said. “I was sure of it. Now, I’d like to have a look at the laboratory in which work on this new fabric was completed.”
“I didn’t say—” Stockbridge said weakly. “Oh, well, the answer is ‘yes,’ all right. Come along. I’ll take you to the lab myself.”
It was on the top floor of the big building and was maintained only for experiments. There were many research rooms in this building, and this was in the rear. From the window, you could see that building tower that had showed in the televised scene, reflected in the glass tank.
With Stockbridge raining questions which Dick Benson didn’t bother to answer, The Avenger looked the room over. It was empty, now; no scientific young men were in, proving again that the experiment had been satisfactorily concluded and was now in the hands of the production wizards.
When his gaze got to the ceiling, the pale, icy eyes halted. The Avenger stared at the electric-light fixture.
“There is an air space between the ceiling and the roof?” he asked.
“I imagine so,” Stockbridge said. “The room would be pretty hot without one. Why?”
“I’d like the names of any electricians who have worked on repairs on this top floor recently,” Benson said.
“I remember, now,” Stockbridge sighed. “You never did answer questions till you were good and ready.”
He got the required information from the building engineer.
Four men had worked at various repair tasks on that top floor. In a short time, Benson faced these four.
“Which one of you,” he asked, “repaired the overhead light fixture in Research Room 34?”
There was no answer. Three of the men looked at each other; the fourth stared blankly at Benson. This man was a young fellow with a cud of tobacco in one cheek that seemed to have become a permanent fixture.
“Certainly one of you did,” The Avenger said, in that even tone which could frighten an evildoer more than any shouts or threats.
The young fellow with the distended cheek said, “Mebbe I did. Quite awhile ago. We work all over the joint all the time. I can’t remember.”
“What do you mean by a long time ago?”
“If I did work on that particular room, it would have been about six months ago.”
“None of you worked on it more recently that that?”
No answer.
Benson turned to Stockbridge. There was no emotion in his pale, awful eyes.
“I shall have to hypnotize these men,” he said. “I will answer for their safety. They won’t be hurt; but one of them will answer my question.”
As he spoke he watched the four men—not their faces, but their hands. The fingers of the young fellow quivered a bit, then clenched into fists.
“I will start with you,” Benson said evenly. “The rest will please wait outside. Perhaps you’d better call a few company police to make sure they wait,” he added to Stockbridge.
When he was alone in the research room with the man, The Avenger said, “Look at the ceiling fixture in here. As you can see, it has been tampered with. The reason for that was to allow the fixture to be silently drawn up by someone hiding in the air space, and a lens substituted. Thus, all done in this room could be witnessed through the lens.”
“I didn’t do it,” protested the man. “I swear I didn’t. I got a good record. You can look it up.”
“You can tell me instead of my looking it up,” said Benson.
His voice had taken on a queer monotone. His eyes were unblinking, and as bright and blank as chips of chromium in his masklike face. Any of his aides would have known that monotone and that blank, insistent stare. No man could hold out against it, even when calmly forewarned as this fellow had been that he was going to be hypnotized.
In about four minutes, the man was in a trance and was answering everything asked him.
And his answers were not those of guilt. The Avenger could swear positively—if not in a law court—that the man was innocent.
He called in another of the four
“I didn’t say—” Stockbridge said weakly. “Oh, well, the answer is ‘yes,’ all right. Come along. I’ll take you to the lab myself.”
It was on the top floor of the big building and was maintained only for experiments. There were many research rooms in this building, and this was in the rear. From the window, you could see that building tower that had showed in the televised scene, reflected in the glass tank.
With Stockbridge raining questions which Dick Benson didn’t bother to answer, The Avenger looked the room over. It was empty, now; no scientific young men were in, proving again that the experiment had been satisfactorily concluded and was now in the hands of the production wizards.
When his gaze got to the ceiling, the pale, icy eyes halted. The Avenger stared at the electric-light fixture.
“There is an air space between the ceiling and the roof?” he asked.
“I imagine so,” Stockbridge said. “The room would be pretty hot without one. Why?”
“I’d like the names of any electricians who have worked on repairs on this top floor recently,” Benson said.
“I remember, now,” Stockbridge sighed. “You never did answer questions till you were good and ready.”
He got the required information from the building engineer.
Four men had worked at various repair tasks on that top floor. In a short time, Benson faced these four.
“Which one of you,” he asked, “repaired the overhead light fixture in Research Room 34?”
There was no answer. Three of the men looked at each other; the fourth stared blankly at Benson. This man was a young fellow with a cud of tobacco in one cheek that seemed to have become a permanent fixture.
“Certainly one of you did,” The Avenger said, in that even tone which could frighten an evildoer more than any shouts or threats.
The young fellow with the distended cheek said, “Mebbe I did. Quite awhile ago. We work all over the joint all the time. I can’t remember.”
“What do you mean by a long time ago?”
“If I did work on that particular room, it would have been about six months ago.”
“None of you worked on it more recently that that?”
No answer.
Benson turned to Stockbridge. There was no emotion in his pale, awful eyes.
“I shall have to hypnotize these men,” he said. “I will answer for their safety. They won’t be hurt; but one of them will answer my question.”
As he spoke he watched the four men—not their faces, but their hands. The fingers of the young fellow quivered a bit, then clenched into fists.
“I will start with you,” Benson said evenly. “The rest will please wait outside. Perhaps you’d better call a few company police to make sure they wait,” he added to Stockbridge.
When he was alone in the research room with the man, The Avenger said, “Look at the ceiling fixture in here. As you can see, it has been tampered with. The reason for that was to allow the fixture to be silently drawn up by someone hiding in the air space, and a lens substituted. Thus, all done in this room could be witnessed through the lens.”
“I didn’t do it,” protested the man. “I swear I didn’t. I got a good record. You can look it up.”
“You can tell me instead of my looking it up,” said Benson.
His voice had taken on a queer monotone. His eyes were unblinking, and as bright and blank as chips of chromium in his masklike face. Any of his aides would have known that monotone and that blank, insistent stare. No man could hold out against it, even when calmly forewarned as this fellow had been that he was going to be hypnotized.
In about four minutes, the man was in a trance and was answering everything asked him.
And his answers were not those of guilt. The Avenger could swear positively—if not in a law court—that the man was innocent.
He called in another of the four
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