Read Online The Avenger 36 - Demon Island by Kenneth Robeson - Free Book Online
Authors: Kenneth Robeson
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Stark,” Cole said in a louder voice. “Ah, yes, life down here beneath Demon Island in this abandoned bootlegger’s hideaway is not the most stimulating thing in the world.”
“I ain’t deaf. Shut up and eat your crackers.”
“See, you prove my point,” continued Cole in an even louder voice. “Living down here has soured you. What you need is plenty of sunshine.”
“Are you going to pipe down or am I going to smack you one?”
“How’s that again?” Cole put one of his free hands to his ear. “I’m afraid being down here under the island is starting to have an effect on my hearing.”
“Listen, you—”
Gunshots from directly above distracted him.
CHAPTER XVI
Hearing Voices
Fat Morrison had stepped across the sward with small, careful steps. “Now then, let’s have a look at you,” he said. “It’s unfortunate you’ve stumbled onto one of our hidden entrances by accident.”
“It’s no accident,” Smitty assured him.
“I take it you are movie people.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” replied the giant. “I’m Tyrone Power and she’s Zasu Pitts.”
“Very whimsical,” said Morrison, his .38 revolver covering them.
“We might as well level with you,” said Nellie. “We’re with the San Amaro police and we’re here investigating the murder of one of your men.” The little blonde guessed that the dead man back at the castle had been tied in with this fat man here.
Morrison gasped. “What do you mean? You don’t mean Tuck . . .”
“Oh, didn’t you know he’d been strangled?” asked the girl.
“No, I . . . well, we needn’t stretch this discussion out now. Police or movie stars, I’m afraid you’ll have to . . . what was that?”
Smitty’s belt buckle had made a small buzzing sound, meaning that someone was trying to contact him.
“Only my stomach growling,” the giant explained, rubbing at his middle and clicking on the radio. “Always happens when I have hot tamales and cold pork chops for breakfast.”
“Ugh,” murmured Morrison.
“How’s that again?” came Cole’s voice out of the tiny radio speaker.
Morrison made the mistake of glancing around, trying to see who had spoken.
Smitty moved. He moved very swiftly for a man of his bulk. “Let’s drop that,” he suggested, chopping down on Morrison’s gun hand with his hand.
“Yowl” The fat man dropped the weapon into the thick grass, howling with pain.
Smitty dived to retrieve the gun. That turned out to be a mistake on his part.
The fat man was not as hurt as he was pretending. In fact, he was shipshape enough to kick the giant in the head when he bent to get the .38.
“Now, my lumbering friend,” said Morrison, the gun back in his hand.
He’d forgotten about Nellie. The little blonde hit him in his soft middle, at the end of a flying tackle.
The gun went off. But by that time Nellie had the fat man’s arm twisted up. Some leaves fell down on them as the bullet whistled up into the darkening sky.
Smitty was okay again. With an angry roar he grabbed Morrison away from Nellie and threw him.
A tree trunk halted the fat man’s flight. The gun went off once more as it fell from his hand.
Morrison sat down on the grass. His eyes clicked shut. He toppled over sideways.
This time Smitty got hold of the gun with no trouble.
“That was Cole,” said Nellie, brushing herself off.
“Yeah.” Smitty motioned her to stand back. He clutched the metal ring he’d found in the ground. With one powerful tug he lifted up the concealed stone trap door. A metal ladder showed below the opening, leading down into darkness.
“He’s got a flashlight,” said Nellie, frisking the stunned Morrison. She snapped it on and shined the beam down into the hole.
“Tunnel down there.”
“And maybe a few more lads with guns,” cautioned Nellie.
“Nuts to them,” said the giant. “I don’t like getting booted in the bean and being called ‘lumbering.’ It gets me mad.” Grasping the captured
“I ain’t deaf. Shut up and eat your crackers.”
“See, you prove my point,” continued Cole in an even louder voice. “Living down here has soured you. What you need is plenty of sunshine.”
“Are you going to pipe down or am I going to smack you one?”
“How’s that again?” Cole put one of his free hands to his ear. “I’m afraid being down here under the island is starting to have an effect on my hearing.”
“Listen, you—”
Gunshots from directly above distracted him.
CHAPTER XVI
Hearing Voices
Fat Morrison had stepped across the sward with small, careful steps. “Now then, let’s have a look at you,” he said. “It’s unfortunate you’ve stumbled onto one of our hidden entrances by accident.”
“It’s no accident,” Smitty assured him.
“I take it you are movie people.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” replied the giant. “I’m Tyrone Power and she’s Zasu Pitts.”
“Very whimsical,” said Morrison, his .38 revolver covering them.
“We might as well level with you,” said Nellie. “We’re with the San Amaro police and we’re here investigating the murder of one of your men.” The little blonde guessed that the dead man back at the castle had been tied in with this fat man here.
Morrison gasped. “What do you mean? You don’t mean Tuck . . .”
“Oh, didn’t you know he’d been strangled?” asked the girl.
“No, I . . . well, we needn’t stretch this discussion out now. Police or movie stars, I’m afraid you’ll have to . . . what was that?”
Smitty’s belt buckle had made a small buzzing sound, meaning that someone was trying to contact him.
“Only my stomach growling,” the giant explained, rubbing at his middle and clicking on the radio. “Always happens when I have hot tamales and cold pork chops for breakfast.”
“Ugh,” murmured Morrison.
“How’s that again?” came Cole’s voice out of the tiny radio speaker.
Morrison made the mistake of glancing around, trying to see who had spoken.
Smitty moved. He moved very swiftly for a man of his bulk. “Let’s drop that,” he suggested, chopping down on Morrison’s gun hand with his hand.
“Yowl” The fat man dropped the weapon into the thick grass, howling with pain.
Smitty dived to retrieve the gun. That turned out to be a mistake on his part.
The fat man was not as hurt as he was pretending. In fact, he was shipshape enough to kick the giant in the head when he bent to get the .38.
“Now, my lumbering friend,” said Morrison, the gun back in his hand.
He’d forgotten about Nellie. The little blonde hit him in his soft middle, at the end of a flying tackle.
The gun went off. But by that time Nellie had the fat man’s arm twisted up. Some leaves fell down on them as the bullet whistled up into the darkening sky.
Smitty was okay again. With an angry roar he grabbed Morrison away from Nellie and threw him.
A tree trunk halted the fat man’s flight. The gun went off once more as it fell from his hand.
Morrison sat down on the grass. His eyes clicked shut. He toppled over sideways.
This time Smitty got hold of the gun with no trouble.
“That was Cole,” said Nellie, brushing herself off.
“Yeah.” Smitty motioned her to stand back. He clutched the metal ring he’d found in the ground. With one powerful tug he lifted up the concealed stone trap door. A metal ladder showed below the opening, leading down into darkness.
“He’s got a flashlight,” said Nellie, frisking the stunned Morrison. She snapped it on and shined the beam down into the hole.
“Tunnel down there.”
“And maybe a few more lads with guns,” cautioned Nellie.
“Nuts to them,” said the giant. “I don’t like getting booted in the bean and being called ‘lumbering.’ It gets me mad.” Grasping the captured
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