old Man. The tragic
events of the night before had strengthened his
conviction that there was some connection be¬
tween the Skeleton Ship and the sinking of the
tanker. John Lowell had voiced the suspicion
that the Skeleton Ship might be a trick to inter¬
fere with war production, to prevent the con¬
struction of the hundred PT-torpedo boats he
 MYSTERY OF THE OLD MAN 111
had contracted to build for the government. Kent
felt there was more to it than that. If the Skeleton
Ship was a trick it was a far too elaborate one for
ordinary sabotage. Also, in talking to the tele¬
graph agent, he had learned that five tankers had
been sunk off this coast in the last two weeks;
the sinking of the first occurred only a few days
after the first appearance of the Skeleton Ship.
No, he was sure the sinkings were somehow con¬
nected with the ghostly appearances of the
Nancy M. The Old Man knew something about
it, he was sure of that too, and he resolved on
the instant to find out what it was.
He crossed the street quickly. As he did so, the
Old Man turned from peering into the shop
window and began to walk up the street toward
him. He had taken only a few steps when he
saw Kent coming in his direction. He stopped
abruptly, hesitated, and then, turning his back
on Kent, began to hurry away. It was obvious
that he wished to avoid any encounter with the
reporter.
Kent increased his pace. The Old Man
reached the chandler's shop and entered. In less
112 SUPERMAN
than a minute, Kent also reached the door of
the shop and went in.
His eyes accustomed themselves quickly to the
sudden change from the bright sunlight of the
street to the dark, damp interior of the shop. He
looked about him. Crowded on all sides, piled in
heaps, hanging from every inch of the beamed
ceiling, were the countless odds and ends needed
in a life at sea. There were binnacles, ropes, com¬
passes, clocks, barometers, lengths of chain.
There were maps and charts, telescopes and spy¬
glasses, quadrants and sextants. In brief, there
was everything that a sailor could possibly ask
for.
From the dark murkiness of the place there
came to Clark Kent the tangy odor of brine, a
salty coolness, as if the tide had just receded and
would in time return and fill the place with sea
water. «

There was no sign of the Old Man.

Before Kent could decide what to do, a door
opened at the rear of the shop and a man came
toward him. There was something about the
man that exactly fitted the shop and its air of the
 MYSTERY OF THE OLD MAN 113
sea. He was of middle age with a seamed and
weather-stained face. He wore dungarees and a
gray woolen shirt, and on his head was a seaman’s
cap. From the corner of his tight, Yankee mouth
jutted a short and blackened pipe.
“Ya-ah?” he drawled in a high nasal twang.
“I’m looking for someone who—who doesn’t
appear to be here,” said Kent.
“Sorry,” rejoined the other.
“I’m sure I saw him come in here,” Kent said.
“Maybe you know him—an old man, wearing
very old clothes. He’s sort of stooped and
shrunken.”
The other shook his head.
“No,” he drawled.
There was a coldness about the man that an¬
noyed Kent.
“Look here,” he said, “whether you know him
or not, he entered this shop. I saw him come in.
You must have seen him!”
“Not me,” said the other.
Kent’s annoyance was rapidly turning to
anger. The Old Man had come into this shop,
there was no doubt of it. There was no place he
114 SUPERMAN
might hide, no possible place of concealment
anywhere in sight. Yet he was nowhere to be
seen, and the man before him claimed he had
never set eyes on him. There was something
strange here. People did not walk into shops and
vanish!
“Listen to me,” said Kent. “I saw him come
in here, and he must be somewhere in this shop.”
“Look fer yerself,” said the other.
“That’s exactly what I intend doing,” Kent
replied, “and the first place I’m going to look is
behind that door!”
“Hold on!”
There was no drawl in the man’s voice now.
It was sharp and imperative. Kent, already mov¬
ing toward the door, drew up. The two men
faced each other.
“Yes?” challenged Kent.
The other removed the short black pipe from
between his tight lips, and regarded Kent for a
moment or two. Then he said: “When I told ye
t’ look fer yerself, I meant ye might look here¬
in the front of the store.” He replaced the pipe
between his yellowed teeth, and added: “There’s
 MYSTERY OF THE OLD MAN 115
nothin’ back o’ that door, nothin’ but the lad
that assists me.”
“Nevertheless,” Kent said, “I’ll have a look!”
Their eyes met and something in Kent’s made
the other drop his own. Kent walked toward the
door and opened it.
Within, hunched over a worktable repairing
a compass, was a young man of about Kent’s own
age. As the reporter entered, the young man
looked up from his work, removed a jeweler’s
glass from his eye, and smiled genially.
“Hello,” he said. “Anything I can do for you?”
For an instant Kent was taken aback. Actually
he had expected to find the Old Man in this
room, but there was no sign of him, nor was there
any other place he might have gone to.
Kent hesitated a moment or two before reply¬
ing. He was conscious of a strong liking for this
young man with the genial smile. He was aware
also of something familiar about his face; he
had the feeling he had seen that face before.
“I don’t know whether you can do anything
for me,” he said finally. “I’m looking for some¬
one I was sure came in here-”
116 SUPERMAN
“Sorry,” said the other, “I haven’t seen anyone
—no one, that is, besides Mr. Barnaby. Oh, Mr.
Barnaby-—” He addressed the man in the sea¬
man’s cap, who had followed Kent into the back
room. “Have you seen anyone in the shop?”
Barnaby scowled, took the blackened stump
of pipe from his mouth, and said: “No. Told
him so. Wouldn’t believe me.”
“But I tell you I saw him come in here!”
“Ye made a mistake.”
Clark Kent had made no mistake. He was sure
of that. The Old Man had come into this shop
and in the time it took Kent to reach it he had
vanished. Even as he talked to Barnaby and the
young man, Kent’s eyes were roving over the
room looking for places where the Old Man
might have hidden himself. There obviously
were none. There was nothing he could do but
accept the word of the other two that the Old
Man had not entered the shop at all. He decided
to play for time, hoping something might be
said, or something happen that would give him
a clue.
“Well,” he said, “guess I’ve made a mistake.
 MYSTERY OF THE OLD MAN 117
Sorry to have bothered you. By the way, I don't
believe I introduced myself. My name's Clark
Kent. I’m a reporter for the Daily Planet in
Metropolis."
“Glad to know you," said the young man.
“My name's Gorman, Tom Gorman. This is
my employer, Mr. Barnaby."
Barnaby acknowledged the introduction with
a curt nod.
“A reporter, did you say?" Gorman went on.
“What in the world are you doing up here in
this forsaken place?"
Kent smiled. “I might ask the same of you,"
he countered.
Gorman showed his surprise.
“You’re right," he said. “I’ve only been here
a few weeks. But how did you know-?"
“For one thing," Kent replied, “you don't
sound like a New Englander, and your face is
too pale for you to have spent much time in this
climate."
His explanation did not hold water and he
knew it. On the other hand, he could not tell
young Gorman the other things he had noticed.
118 SUPERMAN
Gorman’s hands, for instance, were slim and
white and well-cared for—hardly the hands of
a mechanic. There was also the way he held the
jeweler’s glass in his eye, showing quite clearly
that he was not accustomed to it. And there was
the impression Kent received as he entered the
room, that Gorman was trying to appear busy,
that he was just a little too intent upon his work.
All in all, though he liked young Gorman, Kent
had the definite feeling that here was a man try¬
ing to appear what he was not. Then, too, there
was that familiar cast to Gorman’s face. Where,
Kent kept asking himself, had he seen that face
before?
Gorman was saying, “I guess you’d call me a
rolling stone. I’ve tried my hand at about every
kind of job. Somehow I wound up here. Don’t
ask me how—it’s a long dull story.”
On the contrary, thought Kent, he would have
found it very interesting indeed. Again he was
struck by something odd: Gorman had not been
asked for an explanation of his presence here in
the chandler’s shop; why then did he volunteer
one so readily? Why?
 MYSTERY OF THE OLD MAN 119
Kent stopped asking himself questions, for
suddenly he realized why that face was so fa¬
miliar to him. No, it was not Gorman’s face he
had seen, but one quite like it—and he had seen
it only the night before. He was about to say so
when he changed his mind. Gorman would most
probably deny any connection, and Kent would
only have tipped his hand.
Kent’s recognition must have shown itself,
however, for Gorman said, “Anything wrong?”
“No,” Kent answered. “Just wondering what
could have happened to my friend, that’s all. By
the way, you—er—don’t happen to have any close
relations in this neck of the woods, do you?”
Gorman looked surprised.
“Relations?” He laughed. “Not that I know
of. Why?”
“Nothing, nothing at all,” said Kent. “Just
wondered.” He quickly changed the subject. “I
guess I’ve made a fool of myself insisting that
my friend came in here,” he said, turning to
Barnaby who, all this time, had stood puffing
dourly at his pipe and saying nothing. “I’m sor¬
ry if I’ve given you any trouble.”
120 SUPERMAN
“Fergit it,” drawled Barnaby without remov¬
ing the pipe from between his tight lips.
“Well-” Kent hesitated, “I’ll get along.”
They said good-by, and Kent made his way
out of the shop. On his way through the front
part of the store his eyes flickered over every de¬
tail of it, searching out a place where the Old
Man might be. If he expected to find anything
he was doomed to disappointment. There were
no unexplored closets, no partitions, no trap¬
doors. Mysterious though it might be, there was
no doubt that the Old Man had entered the ship
chandler’s shop and promptly vanished!
Walking along the street in the direction of
the Lowell Shipyard, Kent pondered the seem¬
ingly insoluble problem. It was such problems
as this that the mind of Superman delighted in,
and he set about taking this particular one apart
now, exploring every avenue of solution, exam¬
ining every angle. It was, after all, as simple as
this: The Old Man had entered the ship chan¬
dler’s shop. It would have been impossible for
him to have left the shop without being seen by
Kent. It would have been equally impossible for
 MYSTERY OF THE OLD MAN 121
him to vanish. There could be only one answer.
The Old Man was still inside the store!
It seemed the only possible solution, and yet
it did not make sense. Well, he must think about
it. He must also do some hard thinking about
the Skeleton Ship. What was the answer to the
ghostly appearance of Captain Joshua Murdock
on the fog-shrouded pier the night before? There
seemed to be none, strive as he might to pierce
the veil of mystery.
One thing he knew. It came to him in a flash.
Tom Gorman was related to John Lowell’s
housekeeper, Anna. That was what had been so
familiar about Gorman’s face, that was why he
thought he had seen it somewhere before. Both
faces had similar characteristics, so much so
that Gorman and Anna might be brother and
sister or mother and son. He wondered if they
were. He also wondered why Gorman had de¬
nied being related to anyone in town. Gorman,
there could be no doubt, was playing a game.
Well, Superman would play it with him!
He had now arrived at the gates of the Lowell
Shipyard. He paused a moment before going in,
122 SUPERMAN
and turned to look back in the direction from
which he had just come. Through his mind
flashed pictures of the Old Man, Tom Gorman,
Barnaby, and Anna the housekeeper—and he
smiled secretly. Then he thought of the troop
train going north that morning, of the thousands
of young men on their way to—who could say?
The smile vanished from his lips.
He turned the handle of the gate, swung it
open, and entered.
 CHAPTER XI

