had been standing.
“Looks like we’re at the right place,” said the police chief, spitting out mud.
“I’m a federal agent,” called Early through cupped hands. “Put down that gun.”
The machine gun barked again, sending spurts of mud flying up in a line a few feet in front of them.
Early got his .38 revolver out of his shoulder holster. “I’m giving you one more chance,” he shouted.
The figure with the machine gun, who was crouching at the mouth of a tunnel, suddenly made a whooping sound. He stood up, looked as though he were attempting to fly up into the rainy night by flapping his arms. The submachine gun fell into a clump of bushes.
“Who be ye down there?” asked a voice up there in the darkness.
“Don Early,” called the FBI man. “I’m a federal agent.”
“Aye, I’ve heered of you, lad,” said MacMurdie. “We’ve near crossed paths afore.”
“MacMurdie?” said the agent, tentatively standing up.
“ ’Tis indeed.” Mac let go of the guard he’d just now rendered unconscious. He came downhill toward the two men. “And I’ve my friend John Ruyle wi’ me.”
“Well, sir,” remarked Chief Storm as he helped himself up off the dirt, “that’s two of my missing persons I can stop looking for.”
“Would ye be interested in a couple Nazi spies, Mr. Early?” asked Mac when he neared them.
“You know where they are?”
“They should be back in yon tunnel, all wrapped up and a-waiting for ye.”
“It’s good to see you again, Chief Storm,” said Dr. Ruyle, joining the group.
“I’m right sorry I didn’t find you myself, John. Makes me feel sort of sheepish, it does.”
Agent Early beckoned the rest of his men—there were five of them all together—to close in around him. “What’s underground there, MacMurdie?”
“Spies, fer one thing, lad,” replied the Scot. “And, I do believe, if we find the right tunnel we’ll also find us a coven of witches.”
“Witches?” said Early.
The Avenger brought up his knees, connecting with the chin of the man who was leaping for him. He rolled across the straw flooring, doffing the cloak. Leaping to his feet, he flung it at the three who were closest to him.
The dark, billowing cloth engulfed two of the men, but the third man stepped clear. There was a vicious-looking knife in his hand.
“Kill him!” roared the Devil. “That man must die!”
The Avenger fired his unique little pistol again. The slug grazed the approaching knifer’s hand, causing him to drop the weapon and howl.
But more of them, women now as well as men, were making for him. Frenzied they were, eyes burning bright.
“Naw, this ain’t no fair,” Smitty pointed out. The giant had smashed his way into the barn. He began grabbing the robed figures and tossing them aside.
Smitty tossed men and women alike, though when he recognized one of his opponents as a woman he always added, “ ’Scuse me, ma’am.”
“These two must never leave here alive!” warned the Devil. “You must kill them. It is my command!”
From a fold in his robe Satan drew a pistol of his own, a silver-handled .32. Bracing his elbows on the stone altar, he took careful aim at the fighting figure of Dick Benson.
The Devil waited patiently until he would have a clear shot at the Avenger, could see him free of the swirling, entangling robes of his disciples.
“That’s not at all sporting, old fellow.” Cole Wilson appeared next to the Devil and chopped at his elbow.
The masked man dropped the pistol onto the stone and whirled to face Cole. “Fool, you dare defy me?”
“Ever since I saw King Kong seven times in my youth, I’ve been immune to shaggy monsters, old boy.”
With a swift darting movement of one hand, Satan threw the golden container of smoldering incense into Cole’s face.
Cole fell back, slapping at the smoky mass, wiping it from his face and eyes.
The Devil grabbed up the girl, Anne Barley, and ran.
Nellie, who’d let Cole come up into
“Looks like we’re at the right place,” said the police chief, spitting out mud.
“I’m a federal agent,” called Early through cupped hands. “Put down that gun.”
The machine gun barked again, sending spurts of mud flying up in a line a few feet in front of them.
Early got his .38 revolver out of his shoulder holster. “I’m giving you one more chance,” he shouted.
The figure with the machine gun, who was crouching at the mouth of a tunnel, suddenly made a whooping sound. He stood up, looked as though he were attempting to fly up into the rainy night by flapping his arms. The submachine gun fell into a clump of bushes.
“Who be ye down there?” asked a voice up there in the darkness.
“Don Early,” called the FBI man. “I’m a federal agent.”
“Aye, I’ve heered of you, lad,” said MacMurdie. “We’ve near crossed paths afore.”
“MacMurdie?” said the agent, tentatively standing up.
“ ’Tis indeed.” Mac let go of the guard he’d just now rendered unconscious. He came downhill toward the two men. “And I’ve my friend John Ruyle wi’ me.”
“Well, sir,” remarked Chief Storm as he helped himself up off the dirt, “that’s two of my missing persons I can stop looking for.”
“Would ye be interested in a couple Nazi spies, Mr. Early?” asked Mac when he neared them.
“You know where they are?”
“They should be back in yon tunnel, all wrapped up and a-waiting for ye.”
“It’s good to see you again, Chief Storm,” said Dr. Ruyle, joining the group.
“I’m right sorry I didn’t find you myself, John. Makes me feel sort of sheepish, it does.”
Agent Early beckoned the rest of his men—there were five of them all together—to close in around him. “What’s underground there, MacMurdie?”
“Spies, fer one thing, lad,” replied the Scot. “And, I do believe, if we find the right tunnel we’ll also find us a coven of witches.”
“Witches?” said Early.
The Avenger brought up his knees, connecting with the chin of the man who was leaping for him. He rolled across the straw flooring, doffing the cloak. Leaping to his feet, he flung it at the three who were closest to him.
The dark, billowing cloth engulfed two of the men, but the third man stepped clear. There was a vicious-looking knife in his hand.
“Kill him!” roared the Devil. “That man must die!”
The Avenger fired his unique little pistol again. The slug grazed the approaching knifer’s hand, causing him to drop the weapon and howl.
But more of them, women now as well as men, were making for him. Frenzied they were, eyes burning bright.
“Naw, this ain’t no fair,” Smitty pointed out. The giant had smashed his way into the barn. He began grabbing the robed figures and tossing them aside.
Smitty tossed men and women alike, though when he recognized one of his opponents as a woman he always added, “ ’Scuse me, ma’am.”
“These two must never leave here alive!” warned the Devil. “You must kill them. It is my command!”
From a fold in his robe Satan drew a pistol of his own, a silver-handled .32. Bracing his elbows on the stone altar, he took careful aim at the fighting figure of Dick Benson.
The Devil waited patiently until he would have a clear shot at the Avenger, could see him free of the swirling, entangling robes of his disciples.
“That’s not at all sporting, old fellow.” Cole Wilson appeared next to the Devil and chopped at his elbow.
The masked man dropped the pistol onto the stone and whirled to face Cole. “Fool, you dare defy me?”
“Ever since I saw King Kong seven times in my youth, I’ve been immune to shaggy monsters, old boy.”
With a swift darting movement of one hand, Satan threw the golden container of smoldering incense into Cole’s face.
Cole fell back, slapping at the smoky mass, wiping it from his face and eyes.
The Devil grabbed up the girl, Anne Barley, and ran.
Nellie, who’d let Cole come up into
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