Read Online The Avenger 21 - The Happy Killers by Kenneth Robeson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kenneth Robeson
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batch of some kind of stuff a very short time ago. This beaker proves it.”
Josh handed a thin glass vessel with a pouring lip to The Avenger. There was a whitish film in the bottom, and the film was still just a little moist. The film went two thirds of the way up the side, proving that quite a large batch of the stuff—whatever it was—had been made.
The Avenger took a small vial from a pocket, to scrape a sample of the film into it for future analysis. Josh smiled and gave him a vial already prepared.
“Would that be a batch of this laughing stuff he’d made up and gone away with?” wondered Mac.
“Probably,” Benson said. “But what seems to be completely without explanation is—why he made it up at all.”
Mac didn’t see where this made any difference, but he didn’t say so. The Avenger was intensely interested in the fact—the glow of his pale, icy eyes revealed that—and that was enough for the Scotchman.
There was a commotion outside, and Mac looked out the dormer window through which Tate had climbed to escape. It faced the street, and he could see the lights of a car coming up the drive. Then there was the sound of the downstairs door being opened, and the sound of voices.
“That’s Brown,” said The Avenger.
He went out and downstairs.
In the hall, Brown was talking to the detective and looking surprised, confused and a little angry.
“I was stopped at my gate,” he said. “Three men out there searched my car. There seem to be men all over the grounds looking for something. What’s the idea?”
The detective opened his mouth to tell Brown what the men were searching for, but The Avenger cut in smoothly.
“Do you mind? I’d like to have a few words with Mr. Brown.”
The detective nodded, and Benson preceded Brown into the fateful library from which the equally fateful contents of that safe had been taken.
“There are men around,” he began, “because Tate has left here, secretly, and without police permission. They’re trying to pick up his trail.”
“Tate left?” said Brown. “The young idiot! That will make him look guilty of this.”
“Are you quite sure he had no hand in this robbery?”
“I know he didn’t!” Brown checked himself. “Of course, I’m sure. He . . . he just wouldn’t do a thing like that,” he concluded lamely.
The Avenger looked satisfied with the answer. “You have no idea where he would go?”
“None at all,” Brown said quickly.
Dick’s colorless, glacial eyes looked deep into Brown’s, to the latter’s obvious discomfort. The pupils of Brown’s eyes didn’t seem quite normal.
“Well,” The Avenger said quietly, “it wasn’t about Tate that I really wanted to see you. I wanted to speak about your daughter. I have reason to believe she is in deadly danger.”
He told in a few words about the trip out to Long Island. Edna had said she could lead them to the hiding place of the loot. There had been trouble, no loot, and the girl seemed to have been kidnapped.
Brown’s face slowly drained of all blood. It got as white as paper. He moistened his lips, and when he spoke his voice had a dry, croaking sound. But his words were astounding.
“I don’t know what silly idea she had in her head when she led you out there, Mr. Benson. And I don’t know whom she went away with, but she’s safe now.”
“You’re sure?” said Benson.
“Yes. I . . . I just talked to her. Just before I came home. She is perfectly all right.”
The Avenger nodded. “Thank you,” he said.
Brown went up to his room, and Benson got Mac and Josh.
“Josh,” he said, “I believe Brown may leave here in a few minutes. I want to have him trailed. He may be in a hurry. Don’t lose him!”
The Avenger turned to Mac. “I think we’ve gotten about all we can here.”
They got into the car again, and The Avenger went to the home of a friend of his about ten miles away. The man with the awesome, pale eyes had thousands of friends, in all walks
Josh handed a thin glass vessel with a pouring lip to The Avenger. There was a whitish film in the bottom, and the film was still just a little moist. The film went two thirds of the way up the side, proving that quite a large batch of the stuff—whatever it was—had been made.
The Avenger took a small vial from a pocket, to scrape a sample of the film into it for future analysis. Josh smiled and gave him a vial already prepared.
“Would that be a batch of this laughing stuff he’d made up and gone away with?” wondered Mac.
“Probably,” Benson said. “But what seems to be completely without explanation is—why he made it up at all.”
Mac didn’t see where this made any difference, but he didn’t say so. The Avenger was intensely interested in the fact—the glow of his pale, icy eyes revealed that—and that was enough for the Scotchman.
There was a commotion outside, and Mac looked out the dormer window through which Tate had climbed to escape. It faced the street, and he could see the lights of a car coming up the drive. Then there was the sound of the downstairs door being opened, and the sound of voices.
“That’s Brown,” said The Avenger.
He went out and downstairs.
In the hall, Brown was talking to the detective and looking surprised, confused and a little angry.
“I was stopped at my gate,” he said. “Three men out there searched my car. There seem to be men all over the grounds looking for something. What’s the idea?”
The detective opened his mouth to tell Brown what the men were searching for, but The Avenger cut in smoothly.
“Do you mind? I’d like to have a few words with Mr. Brown.”
The detective nodded, and Benson preceded Brown into the fateful library from which the equally fateful contents of that safe had been taken.
“There are men around,” he began, “because Tate has left here, secretly, and without police permission. They’re trying to pick up his trail.”
“Tate left?” said Brown. “The young idiot! That will make him look guilty of this.”
“Are you quite sure he had no hand in this robbery?”
“I know he didn’t!” Brown checked himself. “Of course, I’m sure. He . . . he just wouldn’t do a thing like that,” he concluded lamely.
The Avenger looked satisfied with the answer. “You have no idea where he would go?”
“None at all,” Brown said quickly.
Dick’s colorless, glacial eyes looked deep into Brown’s, to the latter’s obvious discomfort. The pupils of Brown’s eyes didn’t seem quite normal.
“Well,” The Avenger said quietly, “it wasn’t about Tate that I really wanted to see you. I wanted to speak about your daughter. I have reason to believe she is in deadly danger.”
He told in a few words about the trip out to Long Island. Edna had said she could lead them to the hiding place of the loot. There had been trouble, no loot, and the girl seemed to have been kidnapped.
Brown’s face slowly drained of all blood. It got as white as paper. He moistened his lips, and when he spoke his voice had a dry, croaking sound. But his words were astounding.
“I don’t know what silly idea she had in her head when she led you out there, Mr. Benson. And I don’t know whom she went away with, but she’s safe now.”
“You’re sure?” said Benson.
“Yes. I . . . I just talked to her. Just before I came home. She is perfectly all right.”
The Avenger nodded. “Thank you,” he said.
Brown went up to his room, and Benson got Mac and Josh.
“Josh,” he said, “I believe Brown may leave here in a few minutes. I want to have him trailed. He may be in a hurry. Don’t lose him!”
The Avenger turned to Mac. “I think we’ve gotten about all we can here.”
They got into the car again, and The Avenger went to the home of a friend of his about ten miles away. The man with the awesome, pale eyes had thousands of friends, in all walks
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