that there was no ace in the hole.
About an hour later the commissioner looked up from his desk with a little grunt of surprise as a man with thick, coal-black hair and pale, dangerous eyes came in.
The man was escorted by a cop at each side.
“Well, Benson,” said the commissioner, after an awkward throat-clearing, “I see the boys got hold of you promptly.”
“He came in under his own steam,” confessed the cop on the prisoner’s left. Both were watching The Avenger closely.
“He did?” exclaimed the commissioner. Then he stared almost regretfully at Benson. “I’m almost sorry you did that, Benson, because the charge against you is pretty thick. You know what it is, of course?”
Dick nodded.
“Yes, I know. Murder! But naturally it is a charge that can’t be made to stick. That’s why I came to see you and to straighten it out—”
“I’m afraid it can be made to stick,” sighed the commissioner. “If only you hadn’t been a known enemy of Harlik Haygar, it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Known enemy?”
“Yes! The dead man’s cousin, Shan Haygar, has told us that. He told, before reporters, how you had threatened that man. And, of course, many people know by now that your life is a violent one, and that it’s quite in the cards that you should . . . er . . . liquidate a man if he gets in your way.”
“The Avenger never takes life,” was the quiet answer. “You know that.”
“I don’t know anything of the kind,” said the commissioner. “I know that you’ve said you never take life. But I don’t know that it’s true; nor do I know that you wouldn’t, in some personal emergency, even if it had been true so far.”
There was silence for a moment, colorless eyes staring deep into determined brown ones.
“Do you want to tell us your side of it, Benson?”
The head crowned by the thick, black hair shook a calm negative.
“Perhaps I’d better say nothing till I’ve talked to one of my lawyers.”
“Maybe you’re wise,” grunted the commissioner. “In the meantime I’m sorry, but—” He nodded to the two cops. “Lock him up!”
The two went off with the pale-eyed man, being very wary about it because they knew the almost legendary prowess of The Avenger.
They had scarcely gotten through the ponderous wall of bars off the jail anteroom on their way to a cell when the reporters were swarming in.
Hot news, here! Haygar was a great man. So was Benson. And Benson was being held for the murder of a Haygar!
“They can’t hold a guy like Benson long,” said one of the reporters confidently. “Hell, it’d be like holding the governor of the state. Only, if anything, Benson has more pull. And he has all the money in the world.”
They buzzed around.
“Have you any statement, Mr. Benson?”
“Was that really your glove they found next to the dead man?”
“Did you know they are to hold you without bail?”
“Give us a few words, Mr. Benson—”
The pale, infallible eyes stared calmly through the bars at the reporters. They scarcely blinked when the flashlights went off. There were photographers there, too.
A commotion in back of them made all turn. Two men were coming through. One was the commissioner; the other was a dark man who seemed to have come to civilization straight from desert spaces. He was Shan Haygar.
“Yes, that is the man my cousin, Harlik Haygar, feared,” Shan said, nodding to the commissioner, after a long stare at the virile black hair and pale eyes—a stare in which his own eyes rested on the accused man absolutely devoid of recognition.
“You say there were threats?” said the commissioner, scowling. Plainly, he didn’t like this at all; but equally plainly, it was beyond his power to do other than hold The Avenger.
“Yes, there were threats,” said Shan. “I can swear to that, with witnesses, if necessary. I can also swear that this man was the last to see Cousin Harlik alive, and there was the sound of a gunshot from the
About an hour later the commissioner looked up from his desk with a little grunt of surprise as a man with thick, coal-black hair and pale, dangerous eyes came in.
The man was escorted by a cop at each side.
“Well, Benson,” said the commissioner, after an awkward throat-clearing, “I see the boys got hold of you promptly.”
“He came in under his own steam,” confessed the cop on the prisoner’s left. Both were watching The Avenger closely.
“He did?” exclaimed the commissioner. Then he stared almost regretfully at Benson. “I’m almost sorry you did that, Benson, because the charge against you is pretty thick. You know what it is, of course?”
Dick nodded.
“Yes, I know. Murder! But naturally it is a charge that can’t be made to stick. That’s why I came to see you and to straighten it out—”
“I’m afraid it can be made to stick,” sighed the commissioner. “If only you hadn’t been a known enemy of Harlik Haygar, it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Known enemy?”
“Yes! The dead man’s cousin, Shan Haygar, has told us that. He told, before reporters, how you had threatened that man. And, of course, many people know by now that your life is a violent one, and that it’s quite in the cards that you should . . . er . . . liquidate a man if he gets in your way.”
“The Avenger never takes life,” was the quiet answer. “You know that.”
“I don’t know anything of the kind,” said the commissioner. “I know that you’ve said you never take life. But I don’t know that it’s true; nor do I know that you wouldn’t, in some personal emergency, even if it had been true so far.”
There was silence for a moment, colorless eyes staring deep into determined brown ones.
“Do you want to tell us your side of it, Benson?”
The head crowned by the thick, black hair shook a calm negative.
“Perhaps I’d better say nothing till I’ve talked to one of my lawyers.”
“Maybe you’re wise,” grunted the commissioner. “In the meantime I’m sorry, but—” He nodded to the two cops. “Lock him up!”
The two went off with the pale-eyed man, being very wary about it because they knew the almost legendary prowess of The Avenger.
They had scarcely gotten through the ponderous wall of bars off the jail anteroom on their way to a cell when the reporters were swarming in.
Hot news, here! Haygar was a great man. So was Benson. And Benson was being held for the murder of a Haygar!
“They can’t hold a guy like Benson long,” said one of the reporters confidently. “Hell, it’d be like holding the governor of the state. Only, if anything, Benson has more pull. And he has all the money in the world.”
They buzzed around.
“Have you any statement, Mr. Benson?”
“Was that really your glove they found next to the dead man?”
“Did you know they are to hold you without bail?”
“Give us a few words, Mr. Benson—”
The pale, infallible eyes stared calmly through the bars at the reporters. They scarcely blinked when the flashlights went off. There were photographers there, too.
A commotion in back of them made all turn. Two men were coming through. One was the commissioner; the other was a dark man who seemed to have come to civilization straight from desert spaces. He was Shan Haygar.
“Yes, that is the man my cousin, Harlik Haygar, feared,” Shan said, nodding to the commissioner, after a long stare at the virile black hair and pale eyes—a stare in which his own eyes rested on the accused man absolutely devoid of recognition.
“You say there were threats?” said the commissioner, scowling. Plainly, he didn’t like this at all; but equally plainly, it was beyond his power to do other than hold The Avenger.
“Yes, there were threats,” said Shan. “I can swear to that, with witnesses, if necessary. I can also swear that this man was the last to see Cousin Harlik alive, and there was the sound of a gunshot from the
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