The Avenger 30 - Black Chariots (7 page)

The twilight thinned, and darkness began to drop down.

MacMurdie reached out and clicked on the floor lamp. A circle of light fell on the map Dick Benson had spread out on their room’s coffee table. “A veritable castle, is it?”

“According to what Heinz was compelled to tell us,” said the Avenger.

Smitty was roaming the hotel room, restless. “That Early guy is going to beat us to the punch,” he said. “This here sheriff is going to fill him in on everything we told him. And with Agent Early’s drag in Washington, he may be able to find out more about those bozos.”

“No more than we learned when we used the truth gas,” Benson assured him. “Anyway, we’re not in a contest with Don Early.”

“He thinks we are.”

“I don’t play by other people’s rules.”

Smitty shrugged. “Too bad those three clunks didn’t know more.”

“Only underlings they were,” said MacMurdie.

“Heinz was the only one who had any contact with the people who employed his gang,” said Benson.

“Aye, and even he has only a vague idea of what the skurlies are up to.”

“It’s obviously espionage of some kind,” the Avenger said. “Heinz and company were used to handle simple jobs of dirty works. They’re domestic crooks, for hire.”

“They didn’t even put in the first team against as,” remarked Smitty.

“They will now,” Mac assured him.

“How does all this link up with the chariots?” said Smitty. “Heinz didn’t know much about them at all, and he had no idea who killed Ralph.”

“Before we answer any more questions,” said Benson, “we’re going to have to do some more digging.” He tapped the map. “Heinz got his instructions, and his pay, from this Old Man Guptill.”

“That’s kind of funny,” said Smitty. “I heard about that guy, he’s something of a local character—they got a lot of oddballs in these parts. Way I got the story, though, this Guptill coot has been holed up in his castle in the desert for years, since the Depression, just about. Seems funny he’d turn into a spy all of a sudden.”

“Mot nae be all of a sudden,” said Mac.

“Guptill may have been planted here years ago and told to wait,” said Benson. “We’ve encountered other Axis agents of that sort, you’ll recall.”

“Sure, like that guy back in Connecticut that time,” replied Smitty.

“There are several possible explanations for Guptill’s part in all this.” The Avenger stood up. “We’ll look into that now.”

“I don’t mind surly waiters,” remarked Cole Wilson, “but this is carrying it a bit far.” He dodged as the red-coated waiter threw another punch at him.

The waiter, a low-foreheaded man with crinkly red hair, stumbled on by Cole, tripped over the foot Cole had placed in front of him, and whammed head-first into a table.

Glasses, a lit candle, and a copper ashtray were seesawed up into the chill air of the cocktail lounge.

The waiter fell, sprawled, and the highball glasses, shedding ice cubes, fell down on top of him. The candle missed him, extinguishing itself in the thick scarlet carpeting. The landing ashtray caught him square on the back of the skull.

“Another one coming,” warned Nellie. “Two, in fact.”

Two large men in dark suits were emerging from a door behind the long bar. They said nothing, only grunted, as they galloped toward Cole.

“Gentlemen,” said Cole with a grin, “I trust you’ll be honorable enough to fight me one at a—oops!”

Both of them tackled him, one high and one low.

“Okay,” sighed Nellie, “I might as well get in on this.”

“Leave ’em be,” cautioned the bartender, a bald man who now had a .32 revolver in his left hand.

“Oh, fudge,” said the little blonde. She bent, as though to straighten a stocking. When she came up, very swiftly, a bar stool rose up, too.

Its tufted seat whumped into the bald bartender’s chin. “Unk,” he remarked as his teeth clacked tight together.

The pistol fell down behind the bar. So did the bartender.

Nellie rubbed her palms together and strode to the tangle that was Cole and his two assailants. Though she outwardly seemed to be a demure and defenseless, not to mention small, young lady, Nellie was far from it. She was, to put it simply, pretty tough.

She grabbed one of the dark-suited men by the neck, with her other hand gripping his wrist. The pressure on the big man’s neck made him gag and let go of Cole. Using his arm as a handle, the little blonde flipped him across the cocktail lounge.

