was very sure of his ability to take care of himself in any situation. He started promptly for a small and disreputable-looking flat building that held shop equipment and spare parts.
Smitty looked at Benson’s right hand. The little finger was partly curled in the palm and the thumb stuck out. That meant: “Take care of the other one.”
The giant walked nonchalantly into the office and approached the seated heavy-set man as the latter stared in gloomy question at him.
The Avenger entered the shop with the thin man.
“I have been sent here on an important mission, Herr Wassmuller,” said Benson. With the last few words, his voice took on a curious monotone. And his pale eyes grew like diamond drills as they probed into the other man’s eyes.
“Yes?” said Wassmuller, still suspicious.
“I have been attached to the Chilean legation for some time.” The Avenger’s voice was as even as a slow-moving river. The pupils of his colorless eyes began to look enormous. “I have recently received a secret communication from home that sent me here to French Guiana and to you.”
“Y-yes?”
“It is in regard to two of these fourteen planes. There are plans for them.”
“Plans . . . for . . . them?”
Any pair of eyes that is unique has some hypnotic power, because any object that is unusual and draws a stare of deep interest relaxes the conscious will. The Avenger’s pale, terrible eyes, into which a person was sure to stare enthralled, were supreme examples of this. He was a hypnotist of rare ability.
“I have been ordered to condition two of the planes at once,” Benson said. “I have been instructed to go with them immediately to Paramaribo where four men from a U-boat are to be picked up tonight.”
“Orders to condition them at once,” the man said.
“You will please give such orders to the foreman here.”
“I will give such orders.”
Wassmuller went to the door. Benson hoped the foreman was not an observant man. The look of a person in a hypnotic trance is a giveaway to anyone in the least suspicious.
Wassmuller called, and from a door at the far end of the administration building a man came to them.
“You will prepare two of the planes for instant flight,” Wassmuller said.
“B-but . . .” the man stammered. “The orders! We have orders from everyone that they are not to be touched. And you are not my commanding officer.”
“At once!” repeated Wassmuller. “Select two that have least to be done to them.”
The man looked at him, and at Benson, who stood so straight and stared so icily through the monocle. He nodded and turned away. They heard his voice raised in rapid French as he called two men and told them what was to be done.
“You will stay here,” Benson said to Wassmuller.
Wassmuller just looked at him, vacantly, docilely. And Benson went to the administration building again. Inside, the giant Smitty sat grinning at the desk the heavy-set man had used.
At The Avenger’s look of inquiry, Smitty jerked a vast thumb toward a door.
“There’s a supply closet behind that. Our friend is in the closet. Somehow, I have an idea he wouldn’t care if every plane here was taken off and junked, just so his pal Wassmuller didn’t eventually get hold of them. But I didn’t take any chances. I taped him up like a mummy and gagged him.”
The Avenger nodded and went back to Wassmuller. A loud noise or some other unexpected happening could snap him out of his convenient trance. It was best not to leave him too long alone.
There followed some nerve-racking hours.
The two planes had everything to be done to them. The time dragged unmercifully as the two men and the foreman worked on them.
Meanwhile almost anything could happen to upset the apple cart. If someone in authority came along who would know that nobody by the name of Drach had any right here, Dick and Smitty would be washed up.
But no one came. The conditioning went smoothly. It began to be apparent that the two
Smitty looked at Benson’s right hand. The little finger was partly curled in the palm and the thumb stuck out. That meant: “Take care of the other one.”
The giant walked nonchalantly into the office and approached the seated heavy-set man as the latter stared in gloomy question at him.
The Avenger entered the shop with the thin man.
“I have been sent here on an important mission, Herr Wassmuller,” said Benson. With the last few words, his voice took on a curious monotone. And his pale eyes grew like diamond drills as they probed into the other man’s eyes.
“Yes?” said Wassmuller, still suspicious.
“I have been attached to the Chilean legation for some time.” The Avenger’s voice was as even as a slow-moving river. The pupils of his colorless eyes began to look enormous. “I have recently received a secret communication from home that sent me here to French Guiana and to you.”
“Y-yes?”
“It is in regard to two of these fourteen planes. There are plans for them.”
“Plans . . . for . . . them?”
Any pair of eyes that is unique has some hypnotic power, because any object that is unusual and draws a stare of deep interest relaxes the conscious will. The Avenger’s pale, terrible eyes, into which a person was sure to stare enthralled, were supreme examples of this. He was a hypnotist of rare ability.
“I have been ordered to condition two of the planes at once,” Benson said. “I have been instructed to go with them immediately to Paramaribo where four men from a U-boat are to be picked up tonight.”
“Orders to condition them at once,” the man said.
“You will please give such orders to the foreman here.”
“I will give such orders.”
Wassmuller went to the door. Benson hoped the foreman was not an observant man. The look of a person in a hypnotic trance is a giveaway to anyone in the least suspicious.
Wassmuller called, and from a door at the far end of the administration building a man came to them.
“You will prepare two of the planes for instant flight,” Wassmuller said.
“B-but . . .” the man stammered. “The orders! We have orders from everyone that they are not to be touched. And you are not my commanding officer.”
“At once!” repeated Wassmuller. “Select two that have least to be done to them.”
The man looked at him, and at Benson, who stood so straight and stared so icily through the monocle. He nodded and turned away. They heard his voice raised in rapid French as he called two men and told them what was to be done.
“You will stay here,” Benson said to Wassmuller.
Wassmuller just looked at him, vacantly, docilely. And Benson went to the administration building again. Inside, the giant Smitty sat grinning at the desk the heavy-set man had used.
At The Avenger’s look of inquiry, Smitty jerked a vast thumb toward a door.
“There’s a supply closet behind that. Our friend is in the closet. Somehow, I have an idea he wouldn’t care if every plane here was taken off and junked, just so his pal Wassmuller didn’t eventually get hold of them. But I didn’t take any chances. I taped him up like a mummy and gagged him.”
The Avenger nodded and went back to Wassmuller. A loud noise or some other unexpected happening could snap him out of his convenient trance. It was best not to leave him too long alone.
There followed some nerve-racking hours.
The two planes had everything to be done to them. The time dragged unmercifully as the two men and the foreman worked on them.
Meanwhile almost anything could happen to upset the apple cart. If someone in authority came along who would know that nobody by the name of Drach had any right here, Dick and Smitty would be washed up.
But no one came. The conditioning went smoothly. It began to be apparent that the two
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