the bartender. “You can’t go putting an ax to a man’s walls.”
“You’d save us all a lot of trouble if you’d take us right to the roulette wheels,” said Cole.
“Roulette? You’re daft. We got not so much as a punchboard in this place.”
“Very well, then we’ll have to do some exploring,” said Benson. “Start on the wall, boys.”
A peculiar look touched the bartender’s face. “Hey, you’re not a cop,” he said slowly. “I recognize you now. You’re the Av—”
The Avenger reached out and touched the man’s neck, a touch on a nerve that caused him to close his eyes and drop to the floor.
“I was looking forward to chopping that wall,” said Josh, resting the blade of his ax on the toe of his shoe.
“We’ll try that door over there,” said Benson, nodding across the room.
“You’ll try nothing of the sort,” said Gruber. He rose up from behind the bar with a .45 automatic in his hand.
CHAPTER XIII
Trails
Smitty leaped, caught the hanging dummy, tugged it free of its wires, and stretched it out on the grass. Squatting beside it, he fished out his palm-fitting trailing device. “Okay, gizmo, take a whiff of this character.”
When the gadget had sniffed the dummy, Smitty got upright. “Now lead me to the guys who set up this little booby trap.” He pushed a button and flicked a switch.
The directional needle pointed not to the woods beyond the studio or the beach below, as the giant had anticipated. It pointed back toward the main house.
“Geeze, don’t tell me that goofy idea of Josh’s is going to turn out to be true,” he said to himself as he let the softly ticking mechanism guide him back along the way he’d come. “Naw, Jeanne can’t be mixed up in this.”
Through the trees he went, heading for the house. Then the direction changed, veered to the left.
“Huh, the garage.”
Whoever had strung up the phosphorescent-glowing dummy and strung the wire had come this way, along the gravel drive and up to the four-car garage.
“That’s some garage, bigger than a lot of people’s houses, and with gables and a weathervane on top. I guess this is what they mean by living in style.”
The tracker was urging him away from the garage now, pointing up the drive.
“That’s kind of funny,” thought the giant. “Somebody parked right here, plain as the nose on your face, while rigging up that little surprise for Gil. Then they calmly drove away.”
He bent, grunted, and jerked one of the garage doors up and open.
Aloud he muttered, “I guess Nellie won’t mind if I borrow her jalopy.”
“Not if you take her along.”
Smitty wheeled around, mouth open. “You sure move quiet, Nellie.”
The little blonde said, “When you weigh what I do, it’s easy to be light on your feet. Can I tag along?”
“Oh, sure,” said Smitty. “This ain’t an exclusive job I’m doing. Only I figured you needed the shuteye, being as you’re—”
“Only a girl.”
Smitty flushed and studied his big feet. “Well, gee, it is true that girls aren’t as tough as guys. That’s a biological fact.”
Nellie made a dainty raspberry sound. “Baloney,” she said, walking to the car and grabbing open the door. “I’ll drive . . . if you don’t think I’m too fragile.”
“Gee, Nellie!” said the giant. He climbed into the passenger seat. He couldn’t think of anything else to say at the moment.
The clean-cut young man had a wrinkled tan raincoat thrown over his arm. He climbed up the steps of the police station and pushed open the glass doors.
There was a chunky uniformed sergeant standing beside the desk, making a puffing, grunting effort to touch his toes. “I don’t see how anybody can do ten of those,” he said, straightening up.
“Ten what?”
“Supposed to touch your damn toes ten times, but I can’t never get beyond two,” explained the chunky sergeant. “It’s really snafuing me, because if I can’t do the toe-touching I can’t go on to the
“You’d save us all a lot of trouble if you’d take us right to the roulette wheels,” said Cole.
“Roulette? You’re daft. We got not so much as a punchboard in this place.”
“Very well, then we’ll have to do some exploring,” said Benson. “Start on the wall, boys.”
A peculiar look touched the bartender’s face. “Hey, you’re not a cop,” he said slowly. “I recognize you now. You’re the Av—”
The Avenger reached out and touched the man’s neck, a touch on a nerve that caused him to close his eyes and drop to the floor.
“I was looking forward to chopping that wall,” said Josh, resting the blade of his ax on the toe of his shoe.
“We’ll try that door over there,” said Benson, nodding across the room.
“You’ll try nothing of the sort,” said Gruber. He rose up from behind the bar with a .45 automatic in his hand.
CHAPTER XIII
Trails
Smitty leaped, caught the hanging dummy, tugged it free of its wires, and stretched it out on the grass. Squatting beside it, he fished out his palm-fitting trailing device. “Okay, gizmo, take a whiff of this character.”
When the gadget had sniffed the dummy, Smitty got upright. “Now lead me to the guys who set up this little booby trap.” He pushed a button and flicked a switch.
The directional needle pointed not to the woods beyond the studio or the beach below, as the giant had anticipated. It pointed back toward the main house.
“Geeze, don’t tell me that goofy idea of Josh’s is going to turn out to be true,” he said to himself as he let the softly ticking mechanism guide him back along the way he’d come. “Naw, Jeanne can’t be mixed up in this.”
Through the trees he went, heading for the house. Then the direction changed, veered to the left.
“Huh, the garage.”
Whoever had strung up the phosphorescent-glowing dummy and strung the wire had come this way, along the gravel drive and up to the four-car garage.
“That’s some garage, bigger than a lot of people’s houses, and with gables and a weathervane on top. I guess this is what they mean by living in style.”
The tracker was urging him away from the garage now, pointing up the drive.
“That’s kind of funny,” thought the giant. “Somebody parked right here, plain as the nose on your face, while rigging up that little surprise for Gil. Then they calmly drove away.”
He bent, grunted, and jerked one of the garage doors up and open.
Aloud he muttered, “I guess Nellie won’t mind if I borrow her jalopy.”
“Not if you take her along.”
Smitty wheeled around, mouth open. “You sure move quiet, Nellie.”
The little blonde said, “When you weigh what I do, it’s easy to be light on your feet. Can I tag along?”
“Oh, sure,” said Smitty. “This ain’t an exclusive job I’m doing. Only I figured you needed the shuteye, being as you’re—”
“Only a girl.”
Smitty flushed and studied his big feet. “Well, gee, it is true that girls aren’t as tough as guys. That’s a biological fact.”
Nellie made a dainty raspberry sound. “Baloney,” she said, walking to the car and grabbing open the door. “I’ll drive . . . if you don’t think I’m too fragile.”
“Gee, Nellie!” said the giant. He climbed into the passenger seat. He couldn’t think of anything else to say at the moment.
The clean-cut young man had a wrinkled tan raincoat thrown over his arm. He climbed up the steps of the police station and pushed open the glass doors.
There was a chunky uniformed sergeant standing beside the desk, making a puffing, grunting effort to touch his toes. “I don’t see how anybody can do ten of those,” he said, straightening up.
“Ten what?”
“Supposed to touch your damn toes ten times, but I can’t never get beyond two,” explained the chunky sergeant. “It’s really snafuing me, because if I can’t do the toe-touching I can’t go on to the
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