Read Online The Avenger 20 - The Green Killer by Kenneth Robeson - Free Book Online
Authors: Kenneth Robeson
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gloomily.
The Scot was the worst pessimist alive, except when circumstances would warrant pessimism. Then, when it looked inevitable that death or disaster should overtake them, Mac became so illogically cheerful that the rest wanted to crown him.
Dick didn’t answer. He said, “They’ve probably started already. We’ll take the big amphibian.”
“All of us?” Josh asked hopefully.
“Your head isn’t in shape for possible trouble,” Dick said, looking at the Negro’s bandaged skull. “You and Rosabel stay here. Smitty, you and Nellie and Mac will come. And the girl.”
“The girl?” said Nellie incredulously. “Why, she’d be just dead weight. She doesn’t know what it’s all about. Wouldn’t it be best to come back for her?”
“With luck,” The Avenger said, “we may not have to come back for her.”
They went for the plane. On the way, Nellie murmured to Smitty:
“I don’t quite get this. Why is the chief so certain that Heber has already been captured? Why is he so sure Heber will give in to that gang of cutthroats and consent to guide them to the radium field? How can he feel there is more than a hundred-to-one chance of locating the gang’s plane in all the empty sky over the Gulf of Mexico? And why is he taking the girl with us?”
“Ask the chief,” Smitty said sardonically.
Naturally, Nellie had no idea of doing that. When The Avenger was ready to tell why he did certain things, he told, and not before. If you asked him, he would say nothing. If you persisted, the calm, cold eyes would swing on you—and you would be quiet.
The big plane Benson referred to was a twelve-ton army type with two two-thousand-horsepower motors and a top speed that no one yet had been allowed to clock. The speed was sixty miles better than when it had left the factory, however, due to a revolutionary type of supercharger which The Avenger had devised, and plans for which were in the vaults of the War Department, now.
The Avenger took the controls. He swung south and a bit west. And he flew high. Thirty thousand feet. Then he set the robot control and began opening a crate which the rest had noticed when they entered.
He put together a thing that looked like a double gramophone, of the old-fashioned kind, with four oversized horns on it. Assembled, it filled the central part of the cabin.
“A sound detector,” said Smitty, staring at the horns and the complicated mess of amplifying tubes in the center. “But I’ve never seen one quite like that before.”
“It’s new,” said Benson.
“Yours?”
“Yes. It is particularly sensitive, but it’s a little better than previous types because you can tune out any noise you please. Such as your own motor and air-friction noise.”
Mac whistled. “I’ll say it’s better than previous types! If you can do that, you can cut out your own plane noise, and listen for other planes. And at a high altitude—”
“At thirty thousand feet,” said The Avenger, “we should hear another plane at a distance of more than four hundred miles. Unless its motor speed by chance is so closely synchronized with our own that it could not be tuned in as separate sound. To avoid that slight chance, we will cut off our motors at regular intervals and listen for the gang’s plane.”
Smitty looked at Nellie. One of the little blonde’s questions, at least, was answered—how The Avenger hoped to spot a plane in “all that empty sky over the Gulf of Mexico.”
The big ship, with The Avenger’s supercharger, was knifing along at least four hundred miles an hour. Even so, it is quite a distance from New York to Florida. There were a few hours with not much to do. In that time, Nellie reflected, looking around, that Benson had enough supplies in here to do the lot of them for a couple of weeks.
The supplies put the accent on tropical demand. There were sun helmets, back pads, specially canned foods for equatorial heat.
Mac spoke suddenly.
“There’s been a
The Scot was the worst pessimist alive, except when circumstances would warrant pessimism. Then, when it looked inevitable that death or disaster should overtake them, Mac became so illogically cheerful that the rest wanted to crown him.
Dick didn’t answer. He said, “They’ve probably started already. We’ll take the big amphibian.”
“All of us?” Josh asked hopefully.
“Your head isn’t in shape for possible trouble,” Dick said, looking at the Negro’s bandaged skull. “You and Rosabel stay here. Smitty, you and Nellie and Mac will come. And the girl.”
“The girl?” said Nellie incredulously. “Why, she’d be just dead weight. She doesn’t know what it’s all about. Wouldn’t it be best to come back for her?”
“With luck,” The Avenger said, “we may not have to come back for her.”
They went for the plane. On the way, Nellie murmured to Smitty:
“I don’t quite get this. Why is the chief so certain that Heber has already been captured? Why is he so sure Heber will give in to that gang of cutthroats and consent to guide them to the radium field? How can he feel there is more than a hundred-to-one chance of locating the gang’s plane in all the empty sky over the Gulf of Mexico? And why is he taking the girl with us?”
“Ask the chief,” Smitty said sardonically.
Naturally, Nellie had no idea of doing that. When The Avenger was ready to tell why he did certain things, he told, and not before. If you asked him, he would say nothing. If you persisted, the calm, cold eyes would swing on you—and you would be quiet.
The big plane Benson referred to was a twelve-ton army type with two two-thousand-horsepower motors and a top speed that no one yet had been allowed to clock. The speed was sixty miles better than when it had left the factory, however, due to a revolutionary type of supercharger which The Avenger had devised, and plans for which were in the vaults of the War Department, now.
The Avenger took the controls. He swung south and a bit west. And he flew high. Thirty thousand feet. Then he set the robot control and began opening a crate which the rest had noticed when they entered.
He put together a thing that looked like a double gramophone, of the old-fashioned kind, with four oversized horns on it. Assembled, it filled the central part of the cabin.
“A sound detector,” said Smitty, staring at the horns and the complicated mess of amplifying tubes in the center. “But I’ve never seen one quite like that before.”
“It’s new,” said Benson.
“Yours?”
“Yes. It is particularly sensitive, but it’s a little better than previous types because you can tune out any noise you please. Such as your own motor and air-friction noise.”
Mac whistled. “I’ll say it’s better than previous types! If you can do that, you can cut out your own plane noise, and listen for other planes. And at a high altitude—”
“At thirty thousand feet,” said The Avenger, “we should hear another plane at a distance of more than four hundred miles. Unless its motor speed by chance is so closely synchronized with our own that it could not be tuned in as separate sound. To avoid that slight chance, we will cut off our motors at regular intervals and listen for the gang’s plane.”
Smitty looked at Nellie. One of the little blonde’s questions, at least, was answered—how The Avenger hoped to spot a plane in “all that empty sky over the Gulf of Mexico.”
The big ship, with The Avenger’s supercharger, was knifing along at least four hundred miles an hour. Even so, it is quite a distance from New York to Florida. There were a few hours with not much to do. In that time, Nellie reflected, looking around, that Benson had enough supplies in here to do the lot of them for a couple of weeks.
The supplies put the accent on tropical demand. There were sun helmets, back pads, specially canned foods for equatorial heat.
Mac spoke suddenly.
“There’s been a
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