apartment while Benson was with him!”
The dubious reporter shook his head, wide-eyed.
“Well!” he breathed to the photographer next to him. “I guess they can hold even Benson on that!”
The photographer nodded and took one more exposure. Then he turned and walked toward the exit, head down, fooling with his camera as he went.
The other photographers and reporters crowded past ahead of him at the street door. They galloped for their home offices to amplify the news already phoned in. Richard Henry Benson, famous in almost every field of human endeavor, held for murder of one of the internationally known Haygar family.
Quite a while later, Shan Haygar came out.
The man with the keen, squinted eyes was highly satisfied with himself.
He had perhaps been a bit reckless in attempting to enlist the aid of a man like Benson in the effort to get that gold medallion from the old boy who looked like a spider—an effort that had turned out so disappointingly. If so, the recklessness was more than made up for now.
By giving up just a few minutes of his time to hammer home the murder frame started by the glove, he had put The Avenger on ice for an indefinite number of days. Certainly for a time amply long enough for him to do what he pleased in the affair of the golden disks.
He would be untroubled now by any apprehensions of interference by Benson. The police? He scarcely thought twice about them.
He walked in a leisurely fashion toward a cheap rented car, parked half a block away.
The photographer who had been fooling with his camera, head down, as he made his exit, threw flashlight kit and camera into a trash box and followed.
Camera and kit were dummies, stage props.
The eyes of this man, as his head went up a little, were seen to be pale, deadly. His hair was thick and black.
The Avenger had thousands of friends in all walks of life. Among them were many actor friends.
Now, one of those friends, with thin colorless eye-cups over his own blue eyes, and with a heavy black wig pulled over his own brown hair, and with a face made up with putty and grease paint, was in a jail cell being addressed as Richard Benson.
In the meantime Benson, himself, trailed Shan Haygar, having by this somewhat elaborate process thrown the man completely off his guard.
CHAPTER VIII
Double Kidnap
Shan didn’t seem to be in any hurry. In fact, he gave the impression of a man killing time. He drove slowly south and east till he came to a hotel that was little more than a flophouse. He went in, and Benson waited in the cab he had picked up a little way from police headquarters.
There wasn’t any rear entrance to the hotel; so The Avenger passed several hours quite calmly, sure of his man. And eventually, with dawn not far away, Shan came out again.
He had a suitcase with him, now; he was evidently leaving the city. He got into the car again and resumed his progress south and east. The river eventually stopped him.
There, Shan went gingerly out almost to the end of a dock. Two hundred yards out in the river a boat swung with riding lights all too dim in the darkness. From their position, the boat was a fairly large one, probably of the cruiser type.
Leaning over the side of the dock, Shan called a name softly. In a moment a head showed over the massive wooden stringers.
Shan talked for a moment, then handed down the suitcase and bent to climb down after it. There was a ladder there, it seemed.
Meanwhile, at right and left, more heads showed. There were two at the right and three at the left. These were furtive, and their owners crawled over the stringers like snakes. They leaped toward Shan!
The fight that followed was as fierce as it was short and relatively silent.
Shan had been crouching down when they jumped him. But far from allowing that to be a handicap, he made it a help. He shot upward with all the power of his bent thighs, and his head came up under a man’s jaw.
The man staggered back six steps and sat down. Then
The dubious reporter shook his head, wide-eyed.
“Well!” he breathed to the photographer next to him. “I guess they can hold even Benson on that!”
The photographer nodded and took one more exposure. Then he turned and walked toward the exit, head down, fooling with his camera as he went.
The other photographers and reporters crowded past ahead of him at the street door. They galloped for their home offices to amplify the news already phoned in. Richard Henry Benson, famous in almost every field of human endeavor, held for murder of one of the internationally known Haygar family.
Quite a while later, Shan Haygar came out.
The man with the keen, squinted eyes was highly satisfied with himself.
He had perhaps been a bit reckless in attempting to enlist the aid of a man like Benson in the effort to get that gold medallion from the old boy who looked like a spider—an effort that had turned out so disappointingly. If so, the recklessness was more than made up for now.
By giving up just a few minutes of his time to hammer home the murder frame started by the glove, he had put The Avenger on ice for an indefinite number of days. Certainly for a time amply long enough for him to do what he pleased in the affair of the golden disks.
He would be untroubled now by any apprehensions of interference by Benson. The police? He scarcely thought twice about them.
He walked in a leisurely fashion toward a cheap rented car, parked half a block away.
The photographer who had been fooling with his camera, head down, as he made his exit, threw flashlight kit and camera into a trash box and followed.
Camera and kit were dummies, stage props.
The eyes of this man, as his head went up a little, were seen to be pale, deadly. His hair was thick and black.
The Avenger had thousands of friends in all walks of life. Among them were many actor friends.
Now, one of those friends, with thin colorless eye-cups over his own blue eyes, and with a heavy black wig pulled over his own brown hair, and with a face made up with putty and grease paint, was in a jail cell being addressed as Richard Benson.
In the meantime Benson, himself, trailed Shan Haygar, having by this somewhat elaborate process thrown the man completely off his guard.
CHAPTER VIII
Double Kidnap
Shan didn’t seem to be in any hurry. In fact, he gave the impression of a man killing time. He drove slowly south and east till he came to a hotel that was little more than a flophouse. He went in, and Benson waited in the cab he had picked up a little way from police headquarters.
There wasn’t any rear entrance to the hotel; so The Avenger passed several hours quite calmly, sure of his man. And eventually, with dawn not far away, Shan came out again.
He had a suitcase with him, now; he was evidently leaving the city. He got into the car again and resumed his progress south and east. The river eventually stopped him.
There, Shan went gingerly out almost to the end of a dock. Two hundred yards out in the river a boat swung with riding lights all too dim in the darkness. From their position, the boat was a fairly large one, probably of the cruiser type.
Leaning over the side of the dock, Shan called a name softly. In a moment a head showed over the massive wooden stringers.
Shan talked for a moment, then handed down the suitcase and bent to climb down after it. There was a ladder there, it seemed.
Meanwhile, at right and left, more heads showed. There were two at the right and three at the left. These were furtive, and their owners crawled over the stringers like snakes. They leaped toward Shan!
The fight that followed was as fierce as it was short and relatively silent.
Shan had been crouching down when they jumped him. But far from allowing that to be a handicap, he made it a help. He shot upward with all the power of his bent thighs, and his head came up under a man’s jaw.
The man staggered back six steps and sat down. Then
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