boat peacefully enough, about a dozen of them, all moving as silently as possible. They started along the short dock toward land. And then, abruptly, they found themselves confronted by an even larger band.
No place to hide in the open little flat strip between dock and cliff? Well, that was true enough. And yet there had been a place to conceal men. Quite a few men. That was, under the dock itself.
Before the men could get on land from the dock, another body of men emerged dripping from under the thing. They charged forward in silent savagery. The men from the boat, unable to get back and able to get to land only by overcoming these others, rushed forward to meet them.
They began to fight like two packs of wild animals, save that animals would have made more noise. These whirling figures were as silent as was possible. There were no gunshots, no yells, just the sound of bone or club on flesh and the gasps of men using all the strength they had.
Two burst from the group and raced to the stairs. Three others detached themselves and ran after them. The five, pursued and pursuers, began coming up.
“Back down, the way we came,” said Benson in a low, calm tone.
They went back to the spot, two hundred yards north, where they had climbed the cliff. They descended again.
“We’ll go closer, keeping out of sight by staying flat against the foot of the cliff.”
“You figuring on interfering?” whispered Smitty, quite willing to do so.
“No,” said The Avenger. “Let them fight. The more killers turn their attention inward and murder each other, the better for society as a whole. But I want to keep an eye on the one who claimed he was Shan. If he is downed, we’ll try to take him out of that mess. He has at least one of the gold disks—”
Benson’s calm voice stopped. His hand, sliding along the flat rock of the cliff, had touched a curious thing. A small, round hole in the stone. He bent to look closer in the darkness. Then, with his coat around the spot so that the light could be seen by no one but himself, he snapped on his small but powerful flash.
The tiny beam showed a hole about an inch and a half in diameter that was too regular to be natural. It had been drilled there.
The Avenger snapped off the flash and felt along the cliff. There were three more holes in the direction of the dock. Presumably they went on and on, a hole about every two yards.
He back-tracked, with Smitty and Mac watching him in the dimness and wondering what on earth had attracted his attention. They couldn’t see the holes.
The regular line of holes stopped with the fourth one toward the north.
“Come on,” said The Avenger. “Back!”
He led the way thirty yards past the last hole, and they crouched there.
“What—” began Mac uncertainly.
“Blasting holes in the cliff face,” said Benson. “They seem to run from that jutting boulder down there, clear south past the dock. No telling how far.”
“Blasting holes?” repeated Smitty, mystified.
“Yes. Someone has undermined the whole face of the cliff behind that dock. And recently—those holes look quite fresh. I don’t like the appearance of the thing, so we’ll stay behind the line of blasting holes for a little while.”
Mac nodded. “You think it might be some kind of trap.”
“Yes,” said The Avenger, pale eyes lambent in the darkness. “We know the owner of this island doesn’t encourage visitors. The dogs prove that.”
Mac and Smitty, through the darkness, could barely see the struggling knot of men about halfway up the stairway. But Benson’s hawk eyes could make out more detail.
The three pursuers had caught the first two, and there was a life-and-death struggle going on. The two Orientals from the boat were putting up a good show against the three.
While Benson peered, he saw one of the three arch backward suddenly, under a treacherous kick. The man grabbed for the rail and missed. His body went head over heels through thin air for
No place to hide in the open little flat strip between dock and cliff? Well, that was true enough. And yet there had been a place to conceal men. Quite a few men. That was, under the dock itself.
Before the men could get on land from the dock, another body of men emerged dripping from under the thing. They charged forward in silent savagery. The men from the boat, unable to get back and able to get to land only by overcoming these others, rushed forward to meet them.
They began to fight like two packs of wild animals, save that animals would have made more noise. These whirling figures were as silent as was possible. There were no gunshots, no yells, just the sound of bone or club on flesh and the gasps of men using all the strength they had.
Two burst from the group and raced to the stairs. Three others detached themselves and ran after them. The five, pursued and pursuers, began coming up.
“Back down, the way we came,” said Benson in a low, calm tone.
They went back to the spot, two hundred yards north, where they had climbed the cliff. They descended again.
“We’ll go closer, keeping out of sight by staying flat against the foot of the cliff.”
“You figuring on interfering?” whispered Smitty, quite willing to do so.
“No,” said The Avenger. “Let them fight. The more killers turn their attention inward and murder each other, the better for society as a whole. But I want to keep an eye on the one who claimed he was Shan. If he is downed, we’ll try to take him out of that mess. He has at least one of the gold disks—”
Benson’s calm voice stopped. His hand, sliding along the flat rock of the cliff, had touched a curious thing. A small, round hole in the stone. He bent to look closer in the darkness. Then, with his coat around the spot so that the light could be seen by no one but himself, he snapped on his small but powerful flash.
The tiny beam showed a hole about an inch and a half in diameter that was too regular to be natural. It had been drilled there.
The Avenger snapped off the flash and felt along the cliff. There were three more holes in the direction of the dock. Presumably they went on and on, a hole about every two yards.
He back-tracked, with Smitty and Mac watching him in the dimness and wondering what on earth had attracted his attention. They couldn’t see the holes.
The regular line of holes stopped with the fourth one toward the north.
“Come on,” said The Avenger. “Back!”
He led the way thirty yards past the last hole, and they crouched there.
“What—” began Mac uncertainly.
“Blasting holes in the cliff face,” said Benson. “They seem to run from that jutting boulder down there, clear south past the dock. No telling how far.”
“Blasting holes?” repeated Smitty, mystified.
“Yes. Someone has undermined the whole face of the cliff behind that dock. And recently—those holes look quite fresh. I don’t like the appearance of the thing, so we’ll stay behind the line of blasting holes for a little while.”
Mac nodded. “You think it might be some kind of trap.”
“Yes,” said The Avenger, pale eyes lambent in the darkness. “We know the owner of this island doesn’t encourage visitors. The dogs prove that.”
Mac and Smitty, through the darkness, could barely see the struggling knot of men about halfway up the stairway. But Benson’s hawk eyes could make out more detail.
The three pursuers had caught the first two, and there was a life-and-death struggle going on. The two Orientals from the boat were putting up a good show against the three.
While Benson peered, he saw one of the three arch backward suddenly, under a treacherous kick. The man grabbed for the rail and missed. His body went head over heels through thin air for
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