Free The Avenger 14 - Three Gold Crowns by Kenneth Robeson

of.
    The cigar case supposed never to leave his person.
    In the cigar case, Farquar had been sure, was the fake murder clue Salloway was holding over the lawyer’s head. But one doesn’t carry cigar cases in pajama pockets. At least there was none in the single pocket of the dead man’s pajamas jacket. A glance told that.
    Salloway’s fists were clenched hard. The Avenger bent down and opened the right hand. It took a bit of effort.
    “You can’t do that!” bleated the house manager. “The police— No one is supposed to touch”
    “Pipe down!” growled Smitty, “or you may get into even more trouble than I think you’re due for.”
    The manager shut up. Dick saw that the right hand contained nothing; so he opened the left. And this did reveal something.
    A queer-looking key.
    It had a curved flange instead of a straight one and had more indentations than most keys. It evidently fit into a very complicated lock.
    But what lock?
    “Did Salloway have a strongbox or small safe installed in here since his occupancy?” Benson asked the building manager.
    He got no reply.
    “You’d know of such an installation, as manager here,” Dick said.
    Still the man’s lips were obstinately sealed. And then he gasped suddenly.
    Two hands like steel vises were on his cringing shoulders. Pale eyes like the eyes of Death itself glared into his.
    “Well?”
    Dick’s voice was almost gentle, but by now the luckless manager was shaking all over and his forehead was dewed with sweat. It was a frightening thing to look into The Avenger’s eyes when he was coldly annoyed.
    “Y-yes,” he said, moistening dry lips. “Behind that dresser, I think.”
    Dick pulled the dreser from the wall. The wall seemed unbroken, but tapping produced a hollow note. He pressed on an area where several slight smudges told of other finger-pressures, and a section swung out. It revealed a steel box front like that of a safe, but with a bent slot for a key instead of a combination knob.
    Dick inserted the odd key, and the box opened. There were no papers, money, or other standard valuables there. It held only one thing—a silver cigar case.
    As The Avenger picked it up, something rattled—something like a pebble in the case.
    He started to open it, and nine men poured into the room like water pouring through a pipe!
    It had been well done. The men must have literally held their breaths as they crept in from the hall and crossed the living room. Otherwise, The Avenger would have heard them. As it was, he’d have heard even the rustle of their clothes, with those keen ears of is, if he hadn’t been so intent on the cigar case.
    But he hadn’t heard, and here they were, flying at him and at Smitty like so many leaping cats.
    The cigar case went into a pocket, and Benson went behind the dresser he had pulled out from the wall. Two men slammed into the dresser as they tried to change their course and couldn’t quite make it.
    And then the quaking building manager saw a sight that made his eyes bulge out.
    Dick Benson was only average in size and weight. Not at all a big man. But now and then men appear whose muscle seems to have three times the strength of ordinary muscle. And Dick was one of these.
    At any rate, the manager saw this average-sized man raise the big piece of furniture a foot off the floor, with the two men still draped over it so that over half their weight was lifted, too. Then he saw the man with the pale eyes half thrust and half throw dresser and men and everything else, with a furious burst of power. The tangled mess slammed into some more of the men four feet away and sent the whole group to the floor.
    After that, the manager saw only a whirling kaleidoscope of movement as he shivered in a corner.
    The three who had raced out when Smitty interrupted them had come back with these six more—to get that cigar case. That was evident. And they were certainly trying, now.
    They couldn’t shoot, because there were so many in the room