He landed on his tailbone, between two tables, but close enough to one to cause it to topple over sideways like a felled tree. It showered him with an ashtray, a candle, and a wooden bowl full of stale popcorn.

“Accept my,” said Cole, delivering a jab to the remaining man’s midsection, “grateful thanks, pixie.”

“I’d do the same thing for most anyone.”

“There.” Cole connected with his opponent’s chin; the man sagged and dropped to the floor. “Now what say we fold up our tents and get the—”

“Not quite yet, Mr. Wilson.” A thin, dark man in a tuxedo was standing in the arched entryway to the Oasis lounge. A revolver in his hand pointed directly at Cole.

Nellie moved closer to Cole, nodding at the bar. “And another one back there with a gun, too.”

“I’m starting to feel like General Custer on his farewell tour,” said Cole. “You have the advantage, sir, in that you know my name and I don’t know yours.”

“My name is Danker, at the moment,” said the thin, dark man.

“I see, Mr. Danker,” said Cole. “Well, I am regretful that I felled several of your employees. Any number of the most fashionable members of café society will testify that I am usually very sedate when I visit nightclubs and similar bistros.” He gestured with a thumb at the redhead waiter, who was now on his hands and knees and groaning. “However, when this chap suggested that I come along with him, I must admit I demurred.”

“I’m afraid he was acting on my orders,” said Danker. “You were recognized, Mr. Wilson, the moment you came in.”

“I can see why yon don’t have much clientele,” said Cole, “if you treat every familiar face this way.”

“I truly enjoy badinage, Mr. Wilson. Let us, though, drop the banter for a moment.” Danker snapped his fingers in the direction of the man behind the bar. “Search him, Dirks.”

Dirks was large, too. His tuxedo, not quite as large as he was, strained at the shoulders and was taut as a sail in the wind across the back. He tilted to the left as he walked over to frisk Cole. “What about the broad?”

“That will be taken care of later.”

“She’s a pretty salty little skirt,” said Dirks. “I saw what she done to Haefley. She threw him right on his—”

“Search the young man, Dirks,” repeated Danker.

“I really don’t see, old man, why you—” began Cole.

“I am familiar with the faces of all the members of the illustrious Justice, Inc.,” said Danker.

“Ah, the price of fame,” said Cole, lifting his arms.

Dirks began slapping down his sides. “Here’s a rod,” he announced, removing a pistol from its shoulder holster. “And . . . I ain’t sure what this is. A handful of glass balls.”

“You might drop one on the floor,” suggested Cole. “That way you’ll enjoy the full—”

“Hand those here, Dirks. Be careful.”

Gingerly the big man let the half-dozen blackout pellets roll from his palm into Decker’s. “Hot stuff, huh?” He gave a massive shrug and returned to his search. “Here’s some kind of screwy-looking knife. I seen a Chinaman use one once up in Frisco. It was back in—”

“You can spare me the narrative, Dirks.” Danker took the knife and set it on a table.

“And what’s this dingus? I remember a peeper planted something like this in my hotel room once when my second wife thought I was—”

“Let me have it.” Danker took the small eavesdropping bug and placed it next to the confiscated knife. “You remind me of that motion-picture comic, one of the Marx Brothers, I believe, whose pockets contain a most amazing collection of devices and artifacts, Mr. Wilson.”

“Probably because I’m something of a comedian myself.”

“Yes, to be sure,” said Danker. “Although I believe even you won’t find much to be amused by during your stay with us.”

“You can’t hold us here,” said Nellie. “If you know who we are, then you know we’re part of a larger organization. They’ll come looking for us, and that’s going to mean only trouble for you.”

“Forgive me for resorting to a cliché, Miss Gray, but the desert is a big place,” said Danker. “It’s quite easy for people to disappear in its sandy vastness.”

“The Avenger knew we were going to pay this call on you, old man.”

“Somehow, Mr. Wilson, I doubt that. Even if it were so, we are prepared to stand off an army here, if need be. And your much-touted Avenger is, if you’ll forgive me for pointing it out, only one man.”

