The Avenger 10 - The Smiling Dogs by Kenneth Robeson Read Free Book Online

in New York. He is in Washington at the moment, but New York is his home. The offices are closed while he is away. I want you to go through them and make a copy of any records having to do with Senators Collendar, Wade, Hornblow, Burnside and Cutten.”
    There was no sleep in Nellie Gray’s voice when she snapped back: “And anything else that looks as if it might be important?”
    “And anything else that looks important,” agreed The Avenger.
    “Do you want me to come down to Washington personally with any information I might pick up?” asked Nellie Gray wistfully. She was pint-sized, but always spoiling for action. And she wasn’t getting any at the moment.
    “I’ll talk to you later,” said Benson.
    He hung up. From his pocket he drew the folded bit of paper that had been taken from the wallet of Sheriff Aldershot. “Smitty, you’ve dabbled with code. I haven’t been able to get very far with this. See if you can do anything with it.”
    “If you haven’t unscrambled it,” said the giant, “I can predict right now what luck I’ll have with it. About as much as a herring in a den of cats.”
    The Avenger put on his hat, an ordinary-looking felt which was not ordinary at all. Through crown and brim were laced scores of fine wires which would take and hold any shape into which the hat was molded.
    “Going out?” said Mac. “Want me to go along with ye, chief?”
    Benson shook his head. “I’ll go alone.”
    He went out. Smitty began poring over the exasperating code message that looked so simple but was so stubborn about being decoded.
    “7 7 6 39 4 7 3 2 7 7 9 0 0 0 7 7 9 82 46 38 10 1 9 47 6 7 7 84 0 1 1 50,” he read aloud. “Now isn’t that a pretty dish to set before a guy at three thirty in the morning?”

    Benson went to F Street, to the address of a certain veterinarian.
    The Avenger’s mind at times seemed to be a mechanical combination of camera and filing cabinet. This was one of the times. He had had one glimpse of a veterinarian’s bill on the anteroom desk of Dr. Fram. In that glimpse he had noted the name of the vet, Albert Quinn, the address on F Street, and the amount of the bill, ten dollars.
    An examination of the phone book had revealed that Quinn had his dog-and-cat hospital out in Chevy Chase. But he maintained this office near the downtown section as his headquarters.
    Like a gray shadow, The Avenger drifted to the doorway of the office. There wasn’t a soul around at this dawn hour.
    The place was a small store, or had been designed as a store originally. The window had been made opaque, with lettering on it stating Quinn’s profession. Benson looked at the lock for a moment.
    There wasn’t a lock made that The Avenger couldn’t pick, given time. This one required hardly any time at all—about a minute and a half. He opened the door soundlessly and stepped in.
    There were a few whines and whimpers from cages in tiers along two walls. But not much noise. The animals Quinn kept here were obviously ones too sick to be moved out to Chevy Chase. They were paying little attention to anything themselves.
    A door to a rear room showed in the darkness, as Benson’s eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom. He went toward it, still with that remarkable soundlessness. He made so little noise that it was almost as if he floated, wraithlike, an inch or so above the floor.
    He tried the rear door. It was unlocked. He opened it and waited a full minute before going in. As he waited, he strained his ears.
    Richard Benson had spent years adventuring. His tremendous personal fortune had been acquired in jungle and arctic waste, in dangerous desert and on hazardous mountaintops. His instincts were so acute that he could fairly smell danger, if it lurked near. Those instincts were working overtime, now. However, he could hear nothing and see nothing, so he stepped into Quinn’s back room.
    Instantly the darkness seemed to come alive. The men had been clever about it. They had not lurked