Free The Avenger 29 - The Nightwitch Devil by Kenneth Robeson

I’ll let you go. Here, put this handkerchief—leave it folded up—against your hand and press hard with the other one.”
    “Oh, that’s not going to do any good. There’s so much blood, I . . .” The man’s face paled, turning to a shade of yellow that matched his raincoat. His eyes flapped shut, his mouth fished open, and he slumped to the ground.
    “Can’t stand the sight of blood,” said Nellie. She shrugged, knelt beside him, and bandaged up his moderately gashed hands with two white handkerchiefs.
    “They promised us peace and quiet when we took this country place,” said Cole Wilson, peering out through the opening front door of the flower shop. “What brings you to Nightwitch, pixie?”
    “Is Smitty okay?”
    “Yeah, sure, Nell,” called the giant. He pushed Cole aside and stepped out into the rain. “A couple hours from now, you maybe would get a different answer.”
    “These chaps have made some dire threats,” said Cole. He waited until the Avenger had retrieved his throwing knife, then held out his hand. “Good to see you, Richard. I see you got my message.”
    Benson nodded. “Is this the whole bunch, these four?”
    “It’s all they had holding us,” answered Cole. “But these gents are, to coin a phrase, merely the tip of the proverbial iceberg. We’re dealing with something big here, Richard.”
    “I sensed as much,” said the Avenger. “What about Mac?”
    “He’s still alive,” said Cole, “from what hints these goons dropped.”
    “Any idea where he is?”
    “Nope,” said Smitty. “I ain’t sure these bozos even know. Like Cole says, there’s a lot of guys involved in this goofy business. I got the idea Mac got grabbed by the witches themselves.”
    Glancing around at the four sprawled men, the Avenger said, “We’ll question each of them.”
    “We can use the flower shop for interrogations,” said Cole. “As my old chum Straw-hat very recently pointed out, it’s quiet and secluded here.”

CHAPTER XVII

Conference
    Straw-hat, it turned out, was the only one who knew anything much.
    Using a pellet of truth gas, which he broke beneath the gunman’s nose, the Avenger put him into a half-awake state.
    He slumped in the sprung old sofa chair he was sitting in, eyes half closing. His crease wound had been treated, and there was a cross-hatch of bandages on his scalp.
    “You will answer all my questions,” Benson told him, “truthfully.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    The rain drummed on the tile roof and ran down the outside of the dirty windows. The thunder-rolled closer.
    “Who hired you?”
    “The Devil.”
    Nellie, who was sitting cross-legged on a warped counter top taking notes, raised her eyebrows.
    The Avenger asked, “What’s his name?”
    “The Devil, I don’t know his real name. Never dealt with him directly.”
    “How do you get your orders?”
    “By phone,” answered Straw-hat. “Sometimes by letter. When we get paid off, the dough is left in envelopes at certain places.”
    Cole frowned, began stroking his chin.
    Benson said, “What sort of jobs have you done for the Devil?”
    “All sorts of things. Rough up people, swipe certain things, all sorts of odd jobs.”
    “The Barley girl,” put in Cole. “Did you kidnap her?”
    “Well, we took her someplace. Knocked her out first, then delivered her.”
    “Delivered her where?” asked Benson.
    “Sort of a funny place. We got orders to leave her in the living room of a deserted house on Blackpond Road. Place called the old McRobb mansion.”
    Cole leaned closer to the dazed man, “Where did you grab the girl?”
    “Down by the boatyard, where we tangled with you.”
    “How’d you know we’d be showing up there?”
    “Got a phone call,” replied Straw-hat. “Told us to go back to the boatyard and grab a couple more nosy people.”
    “Huh,” remarked Smitty. “Nobody knew we were going there, except that newshound guy.”
    “Did Sam Hollis phone you?” asked Cole.
    “Don’t know who