Read Online The Avenger 35 - The Iron Skull by Kenneth Robeson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kenneth Robeson
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doesn’t have chains, either.”
“Well, let’s hope . . . oh, oh!”
Nevin’s car had abruptly lost its traction. It went sluicing from one side of the snow-banked road to the other. The bumper slammed into a drift on the wrong side of the road, and then the car went wobbling backwards out onto the road again.
Very deftly Nellie slowed their own car. “This bird had better stay alive long enough to get where he’s going.”
Apparently Nevins had slammed on his brakes. The car began to spin, then went rattling over to the right-hand side of the road. It seemed to jump off the roadway and dive nose foremost into a tree.
There was a very loud crumpling crash. The front of the sedan smashed in. The hood flaps opened and flapped like the wings of a huge dying bird.
“Drat!” said Nellie. She pulled their car up to the side of the road about ten feet from the wrecked Nevins.
The Avenger was out and running.
Nevins was leaning against the steering wheel, forehead bleeding. “How am I going to explain this?” he was mumbling, dazed. “He’ll say it’s . . . a failure . . . he’ll kill me for certain . . . how am I going to . . .”
Benson gently eased him off the steering wheel. Swiftly he checked the man for serious injuries. Except for the gash on the forehead, the plump man was not hurt. “You’ll be all right,” Benson told him.
“Car just started skidding . . . roller coaster,” said Nevins, his eyes not quite focusing.
“How is he?” asked Nellie from the road. “This jalopy of his has breathed its last.”
“Nothing seriously wrong with him.”
“But there’s sure as heck something seriously wrong with this buggy of his.”
“. . . he’ll kill me for this . . .”
From his pocket the Avenger took a small glass capsule. He held it under the man’s nose and broke it open.
“. . . you a doctor?”
“More or less.”
“. . . this smelling salts?”
“Not quite.”
The capsule contained truth gas.
“Outrageous,” bellowed Dr. Steinbrunner. “What are you here for, you lumbering hulk? To rob us in our beds, to steal my silver, to raid my drug cabinets?”
“Do I have a choice?” asked Smitty as the belligerent doctor urged him out of the garage with a .38 revolver.
“Fine state of affairs, a fine how-do-you-do.” Steinbrunner was about fifty, wearing a red mackinaw over his white medical jacket. “I’m going to have the authorities down on your head, you hulking nonentity.”
“Naw, you ain’t about to do that, doc.”
Steinbrunner stopped on a cinder path that led to the rear door of his hospital. “Turn around and explain yourself.”
Smitty halted next to a tall snow-laden tree. Facing the fat doctor, he said, “You don’t want the cops nosing around. Not with the kind of company you been having of late.”
“I sense you’re making some kind of veiled threat, but I can’t, for the life of me, comprehend exactly what you’re driving at.”
“Maybe I’d have an easier time explaining it to one of the robots.”
“Aha,” said Dr. Steinbrunner. “Oho!”
“Practicing to play Santa for your patients?”
“I realize who you are now,” said the doctor, his bulk jiggling. “You must be none other than Algernon Heathcote Smith. Ah, yes, you are Algernon Heathcote Smith. I’ve heard all about you.”
“Call me Smitty.”
“Yes, indeed, I’ve captured Algernon Heathcote Smith himself, notorious cohort of the Avenger and longtime member of the so-called Justice, Inc.”
Smitty took a few steps back, until his wide shoulders were against the tree trunk. The branches up above were heavy with snow. “You got my number sure enough, doc,” he said.
“I most assuredly do, Mr. Algernon Heathcote Smith. And now if you will kind—”
“You ought not to call me that.” Smitty threw his backside, hard, into the tree trunk.
Snow came raining down off the tree branches.
A substantial quantity landed on Dr. Steinbrunner’s fat head. Another cloud
“Well, let’s hope . . . oh, oh!”
Nevin’s car had abruptly lost its traction. It went sluicing from one side of the snow-banked road to the other. The bumper slammed into a drift on the wrong side of the road, and then the car went wobbling backwards out onto the road again.
Very deftly Nellie slowed their own car. “This bird had better stay alive long enough to get where he’s going.”
Apparently Nevins had slammed on his brakes. The car began to spin, then went rattling over to the right-hand side of the road. It seemed to jump off the roadway and dive nose foremost into a tree.
There was a very loud crumpling crash. The front of the sedan smashed in. The hood flaps opened and flapped like the wings of a huge dying bird.
“Drat!” said Nellie. She pulled their car up to the side of the road about ten feet from the wrecked Nevins.
The Avenger was out and running.
Nevins was leaning against the steering wheel, forehead bleeding. “How am I going to explain this?” he was mumbling, dazed. “He’ll say it’s . . . a failure . . . he’ll kill me for certain . . . how am I going to . . .”
Benson gently eased him off the steering wheel. Swiftly he checked the man for serious injuries. Except for the gash on the forehead, the plump man was not hurt. “You’ll be all right,” Benson told him.
“Car just started skidding . . . roller coaster,” said Nevins, his eyes not quite focusing.
“How is he?” asked Nellie from the road. “This jalopy of his has breathed its last.”
“Nothing seriously wrong with him.”
“But there’s sure as heck something seriously wrong with this buggy of his.”
“. . . he’ll kill me for this . . .”
From his pocket the Avenger took a small glass capsule. He held it under the man’s nose and broke it open.
“. . . you a doctor?”
“More or less.”
“. . . this smelling salts?”
“Not quite.”
The capsule contained truth gas.
“Outrageous,” bellowed Dr. Steinbrunner. “What are you here for, you lumbering hulk? To rob us in our beds, to steal my silver, to raid my drug cabinets?”
“Do I have a choice?” asked Smitty as the belligerent doctor urged him out of the garage with a .38 revolver.
“Fine state of affairs, a fine how-do-you-do.” Steinbrunner was about fifty, wearing a red mackinaw over his white medical jacket. “I’m going to have the authorities down on your head, you hulking nonentity.”
“Naw, you ain’t about to do that, doc.”
Steinbrunner stopped on a cinder path that led to the rear door of his hospital. “Turn around and explain yourself.”
Smitty halted next to a tall snow-laden tree. Facing the fat doctor, he said, “You don’t want the cops nosing around. Not with the kind of company you been having of late.”
“I sense you’re making some kind of veiled threat, but I can’t, for the life of me, comprehend exactly what you’re driving at.”
“Maybe I’d have an easier time explaining it to one of the robots.”
“Aha,” said Dr. Steinbrunner. “Oho!”
“Practicing to play Santa for your patients?”
“I realize who you are now,” said the doctor, his bulk jiggling. “You must be none other than Algernon Heathcote Smith. Ah, yes, you are Algernon Heathcote Smith. I’ve heard all about you.”
“Call me Smitty.”
“Yes, indeed, I’ve captured Algernon Heathcote Smith himself, notorious cohort of the Avenger and longtime member of the so-called Justice, Inc.”
Smitty took a few steps back, until his wide shoulders were against the tree trunk. The branches up above were heavy with snow. “You got my number sure enough, doc,” he said.
“I most assuredly do, Mr. Algernon Heathcote Smith. And now if you will kind—”
“You ought not to call me that.” Smitty threw his backside, hard, into the tree trunk.
Snow came raining down off the tree branches.
A substantial quantity landed on Dr. Steinbrunner’s fat head. Another cloud
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