ATTEMPTED MURDER

r HE shipyard hummed like a beehive. Men

hammered and sawed and drilled. Riveters
tossed white-hot bolts of metal through the air
to be caught and driven home in the skeleton
frames of steel ships. Booms swung dangerously
through the air bearing girders, super-structures,
powerful engines that weighed tons. Flat cars
moved in all directions carrying lumber and steel
and aluminum. Here and there men swarmed
123
124 SUPERMAN
over sleek torpedo boats in the last stages of con¬
struction. Activity was everywhere—feverish un¬
ceasing activity!
Kent did not go to see John Lowell directly.
He chose instead to wander about idly, watch¬
ing the men at work, keeping a sharp eye open
for the clues he sought. Already, he found, he
was developing a reporter’s view of things, for
even as he watched the busy picture about him
he tried to put it into words so that it might be
included in his next story to the Daily Planet.
This reminded him that he expected some word
from White on his first story and that he must
make a point of getting back to the telegraph
office before it closed that night.
Moving slowly through the bustling scene
about him, he came at last to the pier on which
so many strange things had happened the night
before. The pier, he now saw, was little used and
quite apart from the work of the shipyard, be¬
ing very old and sadly in need of repair. Hands
in pockets, he strolled out onto it casually, not
wishing to be noticed by the men at work near
by. He wanted to examine the pier carefully and,
 ATTEMPTED MURDER 125
if possible, find a clue that might lead him to a
solution of the mystery of the Skeleton Ship.
The ship had been tied up at the end of the
pier, as he recalled, and it was there he went first.
Having reached the spot, he paused and tried to
figure out what to do next. Had he the slightest
inkling of what lay behind the Skeleton Ship,
he could have acted accordingly, following some
particular line of investigation. The ghostly ap¬
pearance of the Nancy M, however, was a com¬
plete puzzle that offered not even the vaguest of
solutions. Search his mind as he might, he could
find no answer that made sense.
Pondering, he looked out over the channel,
gazing pensively at swirling waters that reflected
the slate-colored sky, as if he expected to find in
them the explanation he sought. Except for a
large sailboat that dipped at a mooring midway
between both shores, the waters of the channel
were disappointingly empty and gave back no
answer to the many questions that filled his
brain.
He examined the pier closely, and the more
unsuccessful his efforts to find some tell-tale sign
126 SUPERMAN
to put him on the right track, the more fantastic
and unbelievable became the incidents of the
night before. Was it really here that he had seen
the Nancy M tied up, a skeleton crew grinning
down at him from her rail? Did the ghost of Cap¬
tain Murdock really walk toward him out of the
fog at this particular spot? Had any of this actual¬
ly happened? Or was it—as he was almost in¬
clined to believe—some nightmare of his own,
some strange twisting of his imagination?
No, he told himself, these things had happened
—and just as there must be a simple explana¬
tion for the vanishing of the Old Man in the
chandler’s shop, so was there a solution to the
mystery of the Skeleton Ship. He had only to
find the right key, the right clue.
Turning to leave the pier, he saw walking to¬
ward him the stocky, gray-haired figure of John
Lowell. Keeping pace with Lowell was a thickset
man who gave one the impression of having been
sprayed from head to waist with a reddish-gold
paint. Flaming red hair topped a broad brick-
red face, and he wore a bright red shirt which,
open at the throat, revealed a thick, florid neck.
 ATTEMPTED MURDER 127
“ Hello!” greeted Lowell as he came up to
where Kent stood. “Any luck?”
“Lm afraid not,” Kent replied. He looked in¬
quiringly at Lowell’s companion, hesitating to
say too much before a stranger. Lowell took the
cue.
“You don’t have to worry about Slade,” he
said. “Red’s my right-hand man here at the
yard.”
Kent smiled in spite of himself.
“I figured you’d be nick-named ‘Red,’ ” he
said. “I guess Mr. Lowell has told you my name.”
“Yeh. Glad t’ know ya,” rejoined Red.
“You can speak freely, Kent,” John Lowell
said. “I have no secrets from Red. Un¬
covered anything?”
Kent shook his head. “Not a thing,” he said,
“that is, nothing of much value.” He was about
to divulge his theory of a connection between
Anna, the housekeeper, and Tom Gorman, then
thought better of it. The information would do
Lowell no good at the moment, and he might as
well keep it to himself.
John Lowell looked worried. “I wish I could
128 SUPERMAN
get to the bottom of this thing quickly,” he said.
“Just look about you, Kent, and you’ll see what
this scare has done to my men—even those work¬
ing on the day shift.”
Kent showed his surprise. “I hadn’t noticed
anything wrong.”
Lowell smiled grimly.
“I know,” he said. “Things probably look
pretty active to you. Well, that’s because you
haven’t seen the yard before, haven’t seen the
men really working. Red can tell you how much
the men are falling down on the job, slowing
up, making more and more mistakes. All because
they’re jittery, Kent—scared to death!”
He looked over the scene for a moment with¬
out saying a word. Then he added: “All we need
here is an accident—one accident—to make those
men throw down their tools and quit for good.”
“Awww, stop worryin’ about accidents, Mr.
Lowell,” Slade said. “There ain’t gonna be none
—don’t worry about that.”
John Lowell shook his head slowly. “I wish I
could be as sure of that as you seem to be, Red,”
he said, “but too many strange things have hap-
 ATTEMPTED MURDER 129
pened around here lately for me to feel safe. I’ve
got a feeling inside that—oh, I don’t know—a
feeling that something may happen at any mo¬
ment. There’s something wrong. The men don’t
seem to be working right. They—look there!”
He pointed to where a heavy boom swung over
the hull of a torpedo boat. Swinging slowly from
the end of it was a huge engine that looked as
though it weighed tons. A man stood below the
engine, jockeying it into place with a guide-rope.
'Took there,” Lowell repeated. “That man's
mind is obviously not on his work or he’d be
standing to one side of that engine instead of
under it!”
“By heaven, ye’re right, Mr. Lowell!” cried
Red. “That there’s a violation o’ the rules I laid
down. Well, we’ll see about this!”
He hurried off to speak to the workman. Kent
and Lowell followed slowly.
Halfway across the yard they passed the hulk
of an old clipper ship tied up at the abandoned
pier, and suddenly Kent saw something that
struck him as unusual. He was about to say some¬
thing to Lowell but decided against it, instinc-
130 SUPERMAN
tively disliking to draw attention to a clue until
he had made something of it. Suddenly he began
fishing through his pockets.
“Lost something?” Lowell asked.
“Yes,” said Kent. “I must have dropped my
spectacle case, though how in the world I could
have done that I don’t know. I’d better go back
and look for it.”
“Ill wait for you here,” Lowell said.
It was exactly what Kent wanted him to do,
for he wished to examine the ancient clipper
ship alone. He began to retrace his steps, only to
stop short as a horrified, blood-curdling scream
split the air. Turning, he grasped the situation
in a flash.
Red Slade, the foreman, was approaching the
man who stood under the mammoth engine,
jockeying it into position. He apparently had
started to give the man a “dressing-down” for
his infraction of the rules, when the thing hap¬
pened. Even as Kent turned, he saw the steel
boom sag in the middle, saw the great engine
come plunging toward the workman beneath.
There was no time for thought. Action was
 ATTEMPTED MURDER 131
needed. Even in his speed Kent noted thankful¬
ly that Lowell’s back was turned toward him.
Faster than a diving fighter-plane, he cleared
the air. Gathering momentum as he sped for¬
ward, he smashed into the mighty engine. He
felt the steel-like muscles of his shoulder sink
into the metal, saw the engine hurtle into the
deep waters of the channel, and with amazing
presence of mind continued on until he swept
out of sight behind a near-by machine shop.
An emergency siren was screaming a some¬
what futile warning, men shouted in panic, and
an ambulance gong was heard in the distance.
The shipyard had become bedlam. And silently,
unnoticed in the excitement, Clark Kent, be¬
spectacled and mild-mannered, stepped from be¬
hind the machine shop and joined the milling
throng.
As he forced his way through the crowd to the
spot where Red Slade and the workman stood,
his quick ears picked up a phrase here, a com¬
ment there.
—a ghost it was!”
“Seen it wid me own eyes!”
Superman felt the steel-like muscles of his shoulder
sink into the metal. (Page 131)
 ATTEMPTED MURDER 133
“-like a streak o’ light. Don't ast me where
it come from!"
“Knocked the engine right into the channel!"
“I'm tellin’ ya, this yard is haunted!"
He reached the side of the two men saved from
certain, horrible death. John Lowell was already
there.
“Kent!" cried Lowell on seeing him. “There
you are! Great heavens, man, did you see it?
The most amazing—most miraculous—!" He
stopped, at a loss for words.
Allayed at once were Kent's fears that any par¬
ticipation in the thing that had just happened
might be traced to him. So swiftly had it all tran¬
spired that no one, apparently, was aware of
what really had taken place. A figure moving so
rapidly that it was nothing but a flash of light
had been seen to streak toward the falling engine
and send it hurtling into the channel. That was
all. No one had the slightest idea who the figure
was, where it had come from, or where it had
gone.
Red Slade and the workman were visibly
shaken by the experience they had just gone
through.
134 SUPERMAN
“Never seen nothin’ like it,” the foreman
blurted. “There was that engine cornin’ straight
down on us. Then somethin’ shot by overhead
and—and we was safe I”
“You sure was lucky, Red,” someone yelled.
“Lucky?” Red surveyed the crowd of men
gathered around, and there was an odd gleam in
his eyes. “Lucky? Who says so? What was that
thing that shot by me? Sure, sure, it saved our
lives—but what was it? It was a ghost, that’s what
it was! This shipyard is haunted!”
“Now hold on, Red-” John Lowell pro¬
tested.
“No, you hold on!” the yard foreman snapped
back. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lowell, but I’ve had
enough. I’ve worked here fourteen years, but I
can’t take no more o’ this! Skeleton Ships appear¬
in’ in the night, ghosts walkin’ along the pier in
the fog, and now this! I’m through, Mr. Lowell
—through!”
“Wait a minute, Red!” Lowell grabbed him
by the arm. “You can’t do this to me! These
men look to you to make their decisions; they
follow your lead. If you walk out now they’ll
walk out with you!”
 ATTEMPTED MURDER 135
“I can't help that," Red retorted. "I'm not
riskin' my neck in no haunted shipyard for no¬
body!"
John Lowell was rapidly losing his temper,
and it became obvious to Kent that the events
of the past few weeks were beginning to tell on
the shipyard owner. Red Slade had shaken
Lowell's restraining hand free of his arm;
Lowell took hold of it again.
"Listen to me, Red—I won't permit this! This
is more than just a job. You’re not working for
me now, you're working for your country. It’s
more than a matter of loyalty—it's a matter of
patriotism!"
Again Slade shook off Lowell's hand.
"I guess I can be just as patriotic in another
shipyard as I can here. I said I’m through. And
lam!"
Turning his back on Lowell, he walked off.
With much muttering, the men began to follow
him, first one by one, then in groups. Lowell,
watching them straggle off toward the exit gate,
said nothing, but there was bitterness in the set
of his mouth—bitterness far more expressive
than any words he might have spoken.
136 SUPERMAN
“It looks,” Kent said absently, ‘‘as if I’ve made
a mess of things!”
John Lowell looked at him in surprise.
‘‘I don't see what you had to do with it. Just
what do you mean, Kent?”
Too late Kent realized he had forgotten him¬
self, almost to the point of revealing that it was
he who had been the ghostly apparition. He
sought quickly for some plausible explanation.
“Well?” Lowell was looking at him queerly.
“What did you mean?”
“Well, just that—that I'm sort of working for
you as a private investigator, also as a reporter
for the Daily Planet, and it—it seems to me I
might have solved this mystery long before now.
All this could have been avoided if I had.”
Lowell's face relaxed. “You're taking your
part in this much too seriously. You’re not to
blame for anything that's happened here, any
more than I am. You know,” he continued, “I
can’t blame Red and the others for walking out.
What was that thing that shot through the air
like a thunderbolt and knocked that engine into
the channel?”
 ATTEMPTED MURDER 137
Kent did not volunteer an answer. Lowell, si¬
lent for a moment, said finally: “Kent, I’ve made
up my mind. I know exactly what I’m going to
do!”
“What is that?”
“I’m going to call in the FBI! I should have
done it long ago!”
Filled with his new resolve, John Lowell
wasted no time but hurried off, leaving Kent
alone to pursue his investigation.
Nor did Kent waste any time. He went at
once to where the broken steel boom lay on the
ground. His suspicions were confirmed in a few
moments. The boom had been tampered with,
the marks clearly showing where someone had
sawed partly through the spot where it had jack¬
knifed, weakening it just enough for the weight
of the engine to do the rest.
Having satisfied himself that the near-tragedy
had been no accident, Kent moved out to the
abandoned pier to investigate the clue he had
noticed a short time before. He paused at the
spot where the ancient clipper ship lay tied
alongside. His eyes sought and found the marks
138 SUPERMAN
he was looking for—traces of fresh scratches on
the deck where, obviously, a gangplank had
rested and rubbed.
Who, Kent asked himself, would want to
board the old clipper? And why?
An easy bound landed him on the deck, and
he proceeded at once to a companionway lead¬
ing down into the ancient ship’s interior. As he
descended the stairs, his nerves began to tingle
with the same sensation he had had the night
before, the feeling that something was about to
happen. At the bottom of the stairs a door
blocked his path. He turned the handle. It was
locked.
4‘Odd,” he said aloud, wondering who could
have locked that door—and why. He could easily
have forced the door, but decided he had better
not; he wanted to leave behind him no signs of
his visit. Whatever lay behind that door, he re¬
minded himself, would be of no use to him with¬
out the person who put it there. He decided to
do nothing now but to board the clipper ship
that night under cover of darkness.
He retraced his steps, regained the pier, and
 ATTEMPTED MURDER 139
was soon on his way into town, headed for the
railroad station. The telegraph office closed at
five, he recalled, and it was rapidly getting on
toward that hour now. He quickened his pace,
not wanting to miss getting a message from
White in case one had arrived.
It had, but it was not the sort of message Clark
Kent expected. He read it over several times to
be sure he did not mistake its meaning. It read
as follows:
YOUR STORY GOOD STOP THINGS SEEM TO

