Free The Avenger 31 - The Cartoon Crimes by Kenneth Robeson

The next two pieces of conversation have dots as well,” explained Thompson. “When you put down all the dotted letters you get QKDOLXRYXOKW. It’s really a very simple substitution code they’ve used. All you do is start the second alphabet at K. Therefore K equals A, L equals B, and so on.”
    “And what’s the message come out?”
    “It says ‘Gate B N-H One AM,’ ” said the younger agent.
    Early took up the comic page. “And this Wonderman page ran in the Sunday papers two days before the explosion at the Nils-Hardin aircraft plant.”
    “That’s right, sir. You’ll find several other messages concealed in these comic strips.” Thompson grabbed up a daily. “For instance, this one is BYXQYEVKBDGBYDODRSCLYYV, which translates to—”
    “We can go into all the specifics later,” said Early. “Just tell me now if they all pertain to aircraft factories that’ve been sabotaged.”
    “Yes, sir, they do,” answered Thompson. “Sometimes there’s a specific place to be, sometimes a person to contact. The dates all tie in, too, always within a few days of the incident of sabotage.”
    “So our foreign agent pals are using Lewing’s strip to send messages,” said Early, starting to pace.
    “Lewing himself almost certainly has to be involved, sir.”
    “Doesn’t have to be, no. Could be somebody else,” said Early. He began gathering up all the spread-out funnies. “Could be his wife, his assistant, somebody in the syndicate that distributes his stuff.”
    “I really feel stupid that I didn’t notice this before,” said Thompson, taking back the bundle of newspapers. “I’m a great fan of Wonderman. Read it faithfully.”
    “Do Kandy and Bruce get out of that shrinking room?”
    “What? Oh, you mean in the strip . . . yes, of course. Bruce Fairfield is, you see, really Wonderman. The main problem he faced there was that he couldn’t openly change into costume without revealing the secret of his identity to both Kandy Kase and Luxor, the supervillain who’d entrapped them in the shrinking room in the first place. Finally he hits upon the strategem of—”
    “Rather remain in the dark on how he did it, Thompson,” said Early. “You run along now. First thing in the morning we’ll pay a visit to Gil Lewing at his studio.”
    “It’s morning already, sir.”
    “Not to me,” said the government agent. “Meet me back here around eight.”

CHAPTER XVII

HQ
    Gruber stepped over the crystal chandelier, edged around a wrought-iron one, and sat on a Windsor chair. He unbuttoned the coat of his double-breasted suit and reached into an inner pocket for a pack of cigarettes.
    The fat man seated in the Louis XV sofa let out a sigh. “I never thought you’d clump your way all the way over here,” he said in his high-pitched voice, “without ruining something priceless.”
    “So much clutter in this back room, Pournelle,” remarked Gruber as he lit a cigarette. “A room like this is an indication of an untidy mind.”
    “My mind is tidy enough to have gotten me placed in charge of this entire operation, Gruber.”
    “I can’t help think you love these antiques much more than you love the homeland.”
    The fat man rested his palms on his knees, glaring at Gruber. “Many of you were sent here years ago to establish alternate identities and await the call to serve our homeland,” he said. “And yet look at you, Gruber, and that fool Kobler. What have you made of yourselves?”
    “Good agents.”
    Pournelle smiled. “Oh, really?” He rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling, from which another half-dozen assorted chandeliers were hanging. “We’ll let that pass. What I’m getting at, my friend, is that I’m the only one who made his cover identity into something. Pournelle’s Antique Barn is famed all over the East Coast, and it is thriving.” He gave a so-there nod of his head.
    Exhaling smoke, Gruber said, “There is no need to excel in some secondary profession. We have more