The Avenger 29 - The Nightwitch Devil (14 page)

“Without us?” asked Cole.

“You know how Early is, always wants to be one jump ahead of Justice, Inc.”

Hollis stood up. “Well, that is good news. I’m going to keep my fingers crossed for Anne,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an early lunch date with one of our local boosters.”

When the team was out on the street, Cole asked, “Did you plant the bug?”

“Sure I did. You didn’t think I was doing all that clumsy stuff just to amuse you, did you?”

“Let’s pop into our automobile and get ready to tail Mr. Hollis and his newly acquired tracking device,” said Cole, heading for the corner.

“Right with you,” said Smitty. “What was that stuff you sneaked off his floor?”

“You really are a heathen, Smitty. That was incense, my boy,” said Cole. “When Mr. Lucifer Satan flung a bowl of it in my face last evening, some of it must have clung to him, gotten in his shoes or his pants cuffs. One more item that leads me to believe he is the Devil we seek.”

Smitty grabbed open the car door and jumped in behind the wheel.

The long black car turned away from the sea and began climbing uphill. Nellie drove, while the Avenger sat in the back seat with a survey map of the town spread out on his lap.

In his hand he held the miniature two-way belt radio. “Yes, I’ve got you located, Cole.”

“Drat,” came Cole’s voice out of the speaker, “what’s the name of this street we just turned onto?”

“Mott’s Hill Road,” supplied Smitty.

“Mr. Hollis and his bug are leading us up Mott’s Hill Road,” said Cole. “This little tracking box of Smitty’s is performing admirably.”

Benson leaned forward to tell Nellie, “Turn left at the next corner.”

She obliged.

“And so,” continued Cole, “we once again are leaving the comforts of civilization behind as we penetrate into the vast unexplored wilderness. We’ve left the settled part of town, Richard, and we’re going North on High Valley Road.”

The Avenger located the spot on the map before him. “We’ll intersect that if we stay on the road we’re on now, Nellie.”

The girl nodded, saying, “What do you think Hollis was planning to do with the girl?”

“Perhaps nothing,” said Benson. “He may simply have left her where he’s heading now, to use as a trump card if necessary.”

“He’s got guts,” said Nellie, “brazening it out and walking right back to his old job. Just as though nothing had happened.”

“As far as he knows, no one is aware he’s the Devil in this setup,” said Benson. “You sat in on some of the questioning of the witches and warlocks last night. Not one of them had any idea of who was the leader of the cult.”

“Anne Barley must know, by now.”

“Probably, which is why Hollis is going to try to beat the government to her,” said Benson. “If she dies before anyone can talk to her, he’s in the clear.”

“Our fox has stopped his run,” announced Cole from the miniature radio.

“Where?”

“Doesn’t appear to be anything hereabouts at all, Richard,” replied Cole. “Can’t actually see his car as yet . . . ah, there he is, parking on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. We’re on Olmstead Hill Road now. Smitty and I are driving on by, trying very hard to look like a pair of maiden ladies interested solely in gravestone rubbings. We’ll park out of his sight and double back on foot to— Aha, he just sprang from his vehicle clutching what appears to be a high-powered rifle! Find us a parking space, Smitty.”

“Keep in contact, Cole,” said the Avenger.

“Looks like our bluff is going to work,” said Nellie. “If we’re in time to save Anne Barley.”

“I think we will be,” he said. “It was obvious that the leader of this whole venture, the man who played the Devil, had to be either Sam Hollis or Gil Lunden. They were the only ones who could have set up all the traps. So we tried the same bluff on both of them. Smitty and Cole called on Hollis, Mac looked in on Lunden. Lunden didn’t take the bait.”

“I’m glad, since he’s obviously the love interest in all this,” said Nellie. “I favor adventures that end with a clinch.”

“Richard, we’re hoofing it and we can see Hollis moving, very very cautiously, through a bit of woodland up ahead,” reported Cole.

The Avenger consulted his map. “There’s an abandoned church, according to this map, below that particular patch of woods, Cole,” he said into the radio. “That may be where he’s heading.”

“Unless he’s merely out for a tramp in the woods,” said Cole. “Yes, he looks to be sneaking up with his rifle to make sure he takes care of any G-men in the vicinity.”

“We should be there in five minutes,” said the Avenger. “Keep on his trail.”

“I intend to,” said Cole. “I want to get a better look at this Barley girl, anyway.”

Anne looked up expectantly. Someone was pounding on the church doors. “Help, I’m in here!” she cried out.

The boards that held the doors shut gave way. “Save your breath, Anne,” said Hollis. “It isn’t a rescue at all.” He stepped, roughly, over the smashed boards.

“What do you want?”

The rawboned man was perspiring freely. He wiped a sleeve across his forehead. Some of his confidence seemed to have left him. He glanced around anxiously. “They don’t appear to be here yet,” he said finally. “Which gives me some time, how much I don’t know.”

“I don’t—”

Hollis stomped down the church aisle. “Somehow, don’t ask me how, they know you’re here,” he said, panting. “But that doesn’t matter, because if they find you dead, it makes no difference. Dead, you can’t possibly tell them.”

“Sam, you can’t—”

“Stop telling me what I can and can’t do,” he told her. “I’ve got to kill you, Anne. Right now, before you tell anyone.” He turned the rifle on her.

“Sam, for the love of—”

“Ow!” Hollis’s arms went flying up, causing him to hold the rifle for an instant as though it were a chinning bar. His breath coughed out of him, and he stumbled against a pew.

The cause of all this was Cole Wilson, who had come plummeting down from the organ loft up above. “I thought we cured you of the sacrifice habit last evening, old man.” He grabbed the rifle away from Hollis and threw it aside.