BE DEVELOPING STOP THIS BEING THE

CASE CANNOT TRUST YOU ALONE STOP

AM SENDING EXPERIENCED REPORTER

TO COVER STORY WITH YOU.

Kent smiled wryly. He could not blame Perry

White, yet having another reporter with him
would definitely be a nuisance. Well, he would
have to accept it gracefully since there was,
after all, nothing he could do about it.
He thanked the telegraph operator, stuck the
wire in his pocket, and moved toward the door.
As he did so, there was a sudden rattle and roar
of a train speeding north.
140 SUPERMAN
Kent leaned against the door and watched as
the long train, packed with men in uniform,
rushed past the station and was lost to sight in
the distance. He remained standing there look¬
ing off up the tracks, long after the train had dis¬
appeared. For with the passing of the train, with
the sight of the troops gazing out through the
windows, he had a sudden forewarning of dis¬
aster. He could not say exactly why he had it,
could not pin it down. But the feeling was defi¬
nitely there. And it bothered him.
 CHAPTER XII
ENTER LOIS LANE

I he FOG; a great gray beast, was already

I prowling the streets of the town when Kent,
having had his dinner at a waterfront restaurant,
headed for the Lowell Shipyard again. Night,
because of the fog, was shutting in the town
earlier than usual; it would be sufficiently dark
when he took up his vigil aboard the clipper.
He was still vaguely annoyed by the news that
Perry White was sending another reporter to
141
142 SUPERMAN
cover the mystery of the Skeleton Ship. He re¬
flected, however, that whoever was sent would not
arrive until the following day, and he fully ex¬
pected the mystery to be cleared up that night.
Why he felt that the night would bring him
the solution to the Skeleton Ship riddle he could
not exactly say. Probably the feeling sprang from
the fact that he had at last uncovered an impor¬
tant clue, something definite with which to plan
a course of action. The first thing he would do
on reaching the shipyard would be to go aboard
the old clipper, conceal himself somewhere on
deck, and wait for the person or persons who
were carrying on operations behind the locked
door he had found that afternoon. Whoever
boarded the clipper ship that night would be the
culprit he was after. Once captured, Kent had
no doubt he could force the guilty one to reveal
the explanation of, and the reason for, the Skele¬
ton Ship.
Main Street was empty, for it was the hour
when the people of the town sat at their evening
meal, bathed in the warm light of the dinner
table and sheltered within doors from the cold
 ENTER LOIS LANE 143
and creeping fog. The shops bordering the street
were closed and dark, the only light being an occa¬
sional street lamp that flickered like some giant
yellowish candle through the murk. Kent’s foot¬
steps echoed on the glistening pavement.
Then, suddenly, he heard the vicious whine
of a bullet and a split second later it struck and
flattened itself against his temple.
He pretended to stagger and fall sprawling on
the sidewalk, where he lay waiting for what
might happen next. He did not have to wait
long. Across the street stood Barnaby’s chandlery
shop. A few moments after Kent fell, a beam of
yellow light stabbed the darkness of the street as
the door of the shop swung open. Two men
came out and, peering furtively up and down the
street, hurried over to where he lay. They bent
over him. One was Barnaby, the other young
Tom Gorman.
“We’ve got to work fast,” Barnaby hissed.
“Somebody may have heard the shot!”
“Don’t be more of a fool than you’ve been al¬
ready,” Gorman answered. “You used a silencer,
didn’t you?”
144 SUPERMAN
“Yes, but-”
“Never mind talking!” Gorman said. “Come
on! Give me a hand with him.”
They lifted Kent and carried him into the
shop, placing him on the floor. Then, after clos¬
ing and bolting the door, they stood over him as
they talked.
“Well, you’ve done it, Barnaby!” Gorman
said. “I warned you not to. You know I’ll have to
report this to my superior.”
“I reckon you will,” said Barnaby. Between
cracked eyelids, Kent saw him filling his short
blackened pipe. There was a look of unconcern
on his face, as if murder were a casual thing with
him. Not so Tom Gorman, whose young face was
drawn, his forehead creased with worry.
“To my way of thinking it had to be done,”
Barnaby continued.
“There was to be no killing—I warned you
against that!” Gorman said.
“He knew too much,” Barnaby drawled.
“He’d have ruined your little game before long.”
Gorman’s lips tightened and Kent, watching
him through the slits of his eyes, saw that he
 ENTER LOIS LANE 145
was making a great effort to control his anger.
“Whatever you may have thought,” Gorman
said finally, “you should have left it to me.
That’s why I was sent here, to take care of mat¬
ters such as this.” His tone changed. “Well, the
damage is done now. I’ve got to leave. I can’t
waste any more time.”
“I’ll get rid of the body,” Barnaby said.
Gorman, on his way to the door that led to the
rear of the shop, stopped.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort. Hide it until
I get back—nothing more. I’ll decide what’s to
be done then.”
Barnaby did not answer, merely stared at Gor¬
man as he puffed slowly on his short, black pipe.
Gorman, apparently certain that his command
would be obeyed, continued on into the rear of
the shop. He returned a few moments later,
wearing a trench coat.
“Get the body out of sight quickly,” he said
to Barnaby, “but don’t do anything else until I
return.”
“What about the troop trains?” Barnaby ask¬
ed. “Didn’t ye want me to-?’
146 SUPERMAN
Gorman cut him short. ‘'After the mess you’ve
made here,” he snapped, “I can’t trust you with
anything as important as that.”
“How long will you be?” Barnaby questioned.
“I can’t say. It depends on what happens at
the shipyard.”
He opened the door and was gone into the fog
and the night.
Hurriedly Barnaby set to work, and it became
obvious to Kent at once that he had no intention
of obeying Gorman’s order. First he locked the
door. Then, moving to a pile of rope, he came
back to where Kent lay with a long, stout piece
which he proceeded to knot about Kent’s mid¬
dle. Having knotted the rope securely, he
straightened up and then paused, his eyes nar¬
rowing suddenly. He was looking at Kent’s face.
Was he discovered, Kent wondered? Had
Barnaby caught the gleam of his eyes, perhaps,
as he watched the ship chandler from between
his lashes? It appeared that way, for Barnaby
leaned forward suddenly and peered closely at
Kent’s face. Then he reached forward and
turned Kent’s head from side to side, examining
 ENTER LOIS LANE 147
his temples, and then Kent realized what was
really bothering Barnaby.
The chandler had discovered the absence of
a bullet hole in Kent’s head!
His face a study in bewilderment, Barnaby
went down on one knee beside the prone
figure, staring at the spot where there should
have been a bullet hole. Struck by a sudden
thought, he laid his hand over Kent’s heart.
Then he rose to his feet and there was a strange
look in his eyes as he stared down at the sup¬
posedly dead man.
“Alive!” he muttered. “Well I’ll be-! Bul¬
let must have creased him!”
He hesitated for an instant and then evidently
made up his mind. He moved quickly to one of
the many shelves in the store and, watching him,
Kent saw him unwind and cut a long length of
wire. Returning to where Kent lay, he began at
once to bind the reporter’s hands and feet.
Knowing that he could break the bonds with
ease, Kent almost smiled as he watched the
chandler at work. He wondered, though, what
action he should take. He was not long in mak-
148 SUPERMAN
ing up his mind. It would be far more profitable,
he decided, to do nothing at the moment and be
able to watch Barnaby's movements in the fu¬
ture, than to capture the man now. Barnaby and
Gorman would be sure to have alibis. As for the
attempt upon his life, it would be the word of
an unknown reporter and stranger in the town,
against two others of whom one was a respected
townsman.
His hands and ankles were now completely
bound with wire, and Barnaby dragged him
across the floor to the rear of the shop. Reaching
the small back room where Kent had first seen
young Gorman at work, Barnaby returned to
the front of the shop. He was back shortly, car¬
rying with some difficulty a small but evidently
heavy anchor, which he secured to the wire that
bound Kent's ankles.
If there was any doubt in Kent's mind as to
Barnaby's intention, it was dispelled when the
chandler pulled back a rattan mat that covered
part of the floor and exposed a trap door. To the
reporter’s ears came the sound of water slapping
lazily against wooden pilings. He smiled to him-
 ENTER LOIS LANE 149
self as, with much effort, Barnaby dragged him
and the anchor to the edge of the trap door. In
the next instant he felt himself being pushed
over, and as he fell a distance of about eight feet
to the water he heard Barnaby laugh trium¬
phantly. Then the water closed over his head
and the anchor pulled him straight to the bot¬
tom!
It needed but the slightest flexing of Kent’s
muscles to snap the wires that encircled his
hands and ankles. Then, with amazing speed, he
swam under water until he was sure he had
reached the middle of the river. Not until then
did he come to the surface.
Treading water, he went over his plan of ac¬
tion to be sure it was the right course to follow.
He found no flaws. It was best to let Barnaby—
yes, and Gorman too—think he was dead. When
he thought of Gorman he felt a twinge of re¬
gret. He liked the young man and was sorry to
find that he was on the side of the enemy.
It was pitch dark now and time for him to put
in an appearance on the old clipper ship. Kick¬
ing sharply, he rose from the surface of the dark
150 SUPERMAN
waters and, enclosed in fog, headed for the
Lowell Shipyard, flying low. The fog was thick
but it offered him no difficulty, and in a very
short time he was again standing on the edge of
the abandoned pier.
Despite his swift flight, his clothes were very
wet. Water dripped from them onto the pier and
they clung to his body as if glued there. Yet it
was not the wetness of his clothes, he knew, that
assailed him once again with that feeling of
clammy coldness. He stood motionless for a mo¬
ment trying to feel the mood that swirled, like
the fog, about him. When night shut down over
the pier, when the heavy mists crept in from the
channel, there was something evil, something
malevolent about this pier.
He smiled grimly; whatever was to come, he
was ready for it!
It came quicker than he expected, and the
shock of it was so great that even he—especially
when surprise followed upon surprise that night
—found himself almost at his wits' end.
He had begun to move quietly toward the old
clipper ship, aboard which he intended to keep
 ENTER LOIS LANE 151
his vigil, when a sharp voice said: “Throw up
your hands! I’ve a gun and I know how to use
it!”
It was the voice of a woman. Kent turned
quickly and saw a girl coming toward him out of
the thick blanket of fog. She was wearing a yel¬
low raincoat that revealed a trim, neat figure.
Her face was concealed under the brim of a soft
felt hat. She stopped a few feet from him.
“You heard me,” she said levelly. “Throw up
your hands.”
A bullet from the small automatic she held in
her hand would have had no more effect on
Kent than the touch of a fly. Amused, he de¬
cided to play the game with her and slowly
raised his arms above his head.
“Now,” she said briskly, “we’ll get to the bot¬
tom of a few things. First, who are you and what
are you doing here?”
“I might ask the same of you,” he countered.
“You might,” she replied, “except that I’m
doing the questioning and, if you know what’s
good for you, you’ll do the answering.”
He smiled despite himself. He liked this girl,
152 SUPERMAN
even though she was far from friendly, and her
assurance somehow amused him.
“Well,” she said, “are you going to answer my
questions or not?”
“I might as well,” he said. “My name is Clark
Kent.”
He heard her sudden intake of breath.
“You-” the girl stammered, “Clark Kent!”
It was now his turn to be surprised, for as the
girl spoke his name she lifted her head so that he
could see her face. Now he recognized her. It
was the girl he had first seen in Perry White’s
office—the girl White had called Lois.
“Then you’re the man I came here to re¬
place,” she blurted, and then, realizing she had
said something that obviously would offend, at¬
tempted to go on. “That is—I mean—Mr.
White-”
“I know all about it,” Kent said, coming to
her assistance. “I got Mr. White’s telegram late
this afternoon. How did you get here so quick-
ly?”
“I flew to Belfast and hired a car. Once Perry
White makes up his mind to do a thing he sees
to it that no time is wasted.”
Superman caught the white-hot shell
in his bare hands. (Page 104)
 ENTER LOIS LANE 155
“Obviously/’ Kent murmured. “By the way,
what is your full name; and, now that you’re
here, just what do you plan to do?’’
“My name is Lois Lane,” she said, “and the
first thing I want you to know is that I don’t in¬
tend to get in your way. Mr. White said to tell
you there was really very little wrong with your
story; all it needed was some pointing up in
spots. However, he said he’d feel easier if the
paper had an experienced reporter on the job.”
She paused, searching for words. “I don’t want
you to misunderstand, but the truth is I—well,
I like to work alone. I can always accomplish
more that way. So I’d suggest—that is, if you
don’t mind—that we work separately and then
get together on our stories before sending them
in.”
Mind working alone? He welcomed itl He
was more relieved than he could have told her.
While talking to her he had envisioned all sorts
of complications that might be brought about by
having a girl with him. Still, he did not entirely
like the idea of her working alone. For instance,
it was infinitely more dangerous than she real¬
ized to go prowling about this particular pier at
156 SUPERMAN
night. He knew by this time the caliber of the
men he was dealing with, and he was aware that
they would have no more qualms about killing
Lois Lane than they would about killing anyone
else.
Then there was the Skeleton Ship. The Skele¬
ton Ship with its crew leering down from the
rail was a sight to set the strongest nerves quiv¬
ering. A brief glimpse of it might be enough to
send this girl into hysterics. Also there was Cap¬
tain Joshua Murdock—a skeleton clothed in the
tattered and moldy remnants of clothes more
than a century old—who prowled the pier at
night and who no doubt would make his appear¬
ance before dawn.
No, he decidedly did not like the idea of Lois
Lane investigating matters in the shipyard on
her own. On the other hand, he had a job to do
—a job that had become much more than some¬
thing merely personal. It was linked now with
America’s great war effort, and he knew that
when he was finished, when the case was at last
solved, he would find that the Skeleton Ship had
much to do with the sinking of those tankers off
 ENTER LOIS LANE 157
the coast. But he had to be free to make use of
his amazing powers and abilities as the occasion
demanded. He could not play watchdog to a girl
reporter.
Lois Lane would have to take her chances.
“I don’t mind working alone at all,” he said.
“In fact, I’d prefer it. As you say, we can get to¬
gether on our stories before sending them back
to the paper. Now then, where do we go from
here?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she answered. “In
your story you said the Skeleton Ship appeared
off the end of this pier. I came out tonight to
catch a look at it if it appeared again, so I’m stay¬
ing right here.”
“All right,” he said. “Fve got a couple of
things I want to took into back in the shipyard,
so I’ll leave you here. Pick you up later.”
“By the way-!” She stopped him as he turn¬
ed to go.
“Yes?”
“How did you get out to the end of this pier
in the first place? I’ve been here for more than
an hour and I’m sure you didn’t pass me. I
158 SUPERMAN
only heard you when you were coming back.”
“That’s a funny thing,” he said. “I’ve been
wondering about that myself. I guess we didn’t
see each other because of the fog.”
“I thought of that too,” Lois said, “only it
doesn’t seem possible.”
“Well,” Kent retorted, “I can’t think of any
other answer that would seem possible.” He
looked back over his shoulder as he turned to go.
“See you later,” he called.
Yes, he would see her later, but he had no
idea of the circumstances that would surround
their next meeting. Had he had the vaguest no¬
tion of what was to happen in the next hour, he
would certainly have remained with her.
 CHAPTER XIII
RETURN OF THE SKELETON SHIP

