Read Online The Avenger 17 - Nevlo by Kenneth Robeson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kenneth Robeson
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concealing his face.
The man wandered out the street door. There, he looked at a watch on his wrist and began to hurry a little. Behind him, a huge shadow detached itself from the gloom of a doorway and began to follow.
The man didn’t go to a car, nor did he call a cab. He went on foot into the fringe of the city—a very dirty, poverty-stricken fringe where the lighting wasn’t very good and where few pedestrians showed on the sidewalks.
It was the kind of spot where the cops tend to walk in pairs instead of patrolling alone.
The man went to a dark and dingy house at the blind end of a particularly malodorous street. Not a light showed at any window of the place, but when the man knocked lightly at a scarred door, the door was promptly opened.
He disappeared within, and Smitty drew closer.
That there was light within the place seemed evident; it was improbable that the occupant who had opened the door for the Marville visitor would be sitting around in pitch darkness.
Nevertheless, Smitty had made the circuit of every downstairs window without seeing a streak of light, so cleverly was inside illumination concealed, and without getting any other sign that the place was not deserted, before he got a hint of habitation.
A faint sound came to him from a basement window in the rear.
There was a rear yard, piled high with refuse. The giant crouched behind a rotten packing case next to the basement opening. Again the slight sound came to him. It was the sound of a voice, too indistinct for words to be made out.
The window was old and out of repair, like all the rest of the place. It was broken, and a rag had been stuffed into a small chink. Smitty very cautiously pulled the rag out, and found himself looking at a dark blanket. He slit an inch-long opening in that.
The basement was as dirty and unkempt as the yard. Among the tin cans and broken old furniture five or six men were standing. They were all looking at one spot.
Widening the slit in the blanket a little with his knife blade, so that he could see, too, Smitty looked in the same direction.
On a rough pallet of dirty blankets and burlap lay a girl. And at sight of her face, Smitty shut his teeth hard to restrain a betraying exclamation.
He had seen the girl before, recently, at General Hospital in New York.
For the girl was Janet Weems!
Smitty swore silently but fervidly. Janet was still in a daze. That was plain from her eyes; they still had the blank look they’d held at the hospital.
She must have been boldly snatched from the hospital and flown up here to Portland. Why she had been brought here instead of being killed, Smitty could not guess. And he didn’t care. There was only one thing to think about. That was how to get her out of the place.
There were half a dozen men in the basement and no telling how many in the upstairs rooms of the place. But Smitty hunched his huge shoulders and prepared to go into action in spite of the odds. He paused only long enough to whisper into his belt radio the report to The Avenger.
CHAPTER IX
Wings in the Night
The Avenger had shot from the top of the falling radio tower like a bird. A bird without wings.
He proceeded to remedy that at once.
He had perfected the world’s most compact parachute some months before. Its bulk was unbelievably tiny. It was made of transparent stuff no thicker than the cellophane on a cigarette package. It greatly resembled cellophane, as a matter of fact, but its tensile strength was such that even Smitty couldn’t take a sheet of it and rip it in his vast hands.
Folded, the parachute could rest in a flat pack under a man’s coat and not be noticeable unless you knew about its being there.
The Avenger owed his life to methodical precautions, as well as to marvelous skill with hands and brain. One instance of his precaution was never to go up in a plane, no matter how short the hop or for what purpose, without wearing one of these little ’chutes.
He had put one on before
The man wandered out the street door. There, he looked at a watch on his wrist and began to hurry a little. Behind him, a huge shadow detached itself from the gloom of a doorway and began to follow.
The man didn’t go to a car, nor did he call a cab. He went on foot into the fringe of the city—a very dirty, poverty-stricken fringe where the lighting wasn’t very good and where few pedestrians showed on the sidewalks.
It was the kind of spot where the cops tend to walk in pairs instead of patrolling alone.
The man went to a dark and dingy house at the blind end of a particularly malodorous street. Not a light showed at any window of the place, but when the man knocked lightly at a scarred door, the door was promptly opened.
He disappeared within, and Smitty drew closer.
That there was light within the place seemed evident; it was improbable that the occupant who had opened the door for the Marville visitor would be sitting around in pitch darkness.
Nevertheless, Smitty had made the circuit of every downstairs window without seeing a streak of light, so cleverly was inside illumination concealed, and without getting any other sign that the place was not deserted, before he got a hint of habitation.
A faint sound came to him from a basement window in the rear.
There was a rear yard, piled high with refuse. The giant crouched behind a rotten packing case next to the basement opening. Again the slight sound came to him. It was the sound of a voice, too indistinct for words to be made out.
The window was old and out of repair, like all the rest of the place. It was broken, and a rag had been stuffed into a small chink. Smitty very cautiously pulled the rag out, and found himself looking at a dark blanket. He slit an inch-long opening in that.
The basement was as dirty and unkempt as the yard. Among the tin cans and broken old furniture five or six men were standing. They were all looking at one spot.
Widening the slit in the blanket a little with his knife blade, so that he could see, too, Smitty looked in the same direction.
On a rough pallet of dirty blankets and burlap lay a girl. And at sight of her face, Smitty shut his teeth hard to restrain a betraying exclamation.
He had seen the girl before, recently, at General Hospital in New York.
For the girl was Janet Weems!
Smitty swore silently but fervidly. Janet was still in a daze. That was plain from her eyes; they still had the blank look they’d held at the hospital.
She must have been boldly snatched from the hospital and flown up here to Portland. Why she had been brought here instead of being killed, Smitty could not guess. And he didn’t care. There was only one thing to think about. That was how to get her out of the place.
There were half a dozen men in the basement and no telling how many in the upstairs rooms of the place. But Smitty hunched his huge shoulders and prepared to go into action in spite of the odds. He paused only long enough to whisper into his belt radio the report to The Avenger.
CHAPTER IX
Wings in the Night
The Avenger had shot from the top of the falling radio tower like a bird. A bird without wings.
He proceeded to remedy that at once.
He had perfected the world’s most compact parachute some months before. Its bulk was unbelievably tiny. It was made of transparent stuff no thicker than the cellophane on a cigarette package. It greatly resembled cellophane, as a matter of fact, but its tensile strength was such that even Smitty couldn’t take a sheet of it and rip it in his vast hands.
Folded, the parachute could rest in a flat pack under a man’s coat and not be noticeable unless you knew about its being there.
The Avenger owed his life to methodical precautions, as well as to marvelous skill with hands and brain. One instance of his precaution was never to go up in a plane, no matter how short the hop or for what purpose, without wearing one of these little ’chutes.
He had put one on before
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