fragile pellets, filled with a volatile liquid which would put a man to sleep in a few seconds when it was exploded near him. He always carried some, and he was surreptitiously dropping one out of a crack in the van every now and then to try to leave a trail.
A trail of sleeping people.
It was a rather bizarre sort of trail to leave behind, but it worked.
Twelve blocks farther on, Benson and Smitty and Beck saw another little crowd. This one was on the sidewalk, and a man with a small black bag was kneeling beside a prone figure. The crowd looked alarmed. They had no way of knowing, of course, that the gas was harmless. They didn’t even know it was a gas that was responsible.
About a mile along, there was a third knot of people, at a corner, and a commotion to the left, down that street.
The big car followed the eerie trail left and then right, up a big boulevard. Mac was sure smart, Smitty thought admiringly. But then, suddenly, the big fellow saw a hole in the beautiful theory. A great big hole.
“Hey!” he exclaimed. “I don’t think it’s Mac that’s leaving this trail for us!”
The Avenger said nothing. Under his deft hands the big car was streaking through red lights and around traffic jams, inexorably lessening the lead between it and the still unseen moving van.
“If Mac could get at his gas pills,” Smitty argued, “he could just drop a couple in the truck and knock out whoever’s holding him and Cole prisoners. Then he could cut a way out of the van. He wouldn’t just drop them out a crack in the van. Anyhow, there aren’t usually cracks in moving vans big enough for those pellets. They’re as big as small marbles.”
The giant began chewing his lips again.
“Looks to me as if the guys that got Mac and Cole found those pills and guessed what they were. Looks to me as if they are dropping them out, every so often. In fact, it looks as if we’re going straight into a trap!”
“So it does,” said The Avenger calmly.
Young Beck suddenly chattered in excitement.
“You mean to say you think we’re heading into danger? And you just keep right on? You don’t stop to take any precautions about it?”
Benson didn’t say anything. He didn’t bother to explain his fundamental rule about such things: If someone sets a trap for you, walk right into it. You usually learn things in traps.
The big car fled through a park. Two blocks past that, Beck said suddenly, “There’s a van! Would that be ours?”
The Avenger’s pale eyes flicked sideways down the small street indicated. Smitty stared tensely.
There was a huge, dull-red bulk waddling slowly down that street like a fat lady in a narrow movie aisle.
“We’ll see,” said Benson calmly.
He rounded the next corner, made a second right turn, and stopped the car just short of the end of this parallel block. The three got out, with Clarence Beck fairly simmering with excitement.
“Calm down!” snapped Smitty. “If there is trouble, and if you pull some dumb play, I’ll slap you one.”
He still wondered why The Avenger had allowed this feather-headed blond guy to come with them. He seemed to Smitty to be a first-class liability.
At the corner, they just caught a glimpse of the huge van trundling into a garage entrance that seemed to have to swell to swallow the thing. Then they saw a corrugated-sheet-steel door lowered over it, cutting off the garage from the sidewalk.
“End of the line,” said Beck eagerly. “Oh, boy, give me a smack at some of these guys! I’ll bet they’re part of the gang that killed Uncle Carl.”
“How do you know it was a ‘gang’?” The Avenger said. “It might have been one man who killed him. Or even an animal, from the description of the body.”
Beck didn’t turn a hair. “It’s always a gang that kills,” he said. “Give me a gun!”
“You’re not going in there,” was Dick’s even reply. “You will stay outside. If Smitty and I aren’t out with our two friends inside of ten
A trail of sleeping people.
It was a rather bizarre sort of trail to leave behind, but it worked.
Twelve blocks farther on, Benson and Smitty and Beck saw another little crowd. This one was on the sidewalk, and a man with a small black bag was kneeling beside a prone figure. The crowd looked alarmed. They had no way of knowing, of course, that the gas was harmless. They didn’t even know it was a gas that was responsible.
About a mile along, there was a third knot of people, at a corner, and a commotion to the left, down that street.
The big car followed the eerie trail left and then right, up a big boulevard. Mac was sure smart, Smitty thought admiringly. But then, suddenly, the big fellow saw a hole in the beautiful theory. A great big hole.
“Hey!” he exclaimed. “I don’t think it’s Mac that’s leaving this trail for us!”
The Avenger said nothing. Under his deft hands the big car was streaking through red lights and around traffic jams, inexorably lessening the lead between it and the still unseen moving van.
“If Mac could get at his gas pills,” Smitty argued, “he could just drop a couple in the truck and knock out whoever’s holding him and Cole prisoners. Then he could cut a way out of the van. He wouldn’t just drop them out a crack in the van. Anyhow, there aren’t usually cracks in moving vans big enough for those pellets. They’re as big as small marbles.”
The giant began chewing his lips again.
“Looks to me as if the guys that got Mac and Cole found those pills and guessed what they were. Looks to me as if they are dropping them out, every so often. In fact, it looks as if we’re going straight into a trap!”
“So it does,” said The Avenger calmly.
Young Beck suddenly chattered in excitement.
“You mean to say you think we’re heading into danger? And you just keep right on? You don’t stop to take any precautions about it?”
Benson didn’t say anything. He didn’t bother to explain his fundamental rule about such things: If someone sets a trap for you, walk right into it. You usually learn things in traps.
The big car fled through a park. Two blocks past that, Beck said suddenly, “There’s a van! Would that be ours?”
The Avenger’s pale eyes flicked sideways down the small street indicated. Smitty stared tensely.
There was a huge, dull-red bulk waddling slowly down that street like a fat lady in a narrow movie aisle.
“We’ll see,” said Benson calmly.
He rounded the next corner, made a second right turn, and stopped the car just short of the end of this parallel block. The three got out, with Clarence Beck fairly simmering with excitement.
“Calm down!” snapped Smitty. “If there is trouble, and if you pull some dumb play, I’ll slap you one.”
He still wondered why The Avenger had allowed this feather-headed blond guy to come with them. He seemed to Smitty to be a first-class liability.
At the corner, they just caught a glimpse of the huge van trundling into a garage entrance that seemed to have to swell to swallow the thing. Then they saw a corrugated-sheet-steel door lowered over it, cutting off the garage from the sidewalk.
“End of the line,” said Beck eagerly. “Oh, boy, give me a smack at some of these guys! I’ll bet they’re part of the gang that killed Uncle Carl.”
“How do you know it was a ‘gang’?” The Avenger said. “It might have been one man who killed him. Or even an animal, from the description of the body.”
Beck didn’t turn a hair. “It’s always a gang that kills,” he said. “Give me a gun!”
“You’re not going in there,” was Dick’s even reply. “You will stay outside. If Smitty and I aren’t out with our two friends inside of ten
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