Lf ent was well hidden from Lois, shrouded

I V in the fog, by the time he reached the side
of the old clipper ship. He was aboard in an in¬
stant, and made his way to a large pile of canvas
which he had noticed on deck that afternoon. He
crouched behind the pile, and from this vantage
point was able to keep an eye on the companion-
way leading to the locked door below deck.
159
160 SUPERMAN
Half hidden, listening to the regular moan of
the foghorn in the channel, he let his mind run
over the events of the day. So far as he could re¬
member, it had been the most exciting day of
his life. If the life of a reporter was as thrilling
as this all the time, he told himself, then he cer¬
tainly hoped Perry White would consider him
able enough to give him a permanent job.
Suddenly he remembered what Barnaby had
said about the troop trains, and he was vaguely
troubled. When young Gorman had cautioned
Barnaby to remain at the chandlery shop until
he returned, Barnaby had protested that he was
supposed to do ‘'something’’ in connection with
the troop trains. Gorman had answered that he
would take care of it, that Barnaby could no
longer be trusted. Every time Kent had seen
those troop trains passing through the station,
he had felt an uneasiness, an unfathomable con¬
cern stirring within him. He wished now that he
knew more about those trains and their destina¬
tion. Obviously men were being moved to some
port to be convoyed abroad. But what port? And
when was the convoy due to start overseas? And
 RETURN OF THE SKELETON SHIP 161
what-? His mind could not frame the seem¬
ingly innumerable questions that chased each
other through his brain. He knew only that with¬
in him was a deep and gnawing fear that some¬
thing might happen to those boys—something
which he must prevent if he could.
Suddenly he heard a sound that was foreign
to the fog-bound night. It came sudden and
sharp, and in an instant he had forgotten the past
and was alive only to the present, poised and
waiting for what was now to come. Someone was
coming aboard. As he watched, he saw a dark
shape moving against the gray curtain of the fog.
It came from the pier, crossed a plank laid from
pier to ship, and landed with a muffled thud on
the deck. It did not seem like anything human
at all. It could only be described as a mass of
hunched blackness; and as it slipped silently
across the deck to the companionway, Kent felt
a slight shudder pass through him. It was not a
shudder of fear but an instinctive recoiling
against an evil and unknown thing.
As the shape vanished down the well of the
companionway, Kent began to strip off the dis-
162 SUPERMAN
guise he wore as a mild-mannered reporter.
This, he thought, might well turn out to be a
job for Superman and he intended to be ready
for it. It was as Superman then, magnificent in
blue tights and red cape, that he, too, crossed the
deck of the companionway. He paused at the
head of the stairs and looked down. The door at
the bottom of the stair well was closed, but a
bar of light showing beneath the door indicated
someone was within. Superman descended the
steps.
Reaching the bottom, he paused before the
door and listened. Inside the room someone was
moving about. He heard a chair scrape across the
floor, then the sound of several mysterious
“clicks/’ as if switches of some kind were being
snapped on or off. Then came the one sound
that made everything clear to him—the high
whine of a short-wave radio sender. Someone in
that room was sending a message in code!
His first thought was to burst into the room.
His hand was already on the knob when he
realized the message was undoubtedly going to
an enemy submarine somewhere offshore. He
 RETURN OF THE SKELETON SHIP 163
turned swiftly, leaped up the stairs and regained
the deck. In a moment he was off into the night,
red cloak streaming, traveling with the speed
of a bullet.
What followed happened in the space of min¬
utes.
His ear attuned to the oscillator beam of the
short-wave sender, he followed it straight as an
arrow across the channel and out over the rolling
ocean, his X-ray eyes piercing the blanket of fog
in search of the enemy sub. Suddenly he lost the
beam. He banked with the speed and precision
of a pursuit plane, circling to pick it up again.
Then, as an electric whine in a higher pitch fell
upon his ears, he realized that the clipper ship
had stopped sending and that now he was pick¬
ing up the answering message.
Nothing suited him better! The beam of the
answering oscillator guided him straight and
true, and soon a long whale-like shape in the dis¬
tance told him the enemy sub lay dead ahead.
He hung, poised over the water, gathering his
energies for the task ahead of him. About him
crackled the electric dots and dashes of the
164 SUPERMAN
answering oscillator. Ahead of him lay the sub.
A grim smile creased his lips as, wrapping his
scarlet cape about him, he dove down.
He pierced the murky waters with scarcely a
ripple, and his eyes sought and found the long
gray steel shape below the water-line. Then, with
the speed and precision of a well-aimed torpedo,
he shot forward, gathering momentum as he
moved.
Sweeping under the sub, following her length
till he reached the stern, he forced his shoulders
between the twin propellers and began to push,
sending the underseas craft through the water at
a staggering speed. From within, and from the
open conning tower above, came hoarse and
muffled shouts. He laughed heartily to himself,
picturing the amazed faces of the crew.
It is certain that the submarine crew never
knew what had struck them, but it is certain also
that they tried to do something about it. It be¬
came obvious to them in a short time that they
were being driven toward the shore and captiv¬
ity. Although they had no idea what force was
driving them, they attempted to counteract it by
Superman forced, his shoulders between
the twin propellers. (Page 164)
166 SUPERMAN
immediately reversing the engines at full speed.
The effort was doomed to failure. As the twin
screws spun into action, with Superman wedged
between them, each blade was sheared off as it
struck his body. The submarine and her crew
were now completely at his mercy and it was but
a brief time before he arrived with his cargo in
front of the Coast Guard Station.
He had no need to wait to see what the out¬
come would be. At the first sight of the approach¬
ing sub, a siren began to wail a warning. Great
lights glared out across the wrater, playing up and
down the long gray enemy craft. As he left the
scene, dashing back to where another job still
awaited him aboard the old clipper, he saw a
cutter bearing an armed crew cleaving the water
toward the helpless sub. There was no doubt in
his mind that the men would be captured. He
laughed aloud as he reflected that although they
might answer many a question put to them by
the authorities, they would never be able to
answer the question of how they got to the Coast
Guard Station!
Scarcely five minutes had passed when his feet
 RETURN OF THE SKELETON SHIP 167
again touched the deck of the old clipper. Reach¬
ing the companionway, he looked down into the
well of darkness and was relieved to see the bar
of light still showing beneath the door. His bird
had not yet flown. In fact, it became evident to
him almost at once that the person inside the
room was still trying to get in touch with the sub
whose message had been interrupted, for he
could hear the oscillator key and there was an
urgent note in its whine.
He turned the knob, threw open the door, and
confronted—the Old Man!
He was seated before an elaborate short-wave
sending and receiving set. He turned sharply on
hearing Superman enter, his hand still resting on
the sending key. With a muttered oath, he leapt
to his feet, the movement sending the chair
crashing to the floor.
It must have appeared to him as if a creature
from Mars had burst in upon him, for his eyes,
peering out from under their heavy gray brows,
looked him up and down in stark wonderment.
The Man of Steel stood before him for the first
time, arms akimbo, red cape flaring out behind
168 SUPERMAN
him—and his brain could not believe what his
eyes beheld.
His voice when it came from his throat rasped
with fear and disbelief.
“Who—or what—are you?” he choked.
“That doesn’t matter much, my friend,” said
Superman.
The Old Man had fallen back against the
short-wave apparatus, his hands gripping it for
support. Beads of sweat stood out on his fore¬
head, and his eyes shone with fear. But as Super¬
man stepped toward him, an automatic ap¬
peared as if by magic in the hand of the Old
Man.
“Keep your distance,” he quavered. “Take
another step and I’ll shoot!”
Superman smiled, then broke into a chuckle.
The Old Man might be holding a pea-shooter
for all the good the automatic would do him.
Superman took another step forward.
The Old Man, backing away from the on¬
coming figure in the scarlet cape, pulled the
trigger.
The tiny cabin echoed and re-echoed with the
 RETURN OF THE SKELETON SHIP 169
thunder of the shots as bullet after bullet
bounced off Superman’s chest. As the Man of
Steel reached his antagonist, the Old Man was still
pressing the trigger spasmodically, even though
there was no sound now but the click of the ham¬
mer on empty cartridges. Ripping the gun from
the Old Man’s hand, Superman forced him back
into an open locker and turned the key.
Superman now began to examine the cabin
minutely. A swift glance over the short-wave
sending and receiving set told him it was a pow¬
erful one, capable of sending a signal many hun¬
dreds of miles. In the drawers of a near-by desk
he found charts of the coastline, geodetic maps
of that section of the country, pictures and de¬
signs of coastwise vessels. There were graphs
showing the tonnage of vessels and giving dates
of embarkation. Against some of these were
check marks which Superman soon came to un¬
derstand meant that those particular ships had
been sunk.
His eye suddenly lit on the name of the
Carinthia. Her tonnage as well as her speed were
indicated. Against her name, written in ink.
170 SUPERMAN
were the words: “Possible Troopship—clears
from Maidenhead/’ He thumbed feverishly
through the remainder of the list and came
across six names of ships with similar legends
written beside them. The graphs clutched tight¬
ly in his hand, he stood a moment motionless,
his mind’s eye seeing in retrospect those troop
trains passing through the station on their way
north. He saw too that although he had sunk one
sub and brought another into port there were
many others lurking in the depthless ocean,
waiting to strike-.
Suddenly a scream pierced the darkness and
the fog and found its way into the cabin. It was
a woman’s scream, shrill and unearthly as only
a woman can scream, and he knew at once that
Lois Lane was in trouble!
In a fraction of a second he was on deck.
Another fraction had barely passed before he
reached the pier and was running forward.
Then suddenly he stopped, caught up short
despite himself by a second sight of the dreadful
thing. At the end of the pier, rising and falling
eerily with the tide, was the Skeleton Ship, her
 RETURN OF THE SKELETON SHIP 171
rail lined with a grisly crew. On the pier itself—
his fleshless jaws agape with ghostly mirth—was
Captain Joshua Murdock. And held fast in his
arms, struggling frantically to free herself, was
Lois Lane.
 CHAPTER XIV
THE UNMASKING

