advantages of technocracy.”
She peered into the cardboard box. “One of your gadgets?”
“It’s a variation on my tracking device. I fiddled with it last night after everybody turned in. See, what it does is sniff out metal.”
“Silva the bootlegger didn’t bury gold.”
“He buried paper money, but it’s supposed to be in a trunk. And there’s bound to be some metal in that.”
“You plan to go over the whole island with your gadget?”
“Nope,” replied Smitty. “I figure this Silva bird was more likely to put the dough some place where it’d be handy to find. Maybe near one of the underground entrances to his hidden hideout. So I’m going to let my gizmo sniff around there first.”
“Sounds good.”
“Oh, we’re going to find that dough,” he promised her. “If it’s here.”
Lt. Bonner shook his head. “I don’t see how I can buy that, Benson.”
He and the Avenger were alone in the library. “You’re going to have to, Lieutenant.”
“But you admit yourself that Fanny Fiddler choked this guy Tucker to death.”
“Her hands choked him, yes,” admitted Richard Henry Benson. “But she was not in control of her body at that time.”
“Okay, maybe we can get her off on a temporary-insanity plea,” said the policeman.
“She’s not to come to trial,” the Avenger said.
“How am I going to justify that? I got a stiff over in the San Amaro morgue. I got a girl here who everybody admits killed him. And I’m not going to do anything?”
The Avenger looked at him, his eyes flashing. “I’ve told you the circumstances, Lieutenant Bonner,” he said in a slow, level voice. “Fanny Fiddler’s body was taken over by the spirit of Nita DelMar.”
“That might go over in the American Weekly or some movie magazine, Benson, but—”
“I am prepared to take this to the governor,” said the Avenger. “I’ve rarely tried to throw my weight around, Bonner, but I will. The governor of this state is a friend of mine. And he’ll believe what I tell him.”
The lieutenant turned away. Those steady, blazing eyes were starting to unsettle him. “I listened to your story, but I . . . you mean you’re really serious? The ghost of this dead actress was roaming around this island?”
“And may still be,” said the Avenger. “Nellie Gray only drove the spirit out of Fanny Fiddler’s body. The spirit itself has not been laid to rest. I’ve suggested to Terence O’Malley that he wind up his work on Demon Island today and be prepared to leave before nightfall.”
The policeman rubbed his palm across the back of his neck. “Okay, I guess I have to believe you. We’ll write Tucker’s death off as accidental,” he said. “Same as that other guy we dug up. And we’ll charge Stark and Morrison with kidnapping and a few related charges.”
“I appreciate that,” said Benson. “The girl has been through a very unusual ordeal. I don’t believe putting her on trial would serve any purpose . . . and it might do her further harm.”
“Yeah, maybe so.”
“Top of the morning, Lieutenant,” said Cole Wilson, looking in at the partially open door.
“Hello, Wilson. Hey, I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Yes, indeed. I’m leaving my carefree youth behind, putting my shoulder to the wheel and my nose to the grindstone. Going to be walking the straight and narrow henceforward.”
“Well, she seems like a nice girl. I’ve seen her in a couple of movies. My wife and I go to the movies twice a week,” said the policeman. “She hates movies, but she’s in love with the free dishes they’ve been giving away.”
Cole snapped his fingers. “Which reminds me . . . I’ll have to start thinking about all sorts of domestic things like that. Dishware, silver, lamp shades—”
“Excelsior!”
“Now what?” said Cole.
Smitty came barging into the library, waving a glass jar in the air. “We found it! It’s the loot . . . the dough!” Laughing, he unscrewed the
She peered into the cardboard box. “One of your gadgets?”
“It’s a variation on my tracking device. I fiddled with it last night after everybody turned in. See, what it does is sniff out metal.”
“Silva the bootlegger didn’t bury gold.”
“He buried paper money, but it’s supposed to be in a trunk. And there’s bound to be some metal in that.”
“You plan to go over the whole island with your gadget?”
“Nope,” replied Smitty. “I figure this Silva bird was more likely to put the dough some place where it’d be handy to find. Maybe near one of the underground entrances to his hidden hideout. So I’m going to let my gizmo sniff around there first.”
“Sounds good.”
“Oh, we’re going to find that dough,” he promised her. “If it’s here.”
Lt. Bonner shook his head. “I don’t see how I can buy that, Benson.”
He and the Avenger were alone in the library. “You’re going to have to, Lieutenant.”
“But you admit yourself that Fanny Fiddler choked this guy Tucker to death.”
“Her hands choked him, yes,” admitted Richard Henry Benson. “But she was not in control of her body at that time.”
“Okay, maybe we can get her off on a temporary-insanity plea,” said the policeman.
“She’s not to come to trial,” the Avenger said.
“How am I going to justify that? I got a stiff over in the San Amaro morgue. I got a girl here who everybody admits killed him. And I’m not going to do anything?”
The Avenger looked at him, his eyes flashing. “I’ve told you the circumstances, Lieutenant Bonner,” he said in a slow, level voice. “Fanny Fiddler’s body was taken over by the spirit of Nita DelMar.”
“That might go over in the American Weekly or some movie magazine, Benson, but—”
“I am prepared to take this to the governor,” said the Avenger. “I’ve rarely tried to throw my weight around, Bonner, but I will. The governor of this state is a friend of mine. And he’ll believe what I tell him.”
The lieutenant turned away. Those steady, blazing eyes were starting to unsettle him. “I listened to your story, but I . . . you mean you’re really serious? The ghost of this dead actress was roaming around this island?”
“And may still be,” said the Avenger. “Nellie Gray only drove the spirit out of Fanny Fiddler’s body. The spirit itself has not been laid to rest. I’ve suggested to Terence O’Malley that he wind up his work on Demon Island today and be prepared to leave before nightfall.”
The policeman rubbed his palm across the back of his neck. “Okay, I guess I have to believe you. We’ll write Tucker’s death off as accidental,” he said. “Same as that other guy we dug up. And we’ll charge Stark and Morrison with kidnapping and a few related charges.”
“I appreciate that,” said Benson. “The girl has been through a very unusual ordeal. I don’t believe putting her on trial would serve any purpose . . . and it might do her further harm.”
“Yeah, maybe so.”
“Top of the morning, Lieutenant,” said Cole Wilson, looking in at the partially open door.
“Hello, Wilson. Hey, I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Yes, indeed. I’m leaving my carefree youth behind, putting my shoulder to the wheel and my nose to the grindstone. Going to be walking the straight and narrow henceforward.”
“Well, she seems like a nice girl. I’ve seen her in a couple of movies. My wife and I go to the movies twice a week,” said the policeman. “She hates movies, but she’s in love with the free dishes they’ve been giving away.”
Cole snapped his fingers. “Which reminds me . . . I’ll have to start thinking about all sorts of domestic things like that. Dishware, silver, lamp shades—”
“Excelsior!”
“Now what?” said Cole.
Smitty came barging into the library, waving a glass jar in the air. “We found it! It’s the loot . . . the dough!” Laughing, he unscrewed the
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