Has a spotless reputation. A bit quirky, but most of these college people are.” He glanced across at Benson. “I thought you still might want to know.”
“Yes, I’m glad to learn that about the professor,” said the Avenger.
Laughing, Elizabeth said, “I’ve still got them, you’ll notice.”
Across the train station the heavy-footed American agent Weiner was pretending to read a Panazuelan news magazine.
“It’s almost over,” Dick Benson said to her. “By the time you leave for the United States, you won’t need guards any more.”
“I thought they’d all been rounded up.”
“Almost all.”
“Okay,” she said, taking hold of his hand, “I’ll be patient.”
“Your information has pretty well shut down this particular escape route for the Nazis,” he told her.
“Not my information, really, I was only a messenger. A lot of people, much tougher and braver than me, were the ones who gathered it.”
“Even so, you did your part pretty well, Elizabeth.”
She nodded her head, glancing over at her guard again. “I think I’ll be up to leaving Panazuela by next month sometime,” she said. “The family still has a house in Connecticut, near Norwich. I think, after all this tropical climate, I’d like to see snow again.”
“By next month in Connecticut, you’ll get it.”
“I know you’re going to be involved with a lot of other things, Dick,” she said. “But if you can . . . I’d like to see you once in a while.”
“You will,” he promised.
“You’d better get aboard. Your train’s about ready to pull out. Good-bye, Dick.” She stretched up and kissed him. Then she moved back, turned away, and walked toward her guard.
Benson watched her for a moment.
“Glory be!” said Cole Wilson when Benson climbed onto the train. “Did that young lady kiss you, Richard, or am I suffering from indoor mirages again?”
“Lots of people kiss each other good-bye in train stations,” said Benson as he walked down the corridor toward his compartment, “especially in wartime.”
Following, looking for his own compartment number, Cole said, “This is not, I frankly admit, my idea of a happy conclusion to a case. Here I risk life and limb to save the girl, and it’s you she kisses.”
Benson stepped into his compartment. “She did send you her best wishes,” he said.
“So does my Aunt Kathleen every Christmas,” said Cole.
Smitty ambled by the open compartment door. “He’s up in the club car,” he said out of the side of his mouth. He wandered on through the swaying car.
Richard Benson got up and left his room. The train was passing over the same trestle bridge where the gunmen had stopped the train he’d arrived on.
He walked casually through another sleeping car, then a chair car. The club car was crowded. A stocky waiter was struggling from chair to chair with a tray of drinks.
There was a place to stand next to the chair of the man the Avenger was seeking. He crossed to it. “Good afternoon, Dr. Bouchey.”
The old man looked up, “Ah, it is senhor Benson,” he said. “Once again chance brings us together.”
“You’re leaving Mostarda already?”
“Yes, reluctantly, I must return to the university,” said Bouchey. “A pity, since there was yet much information to be gathered. The poor unfortunate woman who was apparently the vampire killer. I would like to have had time to study her case, her background.”
“The theory you had about Elizabeth Bentin being Elizabeth Bathory . . . you’ve abandoned it?”
Bouchey shook his head. “I must admit I was over-zealous there, senhor. The thing seemed so very plausible. That is the danger of riding one’s hobbyhorse too hard.”
“But it all fitted in with the overall plan,” said the Avenger in a level voice.
“Beg pardon, senhor? I have lost the drift.”
“The plan to put the blame for the murders onto Elizabeth Bentin. That plan.”
The professor spread his hands wide. “I am afraid I do
“Yes, I’m glad to learn that about the professor,” said the Avenger.
Laughing, Elizabeth said, “I’ve still got them, you’ll notice.”
Across the train station the heavy-footed American agent Weiner was pretending to read a Panazuelan news magazine.
“It’s almost over,” Dick Benson said to her. “By the time you leave for the United States, you won’t need guards any more.”
“I thought they’d all been rounded up.”
“Almost all.”
“Okay,” she said, taking hold of his hand, “I’ll be patient.”
“Your information has pretty well shut down this particular escape route for the Nazis,” he told her.
“Not my information, really, I was only a messenger. A lot of people, much tougher and braver than me, were the ones who gathered it.”
“Even so, you did your part pretty well, Elizabeth.”
She nodded her head, glancing over at her guard again. “I think I’ll be up to leaving Panazuela by next month sometime,” she said. “The family still has a house in Connecticut, near Norwich. I think, after all this tropical climate, I’d like to see snow again.”
“By next month in Connecticut, you’ll get it.”
“I know you’re going to be involved with a lot of other things, Dick,” she said. “But if you can . . . I’d like to see you once in a while.”
“You will,” he promised.
“You’d better get aboard. Your train’s about ready to pull out. Good-bye, Dick.” She stretched up and kissed him. Then she moved back, turned away, and walked toward her guard.
Benson watched her for a moment.
“Glory be!” said Cole Wilson when Benson climbed onto the train. “Did that young lady kiss you, Richard, or am I suffering from indoor mirages again?”
“Lots of people kiss each other good-bye in train stations,” said Benson as he walked down the corridor toward his compartment, “especially in wartime.”
Following, looking for his own compartment number, Cole said, “This is not, I frankly admit, my idea of a happy conclusion to a case. Here I risk life and limb to save the girl, and it’s you she kisses.”
Benson stepped into his compartment. “She did send you her best wishes,” he said.
“So does my Aunt Kathleen every Christmas,” said Cole.
Smitty ambled by the open compartment door. “He’s up in the club car,” he said out of the side of his mouth. He wandered on through the swaying car.
Richard Benson got up and left his room. The train was passing over the same trestle bridge where the gunmen had stopped the train he’d arrived on.
He walked casually through another sleeping car, then a chair car. The club car was crowded. A stocky waiter was struggling from chair to chair with a tray of drinks.
There was a place to stand next to the chair of the man the Avenger was seeking. He crossed to it. “Good afternoon, Dr. Bouchey.”
The old man looked up, “Ah, it is senhor Benson,” he said. “Once again chance brings us together.”
“You’re leaving Mostarda already?”
“Yes, reluctantly, I must return to the university,” said Bouchey. “A pity, since there was yet much information to be gathered. The poor unfortunate woman who was apparently the vampire killer. I would like to have had time to study her case, her background.”
“The theory you had about Elizabeth Bentin being Elizabeth Bathory . . . you’ve abandoned it?”
Bouchey shook his head. “I must admit I was over-zealous there, senhor. The thing seemed so very plausible. That is the danger of riding one’s hobbyhorse too hard.”
“But it all fitted in with the overall plan,” said the Avenger in a level voice.
“Beg pardon, senhor? I have lost the drift.”
“The plan to put the blame for the murders onto Elizabeth Bentin. That plan.”
The professor spread his hands wide. “I am afraid I do
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