C hill and numbing fear would, at that

moment, have shattered the reason of a
lesser man. It was a devil’s brew of a night, and
the “Powers of Evil” were abroad in legion,
screaming through space, dancing on the whirl¬
ing fog, laughing wildly at the Satanic scene that
met the eyes of Superman. Grotesque and gog¬
gle-eyed faces glowed at him through the mists,
voices moaned and shrieked, and glue-like
172
 THE UNMASKING 173
fingers clutched at his legs as he strode forward.
These things did not exist, but he could almost
believe they did, such was the sense of the super¬
natural that overwhelmed him! One stride was
enough to bring him within reach of Captain
Murdock. The captain of the skeleton crew saw
him coming and flung Lois from him, sending
her spinning to the edge of the pier where she
collapsed. And now, free to defend himself, he
awaited the Man of Steel, his death’s-head grin¬
ning evilly through the fog, his crew leering
down from the deck of the ghost-ship behind
him.
Speed and power were behind the fist that
landed on the skeleton’s jaw, and Captain Mur¬
dock dropped limply in his tracks. As his fist
landed against the other’s face, Superman knew
at once that he was dealing with nothing super¬
natural.
Captain Joshua Murdock was made of flesh
and blood.
Yet, staring up at him from the pier was a
skeleton face that glowed phosphorescently
through the murk.
174 SUPERMAN
Phosphorescence—that was it! Superman
reached down and in an instant had snatched
the mask from the man’s face, a mask that bore
the picture of a death’s-head done in luminous
paint! No skeleton, no Captain Murdock, lay
upon the pier now. The prostrate figure was that
of an ordinary man.
And the man was Red Slade!
It cannot be said of Superman that he was
shocked, but if ever he came close to being
shocked it was at that moment. Red Slade was
John Lowell’s foreman, the man whose life he had
saved that afternoon, the one person he would
never have expected to find beneath the skeleton
mask of Captain Murdock. What did it mean?
What connection had the foreman of Lowell’s
shipyard with the web of espionage that was be¬
ing woven out there across many miles of the
broad Atlantic? Even as these questions danced
through his brain the answers presented them¬
selves and he knew, beyond all possibility of
doubt, that Red Slade was a foreign agent. The
Yankee twang which colored the man’s voice,
the rugged simplicity of his manner, all these
 THE UNMASKING 175
meant nothing. Red Slade was the instrument of
evil, the diabolical power responsible for the
sinking of many ships, the loss of many American
lives. Much as his reason fought against it, much
as his brain revolted against the shock. Super¬
man knew it could not be otherwise.
Oddly enough, he felt at this same moment a
certain vague pity for John Lowell. It was more
than unfortunate that a man to whom the future
of America meant so much, to whom the com¬
pletion of the one hundred PT-Torpedo Boats
on schedule was so vital, should be tricked so
easily and so wantonly by an enemy agent. As he
thought this, Superman determined that John
Lowell would not be disappointed, that he
would definitely see his contracts fulfilled on
time.
Slade moaned and began to stir. Superman
smiled as he saw this, realizing in himself a new
power—the power of restraint. One blow of his
mighty fist, its force unchecked, would easily
have killed the man. Superman had consciously
curbed the strength that surged through his arm
as he had struck the blow. He was glad to see
176 SUPERMAN
that the man was now regaining consciousness,
and in a short time as well.
There were a hundred questions he wanted
to ask Slade, and he waited with impatience as
the man slowly regained his senses. His impa¬
tience became the more acute when he remem¬
bered the Old Man locked in the cabin of the
clipper ship and realized that even now he might
be trying to make his escape. From the corner of
his eye he saw too that Lois was beginning to
move and realized that she was a little too close
to the edge of the pier for safety. His senses tuned
to any movement aboard the clipper ship and
any dangerously sudden consciousness on the
part of Lois, he stood over Red Slade waiting for
the man to open his eyes. Slade’s lids fluttered
and he stared up through the fog at the red-
cloaked figure above him. Fear crept into his
eyes; yet as Superman met and held them with
the power of his own he saw their craftiness as
well.
“Get up!” he ordered.
Slade got to his feet. He presented an odd
figure garbed in the clothes of a past century and
 THE UNMASKING 177
divested of the luminous “skeleton-mask.”
There was something incongruous, even foolish,
about the man now that the death’s-head dis¬
guise had been removed, especially as he stood
against the background of the Skeleton Ship it¬
self. The vessel—her broken spars standing gaunt
and stark in the fog, her crew leering insanely
from her rail—was still anchored at the end of
the pier, and that was what made Red Slade
seem foolish. He was now an ordinary man
against the background of the supernatural.
“Well, Slade,” said Superman, “I’m afraid
your little game is finished. I’ve a lot of questions
to ask you, and if you know what’s good for you
you’ll be quick with the answers.”
Slade regarded him with shifty eyes. Although
he knew he was in the presence of a superior be¬
ing, his nerves were strong enough to make him
try to brazen the thing through.
“I don’t know who you are,” he said, “and I
don’t much care. Just one thing, Mister—you
ain’t gettin’ nothin’ outa me.”
Superman smiled, for he knew how easy it
would be to change the other’s mind. He won-
178 SUPERMAN
dered how far he would have to go before Slade
gave him the information he wanted. He de¬
tested pain of any sort and would have spared
the man before him, yet he was determined to
clear up the mystery of the Skeleton Ship as
quickly as possible. He had more than one
reason for this. His chance for a reporter’s job
on the Daily Planet depended a great deal on
the speed with which he secured his story, but
beyond this was something far more important
—the knowledge that the lives of many men were
at stake and that materials of war might go to
the bottom of the Atlantic if he did not work
fast.
“Slade,” he said, “let’s get a few things
straight. You will answer my questions whether
you want to or not. Either you’ll answer them
willingly or I’ll have to use force.”
Slade did not mistake his meaning; the fore¬
man clearly understood what was in store for
him if he did not answer. Despite this, all he said
was, “Well, I told you once I ain’t got nothin’ to
say.”
Superman disliked using the tactics of a bully
but he saw no other way. He grabbed the man’s
Speed and power were behind the fist that landed
on the skeleton s jaw. (Page 173)
 THE UNMASKING 181
wrist, his fingers tightening with a grip of steel.
Sweat broke out on Slade’s forehead and a moan
escaped his lips.
“Now answer me: What is the meaning of the
Skeleton Ship? What is the trick behind it?”
Slade gasped in agony, sweat running in little
rivulets from his forehead. His lips were blue
with pain, but he kept them tightly closed, re¬
fusing to voice the answer Superman must know.
“Answer me!” Superman fought against the
sympathy that welled up within him even for
an enemy; he knew that the agony of his clutch¬
ing grasp would force the man to answer in the
end, and he desperately wished to save him from
further pain.
Slade’s voice was so weak it could hardly be
heard, as he faltered: “I ain’t—sayin’—nothin’!”
There were the tankers, there were the hun¬
dreds of lives lost and those that might be lost,
there were the troop trains moving north. This
man must speak, Superman resolved, must tell
him what he needed to know for the complete
solution of the mystery. He was forced again to
tighten his grip.
182 SUPERMAN
It was at that moment that Lois Lane, who all
this time had been stirring fitfully, regained full
consciousness. From the corner of his eye Super¬
man saw her as she struggled to her feet and
looked wildly about her. One glance was
enough; he knew immediately that the horror
of what she had undergone only a few moments
before still lingered with her. Even as he at¬
tempted to force an answer from Slade, he saw
a shudder go through the girl as she suddenly
caught sight of the specter-ship that loomed
above them through the fog. For a moment she
again seemed on the verge of collapse. Then in
an instant the fear that might have made her run
away became an overpowering desire to come to
grips with the thing that threatened. Something
like a sob and a shriek came from her lips, and
with arms upraised she ran at the Skeleton Ship—
ran at it and through it, it seemed to Superman,
and vanished from his sight. The sound of a
splash told him that she had fallen from the pier
into the treacherous waters of the channel.
He released Slade, who fell at his feet. In a
fraction of a second he was in the water, his pow-
 THE UNMASKING 183
erful arms cleaving a path to where Lois was
struggling frantically. When she was safely in
his grasp he turned again for the pier. In her fear
Lois fought him, beating her small fists against
his chest, striving to escape from his arms. Super¬
man handled her delicately, aware that his pow¬
erful hands and arms might easily bruise her.
Because of this it took him several minutes to get
her back to the pier, holding her gently and
swimming with long easy strokes against the cur¬
rent.
Regaining the pier he put her down carefully
and, having assured himself that she was in no
danger, returned to the spot where he had left
Red Slade. But Slade was gone! Not only that,
but the Skeleton Ship had disappeared as well!
It was as if it had never been there at all. There
was nothing now but the smothering fog, the
empty pier, and the eerie moan of the foghorn
off in the channel.
Even as he thought this Superman was aware
that the clue to the entire mystery lay close at
hand. Things were not the same. Aside from his
unmasking of Red Slade, there was something
184 SUPERMAN
else—something he had learned only in the last
few minutes. Try as he might he could not de¬
termine what it was. It annoyed him. It was
something vital, he knew. Why could he not re¬
call what it was? He must remember—it was im¬
portant. He reviewed the events that had just
taken place. He had seen Lois rush toward and
apparently run through the Skeleton Ship and
fall into the water; he had released Red Slade
and gone to her rescue. Not wishing to frighten
her further he had wasted minutes handling her
gently and had swum back to the pier instead of
flying. During those few minutes something had
happened that he was now trying to remember.
Had he seen something? Had he felt something?
He could not recall.
He was undecided now whether to go in
search of Red Slade or to return to the cabin of
the clipper ship and continue the questioning of
the Old Man which had been interrupted by
Lois' scream. Slade, he knew, could not get far
without being apprehended and he decided the
best course of action would be to return to the
cabin. He must first see to Lois, however, who
 THE UNMASKING 185
was stirring fitfully where she lay on the pier. It
was a matter of a few moments for him to return
to the clipper ship, put on his ordinary clothes
which he had left behind the pile of canvas on
deck, and return to the pier. As Clark Kent, be¬
spectacled and mild-mannered, he approached
Lois, who was now sitting up, looking about her
in a bewildered fashion.
“You!” she exclaimed. “Where have you
been? So many things have happened to me!”
She recounted the story he knew so well—her
first sight of the Skeleton Ship, the approach of
Captain Murdock, her struggle with him, and
all that followed. He listened patiently, anxious
to get this over with that he might return to the
clipper ship.
As Lois finished the account of how she had
been brought safely to the pier in the arms of
some strange being, she fixed Kent with a look
that had in it something of disdain.
“And where were you during all this?” she
inquired.
He understood the meaning of her tone at
once. He had deliberately fashioned the disguise
186 SUPERMAN
of Clark Kent to trick others into believing him
mild-mannered and lacking in courage. During
his first meeting with Lois he had been aware
of her appraising eyes, and he knew that she did
not consider him worthy of admiration. The
tone of her voice now, however, implied more
than a lack of respect; it carried with it a definite
note of pity.
‘‘I was up at the other end of the shipyard,”
he said, “following up several clues. I’m afraid
they didn’t lead to much.”
She smiled. There was pity in the smile too,
and he was aware of what she was thinking. In
her eyes he was not only a rather spineless young
man of little consequence, but a callow and in¬
experienced reporter as well. While he had been
off investigating several tame and inconsequen¬
tial clues which had come to nothing, she had
been living through an experience which she
would not soon forget and which supplied her
with a good deal of colorful material to be woven
into a story for the Daily Planet. So far as Lois
Lane was concerned Clark Kent could hardly be
expected to make the grade as a newspaper re¬
porter.
 THE UNMASKING 187
He smiled inwardly as he said, “I don’t think
there’s much more we can accomplish here to¬
night. I suggest we go on into town. Where are
you staying?”
She mentioned the name of a small hotel on
Main Street, and agreed that there was little
more that they could do. He walked with her to
the gate of the shipyard and then left her to find
her own way to her hotel, explaining that he
would be going on toward his. He waited only
long enough for the fog to hide him from her,
and then, disdaining the gate, leaped over the
barbed-wire fence of the shipyard and again
made his way to the old clipper ship.
He walked to the companionway and was
about to descend the stairs to the cabin below
when he stopped. Voices were raised in argu¬
ment. He paused, listening. One was the voice
of the Old Man, the other a voice familiar to him
which he could not quite place. He listened in¬
tently. The Old Man was saying: “You haven’t
a chance, I tell you. If you try-”
The other answered: “Don’t be a fool. I’ve got
a gun and you haven’t. Do as I say or-All
right, you’re asking for it!”
188 SUPERMAN
A shot rang out through the fog, followed by
another and still another! Even as he heard the
Old Man cry out Clark Kent was leaping down
the stairs.
This had been a night of surprises, but now
he witnessed the biggest surprise of all as he
burst into the cabin. On the floor, holding his
side, and apparently breathing his last, was the
Old Man. Standing in the center of the cabin, a
smoking gun in his hand, was John Lowell!