“You’re going, if
you’ll
forgive
my
cliché,” said Cole, “to be changing your tune very soon. Danker.”

Dirks stepped back from him. “That’s the lot. He ain’t got nothing else on him.”

“Very good. Now we’ll have Helga search the young lady, after which we’ll show them to their new home.”

“Going to be guests of the Oasis, are we?” asked Cole.

“Yes, though you won’t, I must apologize, have much of a view.”

“Underground,” said Cole, rubbing his neck below his ear. “Quite a way underground.”

“This is the deepest-down basement I’ve ever been in,” said Nellie.

Dirks and Danker had just shoved them into this windowless room and locked them in.

“Well, we . . . Hello, who’s this? Another damsel in distress?”

Jennifer Hamblin had been dozing in a wooden chair in the shadowy corner of the room. She sat up awake now, blinking. “Who are you?”

Grinning at the pretty girl, Cole said, “I’m Cole Wilson, sometimes known as Devil-May-Care Wilson. This young lady is Nellie Gray.”

Jennifer got up. “I’ve heard of you. In fact, your friend, Mr. Smith, was going to help me find my uncle.”

“Ah, then we’ve heard of you, too. You must be Jennifer Hamblin.”

She nodded, brushing her hair back from her face. “How did they get you? Was it because you were looking for me?”

“This is going to hurt my reputation for infallibility,” said Cole, “but I didn’t know you were missing. No, we breezed into the cocktail lounge an hour or so ago. I had, earlier in the day, spotted a chap named Franz Bernhardt gainfully employed here as a waiter. It was my original intent to case the joint, as it were.”

“But,” said Nellie, “they seemed to know who we were. Almost the minute we sat down, a punchy-looking waiter came over and tried to drag Cole off for an interview with this Danker guy.”

“Danker?”

“Dark chap, with a lean and hungry look, very dapper.”

“Oh, yes, him. He’s the one who brought me here, but I didn’t know his name.”

Hands in pockets, Cole eased around the room. “Yon door would appear to be the only way out.”

“Yes, I believe it is. Although you’re probably much better than I am at finding your way out of places.”

“Second only to Houdini and the great Norgil,” Cole said.

“You mentioned a waiter named Bernhardt,” said Jennifer, watching him pace the room. “Who is he?”

“FBI has the notion he might have ties with the Fatherland,” said Cole. “Know him?”

She shook her head, sadly. “No, but it just confirms, more or less, what I’ve been thinking.” Backing, she sat down again. “I’ve seen my uncle.”

“Eh?” Cole stopped still.

“That’s how I got here. I mean, I was up in my room, and I saw Uncle Val. He was outside, walking across the patio by the pool. I called and called, but he paid no attention. So I left my room and followed him. That led me down here.”

“You’re sure,” asked Nellie, “it was him?”

Jennifer bit her lip, head downcast. Then she said, “Oh, yes, it’s Uncle Val. I finally got as close to him as I am to you two. It’s him, yes, for sure. He . . . I don’t know . . . he was a . . . what do they call it? . . . A decoy, a stalking horse. He led me right into the trap.”

Cole said, “What did the old boy have to say about it?”

“Nothing, he never spoke. He only stood by; then he went away, and Danker, if that’s his name, had me brought in here.”

“Why would your uncle be cooperating with these lads? It’s beginning to smell as though we’re in a nest of saboteurs and spies.”

“Since you’re here,” said Jennifer, “you must have been told some of what I told Mr. Smith. My uncle, at the time he disappeared, was working on a disk-like information-gathering craft. A ship that could fly in low, virtually undetected by any existing equipment, and obtain photos of anything from a gun installation to a war plant. The ship was extremely maneuverable and compact. It would carry a single man, or could be radio-controlled. The government—our government, I mean—was very interested. And then Uncle Val disappeared.”

“So you think your uncle built these black chariots that have been awing the locals?”

“When I read the single account in the paper, I thought of Uncle Val at once,” said Jennifer. “You know the rest, I imagine.”

Nellie said, “You’re pretty certain he’s working with these fellows of his own free will.”