Hollis fell to one knee, caught hold of the side of a pew, and pulled himself to his feet. “You conned me,” he accused.

“Oh, yes, to be sure,” Cole moved a hand toward the pistol beneath his coat.

Hollis lowered his head and butted into Cole. “I’m still going to get clear.”

It took Cole a few seconds to catch his breath. Then he took off after Hollis. The gaunt editor was running for the rear of the church.

Cole narrowed the distance between them. He sprang, tackled Hollis and brought him down.

Hollis thrashed around on the floor, kicking at Cole. One foot managed to connect with Cole’s chin.

The young man let go and brought his hands up toward his face. Hollis scrambled to his feet. He almost made it to the way out.

Smitty was there, arms folded. “We got you, Hollis,” he said.

The fleeing editor made a final try. He went for a hand gun inside his jacket.

“No, you don’t!” Smitty stepped into the aisle from outside, swinging.

One punch, which connected with Hollis’s jaw, felled him.

“That takes care of the Devil,” said Smitty.

“Another fall from grace.” Cole was up and around, making his way to the bound girl. “Permit me to introduce myself, Miss Barley. I’m Cole Wilson.” He located his pocketknife and went to work on the ropes that held her.

“Thank you,” she said in a faint voice. “I thought for certain it was all over.”

“We couldn’t let the powers of darkness triumph,” Cole said. “I do apologize, however, for my rather bravura entrance. I didn’t want to come in the same way Hollis had, and then I happened to notice a window up there that wasn’t boarded. Smitty boosted me up to it.”

“I’m Smitty,” said the giant. While Cole was releasing the girl, he had trussed up Hollis.

“I’ve heard of you, both of you,” said Anne. “You’re colleagues of Mr. MacMurdie’s, members of Justice, Inc.”

“The same,” admitted Cole. “There, that’s the last of the ropes. Let me rub your limbs, Miss Barley, to restore circulation.”

“Thank you. About last night . . .” she said. “I’m somewhat hazy about what actually happened. Is everyone all right?”

“Sure,” Smitty told her, leaning a big elbow against the nearby pulpit. “Mac’s safe, and so is his buddy Doc Ruyle. We rounded up all the witches, and all the spies. Well, at least the most recent batch. Now that we got the kingpin himself, we should be able to track down the rest of the Nazi agents he’s been helping ashore here in Nightwitch.”

“I might add,” added Cole, “that young Gil Lunden is also in tip-top shape and most anxious about your safety.”

“Oh, him,” said Anne.

A grin appeared on Cole’s face and grew wider. “Here’s my arm, Miss Barley,” he offered. “I’ll escort you to the outside.”

Arm in arm the two of them walked down the aisle.

MacMurdie wiped his mouth with the checkered napkin. “That was a breakfast of almost prewar quality,” he said, leaning back. “Except for their spurious coffee.”

It was a new morning, the day after they had located Anne Baxley in the old church and captured the Nightwitch Devil.

Mac, Nellie, Smitty, and Richard Benson were seated around a table in a small inn near the shore.

“What are you figuring to do now, Mac?” the giant wanted to know.

“I thought I mot stay on here for a few days,” replied the Scot. “ ’Tis still m’ vacation, ye know.”

“You spent the first part of it in some interesting places,” said Nellie, looking again toward the door.

“Aye, not ever’ tourist gets to spend a night in a tomb, or in a smuggler’s tunnel system.”

Smitty took a sip of his coffee. “I’m kind of worried about my own trip,” he said.

“Aye, I forgot ye’re going out to California next month.”

“Yeah, to see a couple old buddies of mine who’ll be on leave from the Air Corps,” said the big man. He tugged at his ear. “I don’t know, though, Mac. Seems like every time one of us takes a trip, something goes blooey. Like Nellie went up to Connecticut last year and we got tangled up in that werewolf business, and then when Cole was out in California—”

“Ye’ve nothing to worry about, lad,” MacMurdie assured him. “Those were mere coincidences.”

“And you’ve got to admit,” said Benson, “that you enjoy a good brawl, Smitty.”

“Sure, I suppose so, Dick,” said Smitty. “Still, it might be nice to spend a whole week without running into anything odd and goofy.”

“Dull,” said Nellie. “I know before I joined the crew, life was sort of monotonous.”

Mac turned to the Avenger, “Ye’ll not be needing me, Richard?”

“Not for a few days, Mac. I’ll be involved in helping round up the remaining members of the spy ring,” said Benson. “The ones scattered around New England.”

“Ye got a hefty list of names from that skurlie Hollis,” said MacMurdie.

The Avenger nodded.

Nellie was watching the door again. “Here comes Cole.”

The grinning young man sauntered over and took the one empty chair. “How’s the coffee, Mac?”

“Most foul.”

“Well?” said Nellie.

“Miss Barley sends you all her best wishes,” said Cole. “She and I had a very charming breakfast at the Old Fiddler’s Inn.”

“It’s incredible,” said the little blonde. “I didn’t think, for a while there, you were even going to meet her, and here you are romancing her.”

“Ah, pixie, hotcakes and maple syrup, or an imitation thereof, is not romance,” said Cole. “I merely sensed that the girl needed someone to confide in, a shoulder to cry on, as they phrase it in the Bette Davis films. So I provided.”

Smitty asked, “What’s she got to cry about now?”

“Life in Nightwitch,” said Cole. “Now that there’s no more witches to track, Anne feels life here is going to be dull and monotonous.”

“She’s got her dashing attorney,” Nellie pointed out.

“In her opinion, which seems quite sound, Gil Lunden can not accurately be described as dashing, Nell,” Cole said. “No, for real dash, one has to look further afield. Possibly to some teeming metropolis.”

“You didn’t talk her into leaving Nightwitch for Manhattan?”