discovered a new version of the old methods of tempering steel. The Marr process of tempering had nothing to do with oil or heat or acid. It was a brand-new process. Ray tempering, in some form or other. It was immensely superior to standard tempering. For this could be done when the car was all assembled, processing every bit of steel in relation to every other bit, instead of part by part in the older manner.
It was impossible to do more than glance at the contraption during the lunch hour. And Benson wanted much more than a glance. So it gave him two reasons for going through with the program he’d had in mind when he came in here.
The other reason being to see if anything funny went on in the Marr plant at night, and the program being to stay all night and find out.
That was accomplished by the simple expedient of just not going out with the others when the afternoon’s work drew to a close.
The other men went out. And Benson sat on a pile of steel billets, behind a rack holding drill rods of various sizes. And then the plant was empty, save for several watchmen who would be as hard to find in the acres of floor as ants in a desert.
It was ghostly in the great building, with night lights glowing at intervals, and far in the distance the steps of a watchman going to one of his boxes. And it was particularly ghostly when you remembered that, usually at night, this place was humming with activity. Machinery in big plants is so costly that even if business scarcely justifies it, it must be run day and night in shifts to get back out of it in profits the huge sums the installation costs.
But it was certainly dead tonight; so Benson came out of his corner after a while and went again to the end of the third assembly line.
He crouched down behind a machine while a watchman came past with a slow, regular tread, like a military sentry. Then he went to the box.
He wheeled one of the tripods, which was on casters, to the aperture in the right-hand side of the box. The thick slab from which all the wires came, fitted the aperture exactly. The inner surface of the slab, Benson noted, was of quartz. It bore out his theory of a ray treatment of the steel. Through that quartz slab, as through a window, some force or other rayed over the finished cars that were slowly drawn through the great box—
There was the slightest imaginable sound, far down the line from where Dick Benson stood. Instantly he was behind the end of the box, where the assembly line stopped. He peered down toward where the sound had come from.
He had just a flash of a leg in striped cotton, such as he wore, himself—the clothes of a workman. Then the leg disappeared behind one of the hundreds of small, rubber-tired trucks in which parts were wheeled through the plant.
Dick Benson was not the only workman—or rather, intruder dressed in workman’s garments—to have allowed himself to be locked in the plant!
With the little gun, Mike, in his hand, The Avenger went toward that truck. And the truck started rolling slowly away from him, as if it were an animal with life of its own, retreating from him—and forming a perfect shield for the man behind it as it moved.
Benson had to flank the fellow, somehow; so he went for the shadow of the next assembly line. There, head down, he raced for the end of the shop, till he got ahead of the slowly moving truck.
And there he found that he was up against somebody who had plenty of brains. For—there was no one behind that truck.
It had been given a gentle shove, to keep it rolling for another half minute, and the shover had then disappeared in shadow himself.
Benson started to turn, and then found out where the man was.
He was right behind him!
Hands found Benson’s throat—hands that seemed made of metal instead of flesh! And a leg like a steel cable was curved around his own legs.
The Avenger had fought strong men in his life. In fact, he had once been forced to fight the giant Smitty, himself. But he
It was impossible to do more than glance at the contraption during the lunch hour. And Benson wanted much more than a glance. So it gave him two reasons for going through with the program he’d had in mind when he came in here.
The other reason being to see if anything funny went on in the Marr plant at night, and the program being to stay all night and find out.
That was accomplished by the simple expedient of just not going out with the others when the afternoon’s work drew to a close.
The other men went out. And Benson sat on a pile of steel billets, behind a rack holding drill rods of various sizes. And then the plant was empty, save for several watchmen who would be as hard to find in the acres of floor as ants in a desert.
It was ghostly in the great building, with night lights glowing at intervals, and far in the distance the steps of a watchman going to one of his boxes. And it was particularly ghostly when you remembered that, usually at night, this place was humming with activity. Machinery in big plants is so costly that even if business scarcely justifies it, it must be run day and night in shifts to get back out of it in profits the huge sums the installation costs.
But it was certainly dead tonight; so Benson came out of his corner after a while and went again to the end of the third assembly line.
He crouched down behind a machine while a watchman came past with a slow, regular tread, like a military sentry. Then he went to the box.
He wheeled one of the tripods, which was on casters, to the aperture in the right-hand side of the box. The thick slab from which all the wires came, fitted the aperture exactly. The inner surface of the slab, Benson noted, was of quartz. It bore out his theory of a ray treatment of the steel. Through that quartz slab, as through a window, some force or other rayed over the finished cars that were slowly drawn through the great box—
There was the slightest imaginable sound, far down the line from where Dick Benson stood. Instantly he was behind the end of the box, where the assembly line stopped. He peered down toward where the sound had come from.
He had just a flash of a leg in striped cotton, such as he wore, himself—the clothes of a workman. Then the leg disappeared behind one of the hundreds of small, rubber-tired trucks in which parts were wheeled through the plant.
Dick Benson was not the only workman—or rather, intruder dressed in workman’s garments—to have allowed himself to be locked in the plant!
With the little gun, Mike, in his hand, The Avenger went toward that truck. And the truck started rolling slowly away from him, as if it were an animal with life of its own, retreating from him—and forming a perfect shield for the man behind it as it moved.
Benson had to flank the fellow, somehow; so he went for the shadow of the next assembly line. There, head down, he raced for the end of the shop, till he got ahead of the slowly moving truck.
And there he found that he was up against somebody who had plenty of brains. For—there was no one behind that truck.
It had been given a gentle shove, to keep it rolling for another half minute, and the shover had then disappeared in shadow himself.
Benson started to turn, and then found out where the man was.
He was right behind him!
Hands found Benson’s throat—hands that seemed made of metal instead of flesh! And a leg like a steel cable was curved around his own legs.
The Avenger had fought strong men in his life. In fact, he had once been forced to fight the giant Smitty, himself. But he
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