•+t:.
 CHAPTER XV
SPECIAL INVESTIGATOR

L owell's face reflected a mixture of fear and

annoyance on seeing Kent.
“Kent!” he exclaimed. “Where did you come
from?”
Kent’s gaze shifted from the Old Man on the
floor to Lowell.
“How did this happen?” he questioned.
Lowell’s lips set in sudden grimness.
189
190 SUPERMAN
'‘The dirty spy!” he snapped. “I’ve been
watching him and this cabin for the last two
weeks. I didn’t want to do anything until I could
catch him red-handed. Well, I did tonight. I
came in here and found him sending a message
on the short-wave apparatus. He palled a gun on
me and fired. He missed, thank heaven—but I
didn’t. I got him on the first shot.”
Kent understood what must have happened.
When Lois screamed, he had rushed from the
cabin to help her, leaving the Old Man in the
locker. He had fully expected to return, but
matters had occupied him longer than he ex¬
pected. The Old Man somehow had broken out
of the locker and started to send another message
to the enemy. Then Lowell had come upon him.
It all added up very nicely, all, that is, save
one thing: why hadn’t Lowell told him about
his suspicions concerning the Old Man? Why
had he been so secretive? As these questions
flashed through his mind, they were followed by
yet another: what was it he had seen while swim¬
ming back to the dock with Lois? He had noticed
something, yet could not remember what it was.
 SPECIAL INVESTIGATOR 191
And he had the feeling that it was something
vital.
Lowell was speaking.
“We’ve got to get our spy friend here to a doc¬
tor. One of us ought to stay here, though, in case
any answering messages start coming through.
Do you know how to reach Dr. Carroll’s office?”
“No,” said Kent.
“He’s on Wharf Place just off High Street.
You can’t miss it. Suppose you take this man up
there, while I stay here and wait for anything
that may come through?”
Lowell wanted to get rid of him. Kent was as
sure of that, quite suddenly, as he was of being
Superman. But what was Lowell’s motive? Was
he in league with the enemy? Impossible, since
he had just risked his life to capture the Old
Man. Had he merely made a suggestion, after
all, without any desire whatever to get rid of
Kent? No, for Kent depended completely on his
superior perceptions—and he knew they were
not wrong this time. Lowell did want to get rid
of him. Well, he would pretend to fall in with
the other’s plans, whatever they might be.
192 SUPERMAN
“All right,” he said. “I’ll take him to the doc¬
tor’s and get back here as quickly as I can.”
“Good,” Lowell said. “I’ll be waiting for
you.”
The Old Man had ceased to groan, and lay
quietly on the floor, his hand pressed against his
side. One look at his ashen face was enough to V—'

tell Kent that whatever could be done to save

his life must be done quickly.
He gathered the Old Man into his arms,
moved toward the door, and turned once more
to Lowell.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, and left
the cabin.
Once on deck, he took to the air, and flew with
his burden to the house of the doctor. Wharf
Place was fortunately deserted, and he alighted
gently on the walk. It was a matter of moments
to find the doctor’s house. He rang the bell
urgently.
The door was opened by a short, compact man
with a sharp face surmounted by a thatch of pure
white hair. Gray eyes peered intently at Kent
from behind rimless spectacles.
 SPECIAL INVESTIGATOR 193
“Yes?”
“Are you Doctor Carroll?”
“Yes. Come in.”
The doctor had sized up the situation at once.
Without another word, he led Kent into his
office, where he helped him deposit the Old Man
on an operating table.
“This man's been shot,” Kent said. “He needs
attention badly.”
“Help me get his clothes off,” said the doctor.
“No, don’t bother to unbutton his shirt. Rip it.”
As they worked over him, the Old Man
groaned and opened his eyes. He struggled to
rise and gently they prevented him. Then, for
the first time, he saw Kent.
“Kent,” he murmured weakly. “Where—
where’d you—come from?”
“Don’t talk,” said Kent. “Just take it easy.”
“No! No!” Again he tried to struggle up from
the table. A spasm of pain shot across his face
and he fell back. “Lowell,” he gasped. “Where’s
Lowell?”
“Never mind that now,” said Kent.
“Got to. It’s—important. The convoy-” He
194 SUPERMAN
paused to get his breath, his chest heaving. It
was then that Kent noticed a strange thing. The
Old Man’s face was seamed and lined with the
marks of age, his hair matted and gray. His chest,
on the other hand, was bronzed and muscular
and the hair there was black.
Even Kent was startled. He looked at the Old
Man’s face closely, making use of the keen vision
of Superman. And, for the first time, he saw that
the Old Man was not old at all. The matted gray
hair was a wig, the eyebrows false, the lines and
creases in the face clever make-up.
“Doctor—wait!”
Kent leaned forward and removed the wig
from the Old Man’s head. The doctor gasped.
Kent went on, removing the heavy gray eye¬
brows and, with a towel, the grease paint from
the face. The Old Man did not try to stop him,
but lay unprotesting on the table, breathing
painfully. And when every bit of make-up had
been removed, it was indeed a young man who
lay on the table—a young man Kent knew very
well.
“Sorry I fooled you like this, Kent,” he said,
smiling painfully.
 SPECIAL INVESTIGATOR 195
The doctor interposed.
“I don’t know what’s going on here,” he said,
sharply, “but one thing I do know. I’ve got to
get to work on this man quickly.”
“Wait a minute!”
It was the young man who spoke.
“Kent,” he went on, “listen to me. I know
how things look. You think I’m an enemy agent.
Well, I’m not. Get—get my wallet out of—my
coat.” Kent did so. “There’s a false back to that
wallet—a flap you can lift up. See it?” Kent did.
“Look at those papers.”
Kent examined the papers carefully. The doc¬
tor did not wait for him to finish, but began his
examination of the bullet wound.
“So that’s it,” Kent said finally. “Special In¬
vestigator, eh?”
“That’s right,” said the young man between
gritted teeth.
“Then what about Lowell?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you—
that’s what’s so urgent!” He pushed the doctor
from him. “Listen, and get this straight, because
I’ve got to depend on you. Three hours ago the
biggest troop convoy we’ve sent across the At-
196 SUPERMAN
lantic cleared from Maidenhead. Four troop¬
ships, six destroyers.”
“But you-” Kent began, then stopped.
“Yes? Go on,” the young man said.
“You yourself were sending information to a
submarine when I first found you in the cabin
of the clipper ship!”
“The information I was sending about the
convoy was false. I was giving them a wrong
steer. Lowell’s your man. No, don’t ask ques¬
tions—there’s no time for that. Right now, if I
don’t miss my guess, Lowell’s back in that cabin
working the short-wave for all he’s worth.
There’s a flotilla of enemy subs out there, and
by this time they’ve probably gotten the location
of that convoy. But there may still be a chance.
You’ve got to get to Lowell and stop him if it’s
not too late already!”
It was a long speech for the wounded man,
gasped out rather than spoken, and now he sank
back on the table, his chest heaving painfully.
Kent knew the man on the table spoke the
truth. He was a Special Investigator—his papers
proved that. Disguised as an old man, he had
 SPECIAL INVESTIGATOR 197
uncovered the short-wave apparatus and had
used it to send the sub flotilla in the wrong direc¬
tion. But now, at this very moment, Lowell was
setting them right. For all he knew, during these
very seconds the enemy submarines might be
firing torpedo after torpedo into those troop¬
ships!
He knew what he had to do, his course of
action was clear. He turned to go.
‘Til do what I can,” he said. “By the way, your
name is Tom Gorman, isn’t it?”
The young man smiled through the pain he
was undergoing.
“Sure thing,” he said. And he added, “You’ve
got a lot of questions to ask me, and I’ll be glad
to answer ’em, if I pull through. But that con¬
voy’s the important thing now. So get going!”
There was truth in Tom Gorman’s eyes as
they met those of Clark Kent—truth and strength
and an unwavering faith.
Without a word, Kent departed.
 CHAPTER XVI

UNDERWATER BATTLE

T his was a job for Superman!

Standing outside Dr. Carroll's house in the
fog-bound street, Kent was certain of this. Some¬
