The Avenger 23 - The Wilder Curse by Kenneth Robeson Read Free Book Online

nicely,” Mac said.
    They went on out the door.

    There was something in the street that hadn’t been there when they went into Foley’s house. But neither Mac nor Cole, versed as they were in the ways of danger, paid much attention to it. It was too common a sight in any big city.
    It was a big, dull-red moving van. It was backed in to the curb at an angle, just in front of the car they’d come in. As they emerged from the Foley doorway, two men were laboring out of the next house with a piano.
    They were crossing the sidewalk just as Cole and Mac got to that point on the way to their car. The two members of Justice, Inc. paused a moment to let the movers get past.
    The scuffling feet of the men drowned all other sounds of feet. And with two at the piano and a third just lifting a chair into the open rear of the van, it would seem that the whole crew was in sight.
    Cole and Mac never knew what hit them!
    Padded pipe, or something of the kind, crashed down on their skulls from behind. They pitched forward. Before they’d hit the walk, the sluggers behind them caught their bodies.
    A woman was walking toward them half a block away, but she didn’t see anything. The piano was between her and what had happened. No witnesses were ever to report this.
    The men with the blackjacks heaved Mac and Cole into the van. Still another man in there—that made at least six in this odd moving gang—threw carpet over the two bodies. They loaded the piano in, shut the big rear doors and drove away.

CHAPTER VI

“Next Time I’ll Shoot.”
    A call to the Thornton Heights general office had revealed the fact that neither Amos Jones nor Thomas Marsden nor Andrew Sillers were coming there that day. They could be reached at home.
    The Avenger wanted a word with the remaining partners of the rich development. He drove toward Marsden’s address first.
    Marsden lived in a three-story apartment building, four blocks from Thornton Heights. The building was named “Marsden Manor.” Apparently, it was owned by Marsden as a separate and personal venture, having nothing to do with Thornton Heights.
    A glance at the vestibule bells revealed that, while this was a six-apartment building, there were only five apartments in it. The top floor, which should have had two, had only one big one, and this was all Marsden’s.
    Benson pressed Marsden’s bell. There was no answer. He pressed again. Marsden’s office had said he was here. Even if he were out for a while, some one of his servants—there must be several for so large a place—should be at home to answer the ring.
    But none did. The speaking tube remained mute.
    The Avenger took out a ring of master keys of his own design. With but a glance, he picked one out and put it in the vestibule door lock.
    The door promptly opened. He went upstairs to the third floor.
    He didn’t attempt to open the lock there; but with one of the keys, he scraped at the lock as if he were working on it.
    A tremendous voice said, “G-go away or I’ll shoot. I’ll shoot through the door!”
    “Do you usually shoot visitors without even knowing who they are?” said The Avenger.
    “B-but I know who you are,” came the trembly voice on the other side of the door. “We don’t want you in here.”
    The Avenger’s deadly, pale eyes glittered like polar ice under the moon. This was interesting. He was used to having the doors of criminals barred frantically against him. But Marsden was a wealthy, respected man. Why was he so eager to have nothing to do with Richard Benson?
    “All right,” Dick said. “If you don’t want to see me, I suppose there’s nothing to do about it.”
    “We don’t want to see you. Good-by!”
    Benson walked down the stairs audibly then walked back up them silently. The man on the other side of the door seemed satisfied that The Avenger had really gone, as easily as that, which showed that he didn’t know much about Dick Benson after all.
    There was a window above the third-floor