of her on Hannon’s desk would have done so.
She was Hannon’s daughter. Also, she was the girl who had tricked her way into Mac’s drugstore and out again with the black orchid, not knowing that a television screen was recording her movements, blocks away in the Bleek Street headquarters.
Cole thought he saw a chance in his moving around the girl. The movements allowed him finally to twist his left arm sharply inside its coat sleeve.
The twist unzipped the pocket inside the sleeve just below the elbow. Three little spheres about the size of small marbles slipped down into his cupped left hand.
He straightened suddenly and threw them at the floor at the feet of the four gunmen.
There was a faint plopping sound, and, at once, as if the entire section of flooring had caught violently on fire, thick, greenish smoke billowed up.
The men yelled and fired wildly through the sudden smoke screen. Red flashes laced the green-black smoke. Cole, on hands and knees and crawling toward the door, wished he’d had access to gas pellets instead of smoke pills. But he hadn’t. All he’d been able to get at were the smoke grenades. He thought they’d be enough, however.
He was at the door. He felt around for The Avenger, and his fingers rested on a leg. That was all. Something smacked on his head like a falling telephone pole, and that was all Cole Wilson knew for quite a little while.
The Avenger reached the door an instant later.
Dick wasn’t caught that easily. He had an idea more men than the four coughing back there in the smoke were in this place, and that the yells of the men would have drawn them. So when his slim but steel-strong fingers touched a leg, he swayed back while a swung gun clipped past him, straightened up, and lashed out with his fist.
He felt his knuckles crunch against the cartilage of someone’s Adam’s apple and heard the owner go down wheezing in agony. The Avenger felt a throat, and pressed at the nerve center at the base of the skull.
Another man went down, this time without sound. But it was a hopeless fight. Two clubbed guns found his skull at almost the same instant, and a third cracked against his shoulder so hard that the bone would have been splintered if it weren’t protected by slabs of rock-like muscle.
There was silence in the smoke-filled doorway. Then the smoke dissipated. Coughing and swearing, seven men went to the aid of the four who had originally trapped Cole and Benson.
Then they carried the unconscious Cole and Benson off.
Cole came out of it first. He came out of it hearing familiar voices—the deep rumble of Smitty’s voice and the high, clear melody of Nellie’s. He opened his eyes.
“Attaboy,” came Smitty’s rumble. “Feeling better?”
Cole nodded and looked around.
He got the impression that they were in a cell. It was a big cell, about twenty feet square, with no windows. Cole was foggily puzzled about the source of the light. Then he saw that Smitty or Nellie had fixed one of the tiny flashlights, which all members of Justice, Inc., habitually carried, on a bench so that it pointed upward.
Cole got back all memory with a rush.
“The chief?” he gasped, struggling upward.
He saw The Avenger, still and limp beside him. Nellie was bending over him, slim deft fingers touching his head.
“I think he’ll be all right,” Nellie said. “I don’t think there’s concussion. But you can’t be sure. He was hit pretty hard. What happened?”
Cole groaned.
“I have a dirty hunch that what happened was that once more I acted on impulse instead of common sense. I may have pulled a boner.”
He told them all that occurred.
“Now that I look back on it,” he confessed, “I can see that the chief could probably have thrown smoke or gas pills long before I had the chance. After all, he’s quicker than I am—quicker than any other living man. The fact that he did not try it, makes it look as if he had some plan in mind. If so, I sure knocked it into
She was Hannon’s daughter. Also, she was the girl who had tricked her way into Mac’s drugstore and out again with the black orchid, not knowing that a television screen was recording her movements, blocks away in the Bleek Street headquarters.
Cole thought he saw a chance in his moving around the girl. The movements allowed him finally to twist his left arm sharply inside its coat sleeve.
The twist unzipped the pocket inside the sleeve just below the elbow. Three little spheres about the size of small marbles slipped down into his cupped left hand.
He straightened suddenly and threw them at the floor at the feet of the four gunmen.
There was a faint plopping sound, and, at once, as if the entire section of flooring had caught violently on fire, thick, greenish smoke billowed up.
The men yelled and fired wildly through the sudden smoke screen. Red flashes laced the green-black smoke. Cole, on hands and knees and crawling toward the door, wished he’d had access to gas pellets instead of smoke pills. But he hadn’t. All he’d been able to get at were the smoke grenades. He thought they’d be enough, however.
He was at the door. He felt around for The Avenger, and his fingers rested on a leg. That was all. Something smacked on his head like a falling telephone pole, and that was all Cole Wilson knew for quite a little while.
The Avenger reached the door an instant later.
Dick wasn’t caught that easily. He had an idea more men than the four coughing back there in the smoke were in this place, and that the yells of the men would have drawn them. So when his slim but steel-strong fingers touched a leg, he swayed back while a swung gun clipped past him, straightened up, and lashed out with his fist.
He felt his knuckles crunch against the cartilage of someone’s Adam’s apple and heard the owner go down wheezing in agony. The Avenger felt a throat, and pressed at the nerve center at the base of the skull.
Another man went down, this time without sound. But it was a hopeless fight. Two clubbed guns found his skull at almost the same instant, and a third cracked against his shoulder so hard that the bone would have been splintered if it weren’t protected by slabs of rock-like muscle.
There was silence in the smoke-filled doorway. Then the smoke dissipated. Coughing and swearing, seven men went to the aid of the four who had originally trapped Cole and Benson.
Then they carried the unconscious Cole and Benson off.
Cole came out of it first. He came out of it hearing familiar voices—the deep rumble of Smitty’s voice and the high, clear melody of Nellie’s. He opened his eyes.
“Attaboy,” came Smitty’s rumble. “Feeling better?”
Cole nodded and looked around.
He got the impression that they were in a cell. It was a big cell, about twenty feet square, with no windows. Cole was foggily puzzled about the source of the light. Then he saw that Smitty or Nellie had fixed one of the tiny flashlights, which all members of Justice, Inc., habitually carried, on a bench so that it pointed upward.
Cole got back all memory with a rush.
“The chief?” he gasped, struggling upward.
He saw The Avenger, still and limp beside him. Nellie was bending over him, slim deft fingers touching his head.
“I think he’ll be all right,” Nellie said. “I don’t think there’s concussion. But you can’t be sure. He was hit pretty hard. What happened?”
Cole groaned.
“I have a dirty hunch that what happened was that once more I acted on impulse instead of common sense. I may have pulled a boner.”
He told them all that occurred.
“Now that I look back on it,” he confessed, “I can see that the chief could probably have thrown smoke or gas pills long before I had the chance. After all, he’s quicker than I am—quicker than any other living man. The fact that he did not try it, makes it look as if he had some plan in mind. If so, I sure knocked it into
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