within many blocks, Benson turned to it. He took off the brown wig, disclosing his own silver-white shock. He worked at his face. The dead flesh stayed where it was prodded, like putty. And in a moment it had reassumed the features of Benson, instead of imitating the features of Pinkie Huer.
The steel-gray man was himself again.
A squad car was with the fire engines. As Benson and Nellie came from the door of the burning house, a Long Island detective jumped from the car. He raced toward them.
“In there,” said Benson, nodding to the hallway, “is a criminal. He participated in the kidnapping of this girl who is with me. He no doubt has a long record. It’s the chair for kidnapping in this State. I’d suggest that you arrest him and hold him without bail.”
The detective could see the prone body in the hall, through the open door. But his gaze snapped back to Benson’s expressionless, dead face.
“O.K. We take him. But we take you two, also, for a thorough investigation—”
“We haven’t time for that,” said Benson smoothly.
The detective glared at him. Benson was a little over-height because of the lifts in his shoes to give him some of Huer’s bulk, but still not a big man.
“So you haven’t got time!” he said sarcastically. “Who do you think you are?”
“Is there a two-way radio in your squad car?” said Benson smoothly.
“Yeah.”
Benson walked toward the car. The detective took an uncertain step toward him, then went on to retrieve the unconscious man in the thickening smoke of the hall. Benson got New York headquarters on the radio.
“The white-haired guy’s okay,” said the uniformed driver of the car when the detective came out with the unconscious man in his arms. “New York says so. And they say if he says to hold anybody, we better hold ’em.”
The detective glared, then shrugged.
“All right. You win. Must have a pull like the governor himself—”
He stopped, with the icily flaming eyes on him.
“I would suggest,” said Benson, “that you take extra-good care to guard this man.”
“Guard him?” said the detective, staring. “What could possibly happen to him in jail? Or on the way to jail?”
“That’s all I have to say,” Benson said smoothly. “Watch him as you’ve never guarded a prisoner before.”
The big black car that looked so old and innocent but had such a tremendous motor under its hood was nearly six blocks away. Benson had taken no chances on its being spotted by a lookout when he drove up as Pinkie Huer. He walked Nellie to it, and they drove to Bleek Street. On the way, she was silent, but glanced often with puzzled gray eyes at the enigmatic, powerful person beside her.
Up in the huge third-floor room, Smitty hurried toward them. His vast size made Benson look like a pygmy. Yet the gray steel man seemed, impossibly, to tower over the giant, such was the vitality expressed in his average-sized body.
“Chief! They’ve been calling from Long Island. And from New York headquarters.”
“Yes?” said Benson.
“Yes,” said the giant, words coming in a rush. “You turned some fellow over to the Long Island police, didn’t you?”
Nellie’s eyes widened. Benson only nodded.
“Well, the guy was shot. He was right in the police car, in front of the local jail. Somebody drilled him dead as a doornail—and they haven’t found out who.”
Benson glanced at Nellie Gray. She was biting her lips.
“To keep him from talking,” she said, gray-faced for a moment. “They knew they couldn’t get him out on bail, so they killed him for fear he’d talk.”
“Yes,” said Benson. “You see how much good it did to turn the man over to the police.”
Nellie was silent, shivering a little.
“That kind of thing,” said Benson in his silken voice, dead lips barely moving with the words, “is why Justice & Co. was formed. There are some things beyond the power of the police to handle. And from the start, it has been plain that the
The steel-gray man was himself again.
A squad car was with the fire engines. As Benson and Nellie came from the door of the burning house, a Long Island detective jumped from the car. He raced toward them.
“In there,” said Benson, nodding to the hallway, “is a criminal. He participated in the kidnapping of this girl who is with me. He no doubt has a long record. It’s the chair for kidnapping in this State. I’d suggest that you arrest him and hold him without bail.”
The detective could see the prone body in the hall, through the open door. But his gaze snapped back to Benson’s expressionless, dead face.
“O.K. We take him. But we take you two, also, for a thorough investigation—”
“We haven’t time for that,” said Benson smoothly.
The detective glared at him. Benson was a little over-height because of the lifts in his shoes to give him some of Huer’s bulk, but still not a big man.
“So you haven’t got time!” he said sarcastically. “Who do you think you are?”
“Is there a two-way radio in your squad car?” said Benson smoothly.
“Yeah.”
Benson walked toward the car. The detective took an uncertain step toward him, then went on to retrieve the unconscious man in the thickening smoke of the hall. Benson got New York headquarters on the radio.
“The white-haired guy’s okay,” said the uniformed driver of the car when the detective came out with the unconscious man in his arms. “New York says so. And they say if he says to hold anybody, we better hold ’em.”
The detective glared, then shrugged.
“All right. You win. Must have a pull like the governor himself—”
He stopped, with the icily flaming eyes on him.
“I would suggest,” said Benson, “that you take extra-good care to guard this man.”
“Guard him?” said the detective, staring. “What could possibly happen to him in jail? Or on the way to jail?”
“That’s all I have to say,” Benson said smoothly. “Watch him as you’ve never guarded a prisoner before.”
The big black car that looked so old and innocent but had such a tremendous motor under its hood was nearly six blocks away. Benson had taken no chances on its being spotted by a lookout when he drove up as Pinkie Huer. He walked Nellie to it, and they drove to Bleek Street. On the way, she was silent, but glanced often with puzzled gray eyes at the enigmatic, powerful person beside her.
Up in the huge third-floor room, Smitty hurried toward them. His vast size made Benson look like a pygmy. Yet the gray steel man seemed, impossibly, to tower over the giant, such was the vitality expressed in his average-sized body.
“Chief! They’ve been calling from Long Island. And from New York headquarters.”
“Yes?” said Benson.
“Yes,” said the giant, words coming in a rush. “You turned some fellow over to the Long Island police, didn’t you?”
Nellie’s eyes widened. Benson only nodded.
“Well, the guy was shot. He was right in the police car, in front of the local jail. Somebody drilled him dead as a doornail—and they haven’t found out who.”
Benson glanced at Nellie Gray. She was biting her lips.
“To keep him from talking,” she said, gray-faced for a moment. “They knew they couldn’t get him out on bail, so they killed him for fear he’d talk.”
“Yes,” said Benson. “You see how much good it did to turn the man over to the police.”
Nellie was silent, shivering a little.
“That kind of thing,” said Benson in his silken voice, dead lips barely moving with the words, “is why Justice & Co. was formed. There are some things beyond the power of the police to handle. And from the start, it has been plain that the
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