Read Online The Avenger 31 - The Cartoon Crimes by Kenneth Robeson - Free Book Online Page A

they’re gone by this time,” said Benson.
    “Gone?” said Josh.
    “I planted a tracking bug on the older gentleman’s coat,” explained the Avenger. “With any luck, he’ll lead us to their real headquarters.”

CHAPTER XV

“Can You Beat That?”
    Fog came spilling out of the trees that lined the twisted road. It swirled around the car, blotting the headlight beams. The world got smaller and smaller, until it was only a few cubic feet of mist that seemed to float along with them.
    Smitty had taken over the driving a few miles back. He scrunched his neck even more, gripped the steering wheel tighter, and slowed down. “The paper was right,” he said.
    “About what?”
    “Weather report predicted patches of fog for tonight,” said the giant. “And this sure is some patch.”
    “Bothers you?”
    “I never much like fog, makes me feel like somebody’s trying to wrap me up in a fuzzy shroud.”
    “Seems sort of snug to me, and peaceful.” Nellie had her legs tucked under her on the passenger seat. “When I was a little girl I always . . . but that’s not pertinent to the matter at hand.”
    A puff of wind sent a billow of fog charging along the road at them. Smitty eased up on the gas again. “I don’t mind hearing about you when you were a kid, Nellie.”
    The tracking device resting in the palm of the girl’s hand began a faint binging.
    “We must be just about there,” said Smitty.
    “The question being . . . where is there?”
    “We’ve kept close to the Sound.” He squinted, thrusting his head closer to the windshield. “We should be pretty near the water still.”
    For a few seconds a road sign became visible on their right. “Cold Harbor,” read Nellie.
    “Huh, that’s a funny coincidence.”
    “What?”
    “Cold Harbor is where that freckle-faced guy Harmon lives. He mentioned it when we were talking, told me there was a good Italian restaurant around here.”
    “End of the paved road,” said Nellie.
    Gravel rat-tatted against the underside of the car.
    “Geeze, it sounds like we got the drum and bugle corps marching in front of us.” He gave the wheel a twist, swinging their automobile off onto the gritty shoulder of the road. “Better leave this crate here.”
    “According to this invention of yours, we’re practically on top of our quarry.”
    Nodding, Smitty got quietly out of the car and came around to the girl’s side. There were spiky tufts of grass dotting the sandy ground that surrounded them.
    Nellie joined him out in the foggy early morning.
    They moved, side by side, a few yards forward. Smitty got himself stopped just short of walking into a wooden sign nailed to a planted pole.
    He slid out his flashlight and turned it on up close to the sign. Welcome to Story Book Beach! 60 Elegant Beach Front Homes! 1 and 2 Bedrooms! The Most Exciting New Community of 1938! Starting at $1200!
    “An old sign,” concluded Nellie.
    Snapping off the light, Smitty said, “Probably never even built all sixty of them dream houses.” He scowled, scratching his head. “That Harmon guy’s got a little house here on this beach. Told me it was called Casa Cervantes.”
    “ Don Quixote must have been one of the story books the Story Book people had in mind.”
    “Can you beat that?” said the giant. “Wayne Harmon must be mixed up in this business.”
    “We haven’t actually followed the tracker right up to our man’s door,” reminded Nellie. “Maybe the palooka we want lives in Bleak House or The House of Seven Gables.”
    “Naw, it’s got to be—” He propelled himself sideways, knocking her over.
    The wind had blown some of the fog up and away, as though a curtain had all at once been pulled aside. In the clear spot Smitty had seen a man crouching, a freckled young man holding a shotgun.
    The shotgun roared now, and pellets went eating through the thick fog.
    Flat out on the ground beside the girl, Smitty said, “It’s Harmon, sure enough.”
    “Wayne Harmon and