Free The Avenger 32 - The Death Machine by Kenneth Robeson Page A

demonstration of my considerable physical strength is what’s called for.”
    “Okay, here goes.”
    “You’re light as a feather, Early.”
    “I haven’t stepped on yet. There.”
    “Um . . . I didn’t realize you were such a husky lad. From what Algy told me I—”
    “Lift me up a little higher. Good, I’ve got hold of the—”
    Before the young agent could reach up and push the wooden door itself, it was opened from above.
    “The face on the barroom floor,” remarked Cole Wilson, grinning down at Early. “Good news from Governor Warren, you’ve been pardoned.”
    “Cole Wilson,” said Early in a less than enthusiastic voice.
    Ignoring Early’s glum look, Cole held out his hand. “Let me pull you out of there, old chum.”
    Early took hold of the waiting hand. “Thanks.”
    “Is Uncle Algernon down there with you?”
    “What do you think he’s standing on, you halfwit?”
    Once Early was up on the winery floor, Cole got down on his stomach and peered into the black hole. “Can you leap up and catch hold of my arms, do you think, Unc?”
    “Certainly, since I’m in splendid physical shape for a man of my years.”
    “Leap away then.”
    “Stop wiggling your fingers.”
    “You two are the most fastidious souls I’ve ever had the pleasure of saving,” said Cole as Uncle Algernon tried another jump. “Good, you’ve made contact.” Gritting his teeth, he hauled the older man up out of the stone underground cell. “Friend Early here would quite obviously have rather been rescued by the Marines or perhaps a band of Boy Scouts, and you, Uncle Algy, make snide remarks about my style of plucking you out of the jaws of doom. It’s a strange age we—”
    “We have a few other things to handle now, Cole,” reminded Nellie.
    “Right you are, princess.” He turned to Giuseppe Macri. “How many brothers are there, anyway, old fellow?”
    “Go to hell,” said the bald man.
    “Unlikely,” said Cole, “not a chap with so many good deeds on his record. Well, we’ll have to round them all up without your cooperation. Then we’d better radio Dick Benson and—”
    “My agency will take care of any enemy agents we catch hereabouts, Wilson,” Early told him.
    “To be sure,” said Cole, giving him a mock salute. “But let’s not count our spies before they’re hatched. If you can stop complaining for a bit, we’ll get down to the business of rounding them up. What say?”
    Early said nothing.

CHAPTER XVII

One Victim Too Many
    “A most hazardous profession, espionage,” observed Cole. He had the seat nearest to the wide window of the seafood restaurant and was watching the sun dropping down toward the sea. “The work-related deaths are fantastic. First that collegiate chap over in Berkeley, then both those lads who were haunting the ghost town.” He shook his head sadly before forking another bite of fillet of sole into his mouth.
    “It don’t make much difference, does it?” said Smitty. “We got Unc’s machine back after them guys kicked off and—”
    “Not that I want to be a wet blanket, Algy,” said Dr. Heathcote as he tore himself a chunk of French bread off the loaf. “However, I’ve been examining that Heathcote Ultrasonic Brain Control Box you handed over to me when we rendezvoused at the winery. I studied it quite thoroughly while our caravan was wending its way homeward.”
    “Yeah, so what?”
    “It isn’t mine.”
    “Huh?”
    “A moderately expert copy, I grant, but it lacks the polish that the Heathcote touch gives.”
    The Avenger said, “Then they’ve been able to manufacture functioning duplicates of your invention.
    “I fear so.”
    Nellie said, “Which means we’ve got to catch the whole blasted gang.”
    “We have to do that anyway, pixie,” said Cole. “The annoying part is that there may be more induced suicides now.”
    “Too bad we didn’t get a longer list of targets from that pooch undertaker,” lamented Smitty.
    “Ah, you obtained a