for him, and managed to get you all free and the lot of us out of there. The man crushed in the basement was the real Birch.”
“But the blazing door that kept the skurlies from gettin’ away,” said Mac.
“You should know how that was done, Mac. One of your brain children accomplished it. You know the chemical you evolved which is so volatile that it leaps into flames with the mere warmth of a candle twenty feet away? I dashed a vial of that against the door when I came in. The heat of the building fire very soon set it off. I warned the gang not to fire the building. They did—and about half of them have given their lives in consequence.”
A sound came from Smitty that was like a croak, but was really a gasp of awe.
This man with the dead face and the pale eyes and the virile hair! He would be a perpetual marvel to his aides. The Avenger did not take life. Instead he maneuvered enemies into positions where, if they tried murderously to destroy him or anyone connected with him, they destroyed themselves instead.
Once more the master chess player called The Avenger had moved living pawns into such a position. And half the pawns had been swept from the board.
CHAPTER XII
Dead or Alive
The colorless, infallible eyes of The Avenger had a glitter in them like that of gray-fogged glass. Things were rushing to a time limit.
Because of the deliberate rumors about Town Bank, there had been many withdrawals. And the directors couldn’t bolster up the bank’s liquid assets with their own money because Benson had driven their personal securities down to a point where it would be ruinous to sell them.
Town Bank and its unscrupulous executives were in a desperate position. But it looked as if, with ingenuity, it could last for another twenty-four hours before closing its doors.
And in another day the stockholders of Ballandale Glass Corp. had their meeting. At that meeting, the Town Bank directors, with Crimm’s big block of stock to give them a majority, could vote in a policy that would swiftly ruin the corporation.
Then, at once, they could sell that stock, as secretly and circuitously as it had been bought, and get the cash they needed to save the bank. After that, they would follow their original plan to wait till the corporation had smashed, buy the pieces for five cents on the dollar, and make millions by building the concern up again.
In twenty-four hours the stockholders’ meeting—
Then safety for the ruthless bank crew.
So The Avenger had to wind their clocks for them before that time had passed. And a day is not very long when you are confronted with an involved criminal mess.
Benson had a dozen plans in his flaming, cold brain. But with time pressing urgently, with a thousand things to be done, there had to be a bad break.
It was furnished by Tom Crimm.
Benson’s belt radio sent out its tiny, urgent signal. Benson listened to Rosabel’s voice.
Josh Newton’s pretty wife was still the “maid” for Luckow’s sister in her apartment. And she had something to say, now, that instantly took all The Avenger’s attention.
“They’ve got Tom?” he snapped back. “The police?”
“Yes,” came the small voice from the radio case. “He went out. Luckow and his sister had both told him not to. But he said he was going crazy cooped up; so he went out. A patrolman saw him. They’ve got him cornered in a garage on Amsterdam Avenue. Beatrice Luckow just came back from trailing him and phoned her brother. So I’m telling you the whole thing, just as she told it.”
“What garage?”
“I didn’t get that, Mr. Benson,” said Rosabel. “But I guess there won’t be any trouble finding it.”
Benson started for the door. No, there wouldn’t be much trouble in finding what hole they’d cornered Tom in.
Tom was wanted for two murders and bank robbery. A man wanted for all that is taken by the police—dead or alive! With a strong chance that it will be dead. The cops don’t mess with men
“But the blazing door that kept the skurlies from gettin’ away,” said Mac.
“You should know how that was done, Mac. One of your brain children accomplished it. You know the chemical you evolved which is so volatile that it leaps into flames with the mere warmth of a candle twenty feet away? I dashed a vial of that against the door when I came in. The heat of the building fire very soon set it off. I warned the gang not to fire the building. They did—and about half of them have given their lives in consequence.”
A sound came from Smitty that was like a croak, but was really a gasp of awe.
This man with the dead face and the pale eyes and the virile hair! He would be a perpetual marvel to his aides. The Avenger did not take life. Instead he maneuvered enemies into positions where, if they tried murderously to destroy him or anyone connected with him, they destroyed themselves instead.
Once more the master chess player called The Avenger had moved living pawns into such a position. And half the pawns had been swept from the board.
CHAPTER XII
Dead or Alive
The colorless, infallible eyes of The Avenger had a glitter in them like that of gray-fogged glass. Things were rushing to a time limit.
Because of the deliberate rumors about Town Bank, there had been many withdrawals. And the directors couldn’t bolster up the bank’s liquid assets with their own money because Benson had driven their personal securities down to a point where it would be ruinous to sell them.
Town Bank and its unscrupulous executives were in a desperate position. But it looked as if, with ingenuity, it could last for another twenty-four hours before closing its doors.
And in another day the stockholders of Ballandale Glass Corp. had their meeting. At that meeting, the Town Bank directors, with Crimm’s big block of stock to give them a majority, could vote in a policy that would swiftly ruin the corporation.
Then, at once, they could sell that stock, as secretly and circuitously as it had been bought, and get the cash they needed to save the bank. After that, they would follow their original plan to wait till the corporation had smashed, buy the pieces for five cents on the dollar, and make millions by building the concern up again.
In twenty-four hours the stockholders’ meeting—
Then safety for the ruthless bank crew.
So The Avenger had to wind their clocks for them before that time had passed. And a day is not very long when you are confronted with an involved criminal mess.
Benson had a dozen plans in his flaming, cold brain. But with time pressing urgently, with a thousand things to be done, there had to be a bad break.
It was furnished by Tom Crimm.
Benson’s belt radio sent out its tiny, urgent signal. Benson listened to Rosabel’s voice.
Josh Newton’s pretty wife was still the “maid” for Luckow’s sister in her apartment. And she had something to say, now, that instantly took all The Avenger’s attention.
“They’ve got Tom?” he snapped back. “The police?”
“Yes,” came the small voice from the radio case. “He went out. Luckow and his sister had both told him not to. But he said he was going crazy cooped up; so he went out. A patrolman saw him. They’ve got him cornered in a garage on Amsterdam Avenue. Beatrice Luckow just came back from trailing him and phoned her brother. So I’m telling you the whole thing, just as she told it.”
“What garage?”
“I didn’t get that, Mr. Benson,” said Rosabel. “But I guess there won’t be any trouble finding it.”
Benson started for the door. No, there wouldn’t be much trouble in finding what hole they’d cornered Tom in.
Tom was wanted for two murders and bank robbery. A man wanted for all that is taken by the police—dead or alive! With a strong chance that it will be dead. The cops don’t mess with men
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