where out on the broad Atlantic steamed a con¬
voy carrying thousands of American soldiers.
Lying in wait for that convoy, like sharks lurk¬
ing in the ocean's depths waiting for the kill,
was a flotilla of enemy submarines, prepared to
send those ships to the bottom. Needed here as
198
 UNDERWATER BATTLE 199
never before were the strength, the skill, all the
miraculous powers of Superman!
A glance up and down the street assured him
he was not observed. He stripped off his every¬
day disguise of Clark Kent. Then, red cape
streaming in the wind, he leapt lightly into the
air, heading straight for the old clipper ship.
He landed gently on the deck and, drawing
his cape about him, was down the steps of the
companionway and into the cabin.
John Lowell turned from the short-wave ap¬
paratus as Superman entered. Superman strode
to where he sat, sent him spinning from his
chair with one mighty blow, and with another
smashed the short-wave set into a thousand pieces.
Even as he did so, he heard the sound of shots
and felt bullets striking his back. He turned to
confront Lowell who, from the floor, was empty¬
ing a pistol at him. He could not waste time. He
could divine, from the look on Lowell’s face, that
he was too late—that the submarines even now
were making their way at full speed for the
doomed convoy. He lifted Lowell from the floor
with his left hand.
200 SUPERMAN
“You murderous traitor!”
His fist snapped up against the shipyard
owner’s jaw, and this time he did not pull his
punch. Lowell slumped to the floor without a
word, without a sound.
Lowell disposed of. Superman regained the
deck of the old clipper and, spreading his red
cape, hurtled into the air and out over the roll¬
ing Atlantic. Never had he flown so fast, never
had his eyes peered more keenly in search of
something, never before had he so gathered his
strength for a job that must be done—a job only
Superman could do!
Coursing out across the sky, he saw below him
the broad expanse of the ocean. Through the
night and the fog his eyes searched for the black
shapes of the convoy, searched anxiously, almost
fearfully. He saw nothing, nothing but the black
and frightening water below him.
On he sped, red cape spread to the wind, a
hawk in flight, sharp eyes peering, ever search¬
ing.
He must not be too late. Thousands upon
thousands of lives depended on him. Yet he felt
 UNDERWATER BATTLE 201
desperately that he was too late, that already the
subs had got in their deadly blows, that the con¬
voy even now lay at the bottom of the heaving
surface below him. Again, for some unaccount¬
able reason, the question that had been bother¬
ing him all this time, that had lain at the back
of his mind, came to the fore: What was it he
had seen while swimming back to the pier with
Lois? It seemed ridiculous to think of anything
so inconsequential at a time like this, yet it an¬
noyed him, and perhaps it was not so inconse¬
quential as it seemed.
Then he saw the convoy!
He counted the ships with an anxious heart.
There were ten—and he breathed easier. He
made out the heavy, squat outlines of the troop¬
ships, and the streamlined shapes of the six
destroyers. They were running without lights,
and he saw them only as blacker shapes against
the black of the ocean. He increased his speed.
He reached the convoy and hovered over it
protectingly. On the bridge of each ship below
him he saw figures standing silent and tense, and
he was aware that the men aboard had no idea
Then Superman saw the convoy. (Page 201)
 UNDERWATER BATTLE 203
when or how the enemy might strike, of what
moment might be the last.
The four huge troopships wallowed along,
one behind the other. The six sleek destroyers
guarded them—two in the lead, one on each side,
and two more bringing up the rear. With no
moon to light the ocean, all ten ships looked like
shadowy phantoms.
They were no more phantoms, however, than
were the underwater craft Superman now
spotted ahead and off to the right. He counted
five of them, five long slim shapes lying just be¬
neath the surface. Three lay on one side of the
convoy, two on the other. And into this trap,
unaware of the danger, the convoy was slowly
steaming.
He had long before decided on what he would
do. There was no need now for thought, only
for action.
He shot forward toward the first sub, diving
underwater not ten yards from her stern. As his
terrific speed carried him past the undersea craft,
he reached out and with his left hand ripped off
her rudder. The force of the action swung the
204 SUPERMAN
enemy pigboat around. Now, instead of point¬
ing toward the convoy she pointed away from it,
and, rudderless, was unable to bring herself
again into position.
The first sub rendered useless, Superman
headed for the second, where he performed the
same operation. His keen ears picked up a sound
somewhat like a combined rumbling and hiss¬
ing. Looking backward underwater he saw that
the first sub, using her only chance for safety,
was “blowing” her tanks and coming to the
surface.
He smiled grimly, knowing the second would
be forced to follow suit, and turned his attention
to the third.
Even as he did so, he heard in the distance the
sudden warning shriek of sirens and knew that
the surfacing submarine had been sighted by the
destroyers. As the sirens sounded a shell whined
above him and he struck out for the third sub¬
marine. Too late, he saw a deadly torpedo leave
her mouth and streak through the water on its
way toward one of the troopships.
Quicker than light Superman was after it. He
 UNDERWATER BATTLE 205
shot past it and waited in its path. The torpedo
struck him squarely in the chest, exploding in
a titanic detonation that sent tons of water sky¬
ward. He plowed through the seething and
boiling water, reached sub No. 3, and wrenched
her rudder and propeller free!
And now the ocean depths about him became
a thunderous nightmare. Hardly had he ripped
the rudder from No. 3, when he heard a rum¬
bling above him and, looking upward, saw the
keel of a destroyer pass overhead. Then the
‘‘cans” began to drop all about—depth charges
that exploded with tremendous force! Strong as
he was, he was thrown about dizzily as each depth
charge detonated. He struggled on against the
bubbling, seething water, pitting his strength
against the mighty forces that raged about him!
Another destroyer cut the water above him,
and again he saw the deadly “cans” plummeting
down from the surface. But they were useless
here! Sub No. 4 lay a good quarter of a mile
ahead of him under the surface. He worked fast.
He reached out, grabbed one of the depth
charges, and, treading water, hurled it with all
206 SUPERMAN
his strength toward No. 4. Such was his power,
that even with the force of the water against it
the “can” almost reached the sub before it ex¬
ploded.
He repeated this action again and again. Some
of the depth charges exploded as he laid hands
on them, others as he was in the act of throwing
them, but some reached their mark.
A battered and tom No. 4 sank like a dead
monster into the black depths of the Atlantic.
He turned his attention now to the fifth sub¬
marine—but she was nowhere to be seen, for she
had turned tail and fled.
Superman rose to the surface.
Three of the five enemy submarines lay on
the water, their crews lining the rails. Cutters
loaded with armed U. S. Marines were putting
off from the destroyers and making their way
toward the enemy craft. In a moment or two the
Marines would land, it appeared, and the situa¬
tion was already well in hand.
Hovering in the air above the scene, his great
cloak spread, Superman watched as the sub¬
marines’ crews were taken off, the guns on the
 UNDERWATER BATTLE 207
destroyers blew the underwater marauders out
of the water forever, and the convoy formed
again and steamed eastward.
His eyes followed them out of sight over the
horizon and, as he turned for home, he smiled a
farewell. Then, suddenly, he began to chuckle.
The chuckle became a delighted laugh. The
thing he had been trying to remember, the thing
gnawing all this time at the back of his brain,
had come to him at last. He knew now what it
was he had seen while swimming back to the pier
with Lois.
And he laughed because with that knowledge
came the realization that the mystery of the
Skeleton Ship was solved.
 CHAPTER XVII
ii THE MYSTERY SOLVED

