been published and grabbed a pair of handy ankles as he rose from the floor.
The owner of the ankles, of course, smacked down as the giant got up. He began screaming at the grip of the vast hands on his legs. And in between screams, there was a sort of clicking sound. Smitty had a vague idea that one or more ankle bones had broken under his fingers, but he didn’t pay much attention. Things were always breaking under his fingers.
He stepped to the struggling knot on the floor and banged down, using the man in his hands as a living club. Or, rather, as you’d use a length of wet towel to swat somebody with.
The man he swung was motionless, now, with blood coming from his mouth and nose. The one hit by him relaxed promptly and lay still, too.
Three shots came in quick succession from the fifth man, who was carefully preserving his hide by remaining six feet from the melee. Smitty jerked three times as bullets hit him in the side. They couldn’t penetrate his celluglass garment, but they could and did bang him like hammer blows.
The giant turned once, hard, as a hammer thrower turns. He released his limp club and the man flew headfirst through the air and knocked the gunman down.
A yell came from somewhere below.
“Lam! Everybody! Those shots’ll bring plenty of trouble!”
Four men were able to move. They raced out the door. The door slammed as Smitty reached to help Nellie up. He charged at it, with the little blonde beside him.
The door was locked. So Smitty walked through it! Few doors could stand the shock of those tremendous shoulders with almost three hundred solid pounds behind them.
Nellie followed him through the splinters, and they raced for the stairs and down. Here there was another door, across the foot of the stairs where there was no business being a door at all. Some special installation of years past. And this one, closed against them, was a bit tougher. It was of the sliding variety, was of oak, and was pretty thick.
Smitty banged into it as he had the other. Then he rubbed his shoulder and looked at a faint crack. He tried it again, and the crack grew distressingly little.
“Hold it,” said Nellie, digging in her handbag, which was attached to her belt by a slim ornamental chain so that she wouldn’t lose it in such scrimmages as she just had.
She came out with one of the small explosive pellets. The capsules containing the special powder were of hardened gelatin. She held it a moment in the pink palm of her warm little hand, and then was able to roll the thing out into a slim tube.
She put this in the keyhole of the door, stood back, and tossed her shoe at it.
It went up with a roar, and the door dissolved into a hundred shreds. The pellets were harmless when exploding free in open air, but confined tightly they shattered as any other explosive must.
The two raced into the first-floor hall, then turned and leaped back for the stairs.
The hall next to the boarded-up front doorway was an inferno. Whoever had yelled down here had tossed fire bombs—almost certainly magnesium or thermite bombs to mushroom so swiftly—and now there was flame between them and the street exit.
Smitty leaped back up the stairs and to the nearest front room, with Nellie at his heels. He looked through a crack between boards and groaned in exasperation.
Half a dozen men down in the street were getting into a car as fast as possible. Two of them were carrying another man. This man, hatless and with a bruised face, had hair that was thinning in front and heavy in the back. He had a beard. He was tall and thin.
“Rew Wight!” exclaimed Smitty. “They had him here all the time, maybe in the basement. They’re getting away with him.”
He began hammering at the boards with fists like giant sledges. One ripped in half and fell into the street. Nellie tossed something. It looked like a small paper sack, and it went squish on top of the gangsters’ sedan and stayed there. Like a sack full of jelly.
Then the
The owner of the ankles, of course, smacked down as the giant got up. He began screaming at the grip of the vast hands on his legs. And in between screams, there was a sort of clicking sound. Smitty had a vague idea that one or more ankle bones had broken under his fingers, but he didn’t pay much attention. Things were always breaking under his fingers.
He stepped to the struggling knot on the floor and banged down, using the man in his hands as a living club. Or, rather, as you’d use a length of wet towel to swat somebody with.
The man he swung was motionless, now, with blood coming from his mouth and nose. The one hit by him relaxed promptly and lay still, too.
Three shots came in quick succession from the fifth man, who was carefully preserving his hide by remaining six feet from the melee. Smitty jerked three times as bullets hit him in the side. They couldn’t penetrate his celluglass garment, but they could and did bang him like hammer blows.
The giant turned once, hard, as a hammer thrower turns. He released his limp club and the man flew headfirst through the air and knocked the gunman down.
A yell came from somewhere below.
“Lam! Everybody! Those shots’ll bring plenty of trouble!”
Four men were able to move. They raced out the door. The door slammed as Smitty reached to help Nellie up. He charged at it, with the little blonde beside him.
The door was locked. So Smitty walked through it! Few doors could stand the shock of those tremendous shoulders with almost three hundred solid pounds behind them.
Nellie followed him through the splinters, and they raced for the stairs and down. Here there was another door, across the foot of the stairs where there was no business being a door at all. Some special installation of years past. And this one, closed against them, was a bit tougher. It was of the sliding variety, was of oak, and was pretty thick.
Smitty banged into it as he had the other. Then he rubbed his shoulder and looked at a faint crack. He tried it again, and the crack grew distressingly little.
“Hold it,” said Nellie, digging in her handbag, which was attached to her belt by a slim ornamental chain so that she wouldn’t lose it in such scrimmages as she just had.
She came out with one of the small explosive pellets. The capsules containing the special powder were of hardened gelatin. She held it a moment in the pink palm of her warm little hand, and then was able to roll the thing out into a slim tube.
She put this in the keyhole of the door, stood back, and tossed her shoe at it.
It went up with a roar, and the door dissolved into a hundred shreds. The pellets were harmless when exploding free in open air, but confined tightly they shattered as any other explosive must.
The two raced into the first-floor hall, then turned and leaped back for the stairs.
The hall next to the boarded-up front doorway was an inferno. Whoever had yelled down here had tossed fire bombs—almost certainly magnesium or thermite bombs to mushroom so swiftly—and now there was flame between them and the street exit.
Smitty leaped back up the stairs and to the nearest front room, with Nellie at his heels. He looked through a crack between boards and groaned in exasperation.
Half a dozen men down in the street were getting into a car as fast as possible. Two of them were carrying another man. This man, hatless and with a bruised face, had hair that was thinning in front and heavy in the back. He had a beard. He was tall and thin.
“Rew Wight!” exclaimed Smitty. “They had him here all the time, maybe in the basement. They’re getting away with him.”
He began hammering at the boards with fists like giant sledges. One ripped in half and fell into the street. Nellie tossed something. It looked like a small paper sack, and it went squish on top of the gangsters’ sedan and stayed there. Like a sack full of jelly.
Then the
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