the unconscious Scot once more, “is to dispose of him in the Sound.”
There were two other men in the room beneath the Yellow Rose. Middle-aged men in quiet suits, looking like moderately successful doctors or dentists.
The one named Kohler said, “It will be much more sensible, Geiss, to wait until he awakens and then question him.”
The bald man shook his head. “I doubt he knows enough to justify the risks involved,” he said. “Sooner or later the Avenger is going to come looking for him. No, I say we get him out of here now.”
“When and if this Avenger comes here,” said the other middle-aged man, whose name was Gruber, “he can be handled in the same way this one was.”
Geiss said, “You underestimate him, perhaps.”
“Such a pessimist, Geiss,” said Kobler.
“What reason have I to be an optimist? The entire scheme with Lewing is going badly. Now we have Justice, Inc., to contend with.”
“The scheme with Lewing has been working quite well,” said Gruber. “Certainly the information has been reaching our agents, and the damage done to the aircraft industry has been immense.”
“There has been some damage,” granted Geiss. “I don’t believe I’d characterize it as immense.”
“Your pessimism is getting the better of you again.”
“Even the foolish killing of old Walling hasn’t given us the control of—”
A phone resting on a wooden stool had begun to ring.
Gruber moved to answer it. “Yes? I see. That is not very fortunate, no. Don’t worry, we’ll have to try again. Goodbye.”
“Another failure,” said Geiss. “What misfired this time, the attempt to get rid of Lewing?”
“Yes, it was not as successful as we had hoped.”
“Not successful at all, you mean. Was he hurt at all?”
“Apparently not,” said Gruber. “One of the Avenger’s lackeys, the oaf called Smitty, showed up on the scene.”
“An oaf, perhaps, yet clever enough to outwit us.”
“I’ve a mind,” said Kobler, making a clucking sound, “to talk to the homeland about your negative attitudes.”
“Listen, you soft-spoken imbecile, I am a professional in this business,” said Geiss. “I don’t live in a dream world the way you amateurs do.”
“Nevertheless,” reminded Gruber, “our homeland has seen fit to put me and not you in charge of this particular operation. We’ll have no more bickering. This MacMurdie will remain here. When he awakens, I will question him.”
“Torture him, you mean,” said Geiss.
Gruber only smiled.
The Avenger pushed at the padded door of the Yellow Rose. It did not budge, remained tight shut.
“Okay, men,” he ordered over his shoulder, “go to work.”
Cole and Josh, who each now hefted a fire ax, stepped forward and went to work on the door.
Shreds and tatters of imitation leather went flying, along with tufts of padding and little brass tacks.
Then the wood beneath began to splinter.
“What the hell? What the hell?” came a voice from within the club.
Cole lowered his ax and bowed toward the nearly ruined door. “I venture to say one more whack will do it,” he said. “Care to take the last lick, Joshua?”
“Oh, no, Cole. I insist on your doing the honors.”
“Hey! Hey!” said the one-armed bartender, peering through the rents in the door. “What are you blokes up to?”
“You didn’t answer our knock,” explained Cole.
“We’re closed.”
“Please admit us at once,” said the Avenger. “This is a raid.”
“A raid? What kind of a raid?”
“We suspect you’re operating an illegal gambling establishment on the premises,” said Benson, in a drab official voice. “Stand aside so my men can finish demolishing your door.”
The bartender swung out his only arm and pulled the door open. “Somebody’s going to pay for this, brother. Somebody in city hall.”
The Avenger pushed by the man and stopped amidst the tables. Hands on hips, he said, “Chop down that wall first.”
“Here, now,” said
There were two other men in the room beneath the Yellow Rose. Middle-aged men in quiet suits, looking like moderately successful doctors or dentists.
The one named Kohler said, “It will be much more sensible, Geiss, to wait until he awakens and then question him.”
The bald man shook his head. “I doubt he knows enough to justify the risks involved,” he said. “Sooner or later the Avenger is going to come looking for him. No, I say we get him out of here now.”
“When and if this Avenger comes here,” said the other middle-aged man, whose name was Gruber, “he can be handled in the same way this one was.”
Geiss said, “You underestimate him, perhaps.”
“Such a pessimist, Geiss,” said Kobler.
“What reason have I to be an optimist? The entire scheme with Lewing is going badly. Now we have Justice, Inc., to contend with.”
“The scheme with Lewing has been working quite well,” said Gruber. “Certainly the information has been reaching our agents, and the damage done to the aircraft industry has been immense.”
“There has been some damage,” granted Geiss. “I don’t believe I’d characterize it as immense.”
“Your pessimism is getting the better of you again.”
“Even the foolish killing of old Walling hasn’t given us the control of—”
A phone resting on a wooden stool had begun to ring.
Gruber moved to answer it. “Yes? I see. That is not very fortunate, no. Don’t worry, we’ll have to try again. Goodbye.”
“Another failure,” said Geiss. “What misfired this time, the attempt to get rid of Lewing?”
“Yes, it was not as successful as we had hoped.”
“Not successful at all, you mean. Was he hurt at all?”
“Apparently not,” said Gruber. “One of the Avenger’s lackeys, the oaf called Smitty, showed up on the scene.”
“An oaf, perhaps, yet clever enough to outwit us.”
“I’ve a mind,” said Kobler, making a clucking sound, “to talk to the homeland about your negative attitudes.”
“Listen, you soft-spoken imbecile, I am a professional in this business,” said Geiss. “I don’t live in a dream world the way you amateurs do.”
“Nevertheless,” reminded Gruber, “our homeland has seen fit to put me and not you in charge of this particular operation. We’ll have no more bickering. This MacMurdie will remain here. When he awakens, I will question him.”
“Torture him, you mean,” said Geiss.
Gruber only smiled.
The Avenger pushed at the padded door of the Yellow Rose. It did not budge, remained tight shut.
“Okay, men,” he ordered over his shoulder, “go to work.”
Cole and Josh, who each now hefted a fire ax, stepped forward and went to work on the door.
Shreds and tatters of imitation leather went flying, along with tufts of padding and little brass tacks.
Then the wood beneath began to splinter.
“What the hell? What the hell?” came a voice from within the club.
Cole lowered his ax and bowed toward the nearly ruined door. “I venture to say one more whack will do it,” he said. “Care to take the last lick, Joshua?”
“Oh, no, Cole. I insist on your doing the honors.”
“Hey! Hey!” said the one-armed bartender, peering through the rents in the door. “What are you blokes up to?”
“You didn’t answer our knock,” explained Cole.
“We’re closed.”
“Please admit us at once,” said the Avenger. “This is a raid.”
“A raid? What kind of a raid?”
“We suspect you’re operating an illegal gambling establishment on the premises,” said Benson, in a drab official voice. “Stand aside so my men can finish demolishing your door.”
The bartender swung out his only arm and pulled the door open. “Somebody’s going to pay for this, brother. Somebody in city hall.”
The Avenger pushed by the man and stopped amidst the tables. Hands on hips, he said, “Chop down that wall first.”
“Here, now,” said
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