N ow just a second. Let me get a few

things straight.”
The Daily Planet re-write man squashed out
his cigarette in the ash tray on Perry White’s
desk, shifted to a more comfortable position, and
looked at Kent inquiringly.
'‘You mean to tell me,” he went on, “that
that Skeleton Ship was nothing but a moving
picture?”
Kent nodded. “That’s all,” he said.
208
 THE MYSTERY SOLVED 209
“By Harry, I don’t believe it! I won’t believe
it!”
It was Perry White who spoke, rapping the
desk with his fist.
“Kent, you can't tell me that any sane, normal
man could possibly be taken in by such a fake!"
“I didn't say anything about a sane, normal
man," said Kent.
“What’s that? What kind of gibberish are you
talking now?”
“It's not gibberish,” Kent answered. “It's the
truth, Mr. White. Don’t you understand? No
man could remain sane or normal under the con¬
ditions that existed at the Lowell Shipyard. One
of the greatest of human failings is a willingness
to believe what one is told to believe. John
Lowell saw to it that the minds of the men work¬
ing for him were sufficiently conditioned, before
the Captain Murdock business and the Skeleton
Ship was sprung on them. That's why the watch¬
man who first saw the so-called apparition went
out of his mind. He was expecting it, he was filled
with fear of it, and all he needed was a glimpse
of it—just a glimpse—to unbalance him.”
210 SUPERMAN
“How come, if you know so much about it,”
said the re-write man, “you yourself were taken
in by it?”
“I brought the films back with me,” said Kent,
“and I’ll show them to you later. Don’t ask me
how or where Lowell had them made. He
wouldn’t say. But one look at them will show
you how convincing they were, especially when
seen through a veil of fog, and surrounded by
the proper atmosphere of a lonely shipyard at
midnight, with foghorns in the distance, and
all the rest of it.”
“I can see what you mean,” said the re-write
man. “I’ve got imagination.”
“That’s what you’re paid for,” snapped Perry
White. “Stop flattering yourself and get the
facts.”
The re-write man glared and lit another
cigarette.
“Now you say these pictures were shown on
the sail of a sailboat that lay off in the channel?”
“That’s right,” said Kent. “I noticed that sail¬
boat moored in mid-channel a number of times,
but paid no special attention to it. And then-”
 THE MYSTERY SOLVED 211
He paused. He had to explain somehow, yet
he could not tell them that he had seen the sail¬
boat anchored near the pier while swimming
back with Lois that night.
“Yeah, and then—what?’’ It was the re-write
man again.
“Well, it struck me as rather odd that a sail¬
boat should be moored out in the middle of the
channel. I decided to investigate, and did. I
found the motion-picture projector, the batteries
used to run it, and the film—all carefully con¬
cealed, of course—on the boat.”
“All they did, you see,” said Lois, who had
remained silent up to now, “was to bring the
sailboat close to the pier, and, at the right time,
start the projector. And I can tell you, when you
saw that picture in the fog-”
“Quiet, Lois!” snapped Perry White. “This
is Kent’s story. Let him tell it.”
“Well,” said Kent, “that’s about all there is
to tell. I suppose you’d call John Lowell a Quis¬
ling; he was actually working in the interests of
the enemy, while pretending to be a patriotic
citizen. Tom Gorman was sent to the shipyard
212 SUPERMAN
as a Special Investigator because he was a
nephew of Lowell’s housekeeper, and it was felt
he could keep tabs on Lowell through her—
which, of course, was just what he did.”
“What about this guy Barnaby? Why did he
take a shot at you, if he was working with Gor¬
man?”
Kent laughed.
“Barnaby,” he said, “was a little too patriotic.
He suspected I was an enemy agent, and ap¬
parently he needed nothing more than that
suspicion to take the law into his own hands.”
The re-write man scratched his head. “Well,
I guess that covers everything,” he said. “No,
wait a minute. What about that business in the
shipyard when the boom collapsed and those two
birds were almost killed by a falling engine?
Who was behind that?”
“Lowell,” Kent replied. “His yard foreman,
Red Slade, knew too much and he decided to
get rid of him.”
The re-write man scribbled on a sheet of
paper. “Then Slade was in cahoots with
Lowell,” he said.
 THE MYSTERY SOLVED 213
Kent smiled. “I should say that was pretty
obvious since Slade was playing the part of Cap¬
tain Joshua Murdock, skipper of the Skeleton
Ship.” He glanced from the re-write man to
Perry White. “I think I’ve explained the whole
business.”
White leaned forward across the desk and
fixed Kent with a quizzical stare.
“You haven’t explained, Kent, how you man¬
aged to get free of that anchor Barnaby tied to
your ankles when he dropped you through the
trap door. And you haven’t explained how on
several occasions you appear to have been in two
places at once!”
What was he to say? So long as Superman ex¬
isted there would always be things that could
not be explained away.
“Well,” White insisted, “what’s the answer?”
“Yes,” said the re-write man, “and how
about-?”
“Wait a minute!” Kent rose from his chair.
“If you don’t mind, gentlemen and Miss Lane,
I’m—well, I’m pretty tired. I’ve given you the
story you wanted, Mr. White, and I’ve thor-
214 SUPERMAN
oughly covered the important points. The rest
of it you can figure out for yourself. And if you
can’t, I don’t see that it matters much.” He
paused, looking at White. “All I want to know,”
he added, “is whether I’m a full-fledged reporter
now or not.”
White rose from behind his desk. There was
a scowl on his face, and his eyes glinted sharply
through his rimless glasses.
“You certainly are!” he said. “Consider your¬
self one of my staff. There’s just one thing to re¬
member: I’ll hire and fire you a hundred times
before we’re through. Just don’t pay any atten¬
tion to it. That’s me.”
They shook hands.
Lois Lane looked dubious.
“I don’t know how you’ve done what you’ve
done,” she said. “You don’t look the type. But
—well—glad to have you with us.”
She extended her hand and Kent shook it. As
their eyes met for a second, Kent decided that he
liked Lois Lane more than he had thought.
The re-write man scowled.
“There are a lot of fine words floating around
 THE MYSTERY SOLVED 215
this office/’ he said, “but I’m the guy that’s
got to slave over a hot typewriter and get this
story written. Now look, Kent, there are still a
couple of things-”
“Unexplained?” queried Kent. “Well, figure
them out for yourself, old man, figure them out
for yourself.”
X
 \

V
 :st BOOKS
FOR
3 AND GIRLS

JUST AS YOU
REMEMBER THEM

So much has changed in America

since The Adventures of Superman was
first published in 1942. Most read¬
ers will be delighted with the return
of this long out-of-print book, a few
will wonder why we just don’t let it
disappear. The Adventures ofSuperman
is not only an enjoyable story of a
great comic book super hero, but it
is also a part of our American her¬
itage and history This book is a
window on our past.
For these reasons, Applewood
Books is pleased to present The
Adventures of Superman just as it was
originally published, with no edito¬
rial changes except the addition of
a new informative introduction by
Roger Stern.

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The Hardy Boys® Mystery Stories

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* ^olewood Books
jrs of America’s Living Past
rd, Massachusetts
A CLASSIC BOOK FOR MODERN KIDS

Originally published in 1942, The Adventures of

Superman was the first full-length novel ever about
the world's first and most enduring comic book
super hero. A rare and highly
sought after collector's item
today, the book has long been out
of print. Our facsimile is an exact
reproduction of the original with
the addition of a new introduc-
tio by best-selling Superman comic /
book writer and novelist Roger Stern.
This bo< >k recounts the story of Superman’s
origin—how he came to earth, how he became
Clark Kent, how he went to work for the Daily
Planet, etc.—before pitting the Man of Steel
against an original new villain (traitor John
Lowell) in the “Mystery of the Skeleton Ship.”
Wonderfully illustrated by Superman co-creator
Joe Shuster, the book features four full-page color
illustrations, six full-page black-and-white draw¬
ings, and many black-and-white figure sketches of
Superman in action.
ISBN 1-55709-228-1
795>

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