The Avenger 32 - The Death Machine by Kenneth Robeson Read Free Book Online

believe that,” said the doctor. “All our drivers are very careful and gentle young men.”
    “Which of your vehicles were out that evening?”
    Dr. Friessen, after polishing his spectacles, crossed to his desk and moved behind it. “The records are all kept in this drawer here.”
    Smitty was crouched down beside the stuffed dog, inspecting it more closely. “Pretty darn lifelike.”
    The doctor opened a drawer, thrust his hand into it. The hand came out holding a revolver. “Now, gentlemen, if you’d be so kind as to put up your hands.”

CHAPTER X

Heathcote’s Hunch
    Uncle Algernon, shoeless, paced a circle on the rug of Smitty’s room. Alone, he was walking and reflecting. Out on the Bay the foghorns were hooting.
    “A machine to neutralize the Heathcote Ultrasonic Brain Control Box,” he murmured. “Not a difficult task, for one with my capabilities. Let’s see . . . first we need . . .” He halted next to the coffee table, bent and grabbed up a cocktail napkin. He unfolded it, began searching his rumpled clothes for a pencil. “Do we want something which will work from up close? Or would it be best to keep a safe distance . . . ? Those halfwit foghorns are certainly loud tonight.”
    Locating a stub of pencil, he began nibbling on the end. “Hate to be accused of cowardice, a man of my courage . . . yet in this case keeping a safe distance from . . .” He straightened up, spit out the pencil, and slapped his wrinkled brow. “Excelsior!”
    Dr. Heathcote hopped around the room in search of his discarded shoes. He paused, sniffing. “There you are.” He’d invented a spray which waterproofed shoes. It was highly effective, but unfortunately had an odor similar to that of aging seafood.
    “Foghorns,” he muttered as he sat upon the floor to tug on his shoes. “Foghorns . . . remind me of a man with a foghorn voice. Why didn’t I think of him earlier? He was at at least a dozen of my lectures and after my talk in El Cerrito he bumped into me, apologizing profusely. Ah, yes, it all comes back to me now. Moments later he handed me my house keys, explained I must have dropped them when we collided. What a halfwit I’ve been. Obviously he pickpocketed the keys and made a quick wax impression before returning them to me.”
    The inventor stood up, made a dash for the door. “Fortunately for the future of mankind, I have a pretty good hunch about where to find him.”
    He rushed out into the hall.

    The rented car progressed across the Golden Gate Bridge somewhat fitfully. Whenever Dr. Heathcote shifted gears there was a woeful grinding sound and the blue coupé made a swaying bound forward. “An auto which would shift its own gears,” mused the doctor. “Yes, it’s certainly within the realm of possibility.”
    The fog was thinner on the other side of the bridge. Dr. Heathcote stayed on the main highway, passing Sausalito by. He began to hunch at the wheel when the Tiburon turnoff came up on his right. “Where’s that halfwit sign?”
    There it was. Wollter’s Landing—Turn Rt.
    Turning right, he took the machine along the curving up-and-down road which led to the little bayside town he was seeking.
    When he’d remembered the foghorn man, he also remembered a conversation he’d overheard between the man and another at a cocktail party after one of his lectures.
    “How’s the renovating coming along?” the other man had asked.
    “Very well,” Foghorn had replied. “We’ll have the Pirate Castle ready for business before the end of autumn.”
    “Pirate Castle indeed,” muttered Heathcote now as he and the car came rolling down the last hill and into Wollter’s Landing.
    Uncle Algernon’s habits had made a wanderer of him; he’d been all over the country in the past decade or so. Been in Northern California many times, and he remembered that the Pirate Castle had once been a well-known restaurant. It had stood on a wooded hill overlooking the Bay.
    He parked his jittery car in the