minutes, you will get in touch with the police.”
“Aw—”
The colorless, glacial eyes rested on Beck’s face for just an instant.
The young fellow said no more.
Smitty and The Avenger looked over the roof line of the half block of buildings between the corner and the garage. The roofs were on a level, three stories above the ground, till the garage was reached. There, they dropped to a story and a half, where the garage’s humped low roof occurred.
The two went up to the roof of the corner building, leaving Clarence Beck standing disconsolately in a corner doorway. Then they went across roofs and dropped to the roof of the garage, by lowering themselves on a thin silk line The Avenger unwound from around his waist.
There was a trapdoor in the rear corner of the roof, near where they softly landed. The Avenger went to this, and listened a moment. He silently lifted it, revealing a steel ladder.
He started down that.
Smitty followed. But the giant was about as disturbed as he ever got. He didn’t like this at all. In the first place, he was sure this was a trap. And, if so, announcement of their coming would be as plain as if announced by bugle calls.
It was a bright day, and the opening of that trapdoor would throw a square of light down onto the darker floor that could be seen by anyone in the place.
Smitty closed the trapdoor over his head as he lowered his bulk down the ladder. At least, he could shut off that betraying square of light. He looked down from it, and saw half a dozen private cars—and the big moving van. The van was near the center of the small garage.
The Avenger, Smitty saw, wasn’t going clear down to the cement floor. At least, he wasn’t that rash. He’d gone down to where he could reach a roof girder, and had swung out on that. Smitty joined him there.
They crouched on it, eight or nine feet under the curve of the roof and sixteen or eighteen feet from the floor.
Voices sounded from the front of the place. The garage office was there, flimsily walled off from the rest of the place. They couldn’t hear words, could just hear the voices. There seemed to be a lot of men in the office.
The Avenger worked his way to a point over the van. Smitty followed. About five of the ten minutes had passed since they’d told Beck to phone the police. And they weren’t caught, yet. It began to look pretty good. It began to look as though they’d free Mac and Cole, all right.
If the two were still alive to free.
The top of the van was close under their feet. Benson dropped soundlessly to it, with Smitty close behind. Dick softly tapped, “O.K.”
Inside the van the same code was repeated.
“O.K.”
The Avenger took out another of Mac’s gadgets—a midget blowtorch. With his body between the tiny bright flame and the office part of the garage, Benson burned a square in the top large enough for a body to pass through.
He looked in, played a small flashlight around.
The ray lit on the angry faces of Mac and Cole. The two lay on the van floor, securely bound; one of them must have tapped out the O.K. with his forehead.
The Avenger started to lower himself into the dark cave of the van. Smitty’s vast paw caught his chief’s shoulder for an instant, while he stared urgently at him.
Smitty’s tense look said, “My gosh! Do you think you ought to go down in there? If they ever caught on, we’d be as helpless as rats in a trap.”
Benson kept on going down. And then Smitty yelled a warning, but it was too late!
A loop, seeming to come of itself from the dimness of the garage, lassoed his big shoulders, and he was yanked off the top of the van. An instant later, with the agility of a monkey, a figure substituted for him up there. This figure had a submachine gun cradled in its arm, and it pointed the thing at the hole.
Smitty tried to yell as he hit the floor, but for an instant the breath was knocked out of him. However, it didn’t matter that he couldn’t yell. He made noise
“Aw—”
The colorless, glacial eyes rested on Beck’s face for just an instant.
The young fellow said no more.
Smitty and The Avenger looked over the roof line of the half block of buildings between the corner and the garage. The roofs were on a level, three stories above the ground, till the garage was reached. There, they dropped to a story and a half, where the garage’s humped low roof occurred.
The two went up to the roof of the corner building, leaving Clarence Beck standing disconsolately in a corner doorway. Then they went across roofs and dropped to the roof of the garage, by lowering themselves on a thin silk line The Avenger unwound from around his waist.
There was a trapdoor in the rear corner of the roof, near where they softly landed. The Avenger went to this, and listened a moment. He silently lifted it, revealing a steel ladder.
He started down that.
Smitty followed. But the giant was about as disturbed as he ever got. He didn’t like this at all. In the first place, he was sure this was a trap. And, if so, announcement of their coming would be as plain as if announced by bugle calls.
It was a bright day, and the opening of that trapdoor would throw a square of light down onto the darker floor that could be seen by anyone in the place.
Smitty closed the trapdoor over his head as he lowered his bulk down the ladder. At least, he could shut off that betraying square of light. He looked down from it, and saw half a dozen private cars—and the big moving van. The van was near the center of the small garage.
The Avenger, Smitty saw, wasn’t going clear down to the cement floor. At least, he wasn’t that rash. He’d gone down to where he could reach a roof girder, and had swung out on that. Smitty joined him there.
They crouched on it, eight or nine feet under the curve of the roof and sixteen or eighteen feet from the floor.
Voices sounded from the front of the place. The garage office was there, flimsily walled off from the rest of the place. They couldn’t hear words, could just hear the voices. There seemed to be a lot of men in the office.
The Avenger worked his way to a point over the van. Smitty followed. About five of the ten minutes had passed since they’d told Beck to phone the police. And they weren’t caught, yet. It began to look pretty good. It began to look as though they’d free Mac and Cole, all right.
If the two were still alive to free.
The top of the van was close under their feet. Benson dropped soundlessly to it, with Smitty close behind. Dick softly tapped, “O.K.”
Inside the van the same code was repeated.
“O.K.”
The Avenger took out another of Mac’s gadgets—a midget blowtorch. With his body between the tiny bright flame and the office part of the garage, Benson burned a square in the top large enough for a body to pass through.
He looked in, played a small flashlight around.
The ray lit on the angry faces of Mac and Cole. The two lay on the van floor, securely bound; one of them must have tapped out the O.K. with his forehead.
The Avenger started to lower himself into the dark cave of the van. Smitty’s vast paw caught his chief’s shoulder for an instant, while he stared urgently at him.
Smitty’s tense look said, “My gosh! Do you think you ought to go down in there? If they ever caught on, we’d be as helpless as rats in a trap.”
Benson kept on going down. And then Smitty yelled a warning, but it was too late!
A loop, seeming to come of itself from the dimness of the garage, lassoed his big shoulders, and he was yanked off the top of the van. An instant later, with the agility of a monkey, a figure substituted for him up there. This figure had a submachine gun cradled in its arm, and it pointed the thing at the hole.
Smitty tried to yell as he hit the floor, but for an instant the breath was knocked out of him. However, it didn’t matter that he couldn’t yell. He made noise
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