The Avenger 29 - The Nightwitch Devil (13 page)

“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 the big barn ahead of her, popped through the floor now.

The Devil wasn’t going to use that exit, though. He was making for another corner of the barn.

Sending up flecks of straw, Nellie speeded after him.

Before she reached the fleeing figure and the girl, a hooded witch—one of those Smitty had tossed aside—got up and made a wobbling tackle.

It wasn’t a good tackle, but it was sufficient to knock the little blonde down. That gave the Devil time to escape through another trapdoor.

Five seconds after he dropped into the ground, there was a huge explosion from below. The entire trapdoor came flying up into the candle-lit barn. Smoke spewed up, billowing.

“Looks as though we won’t be able to follow His Satanic Majesty that way,” said Cole. “He must have had a charge of explosives ready to close this end in case he was ever pursued.”

“Idiot, your hair’s still on fire,” said Nellie, reaching up and slapping at his head.

“So that’s what that smell was. With all this incense and candle smoke, not to mention the more familiar barn smells, I wasn’t sure what it was.”

“There, it’s out,” said the blonde. She brushed at his cheek. “Your good looks are relatively unimpaired.”

“My reputation isn’t in very good shape,” he said. “We shouldn’t have let him take off with the young lady.”

“Hiya, Nellie,” said Smitty. He came over to them, rubbing his huge palms together. “I think that’s it. How many witches in a coven?”

“I think you’ve got them all,” said Cole, surveying the giant’s handiwork. All of the robed figures were stretched out on the floor, each one neatly tied.

The Avenger was pulling back the hood from each face. “Satan himself got away,” he said.

“My fault, Richard,” said Cole. “I should have been expecting more dirty tricks.”

“We have a fairly clear idea who’s been posing as the Devil here,” said Benson. “I’m certain we’ll bring him to justice very soon.”

“He might hurt that girl,” said Smitty.

“No, he probably intends to use her as a hostage,” said the Avenger. “She’s no use to him dead. So we still have time. And now—”

“Whoosh, ’tis a pity,” came the voice of MacMurdie. “All the folderol is over.”

“Mac,” cried Nellie, running over to him, “you’re alive!”

“Aye,” said the Scot, who had just climbed up through the same trapdoor Nellie and Cole had used, “and ’tis not ever’ man who’s spent a day in a tomb who can make that claim, lass.”

The little blonde hugged him and kissed him on the cheek.

“You should disappear more often, Fergus,” grinned Cole.

“ ’Tis no way to spend a vacation.” Mac turned, bent, and held out his hand to John Ruyle.

The professor climbed up, then assisted Don Early.

“Don’t understand it,” said the federal agent. “You keep beating me to the punch, Benson.”

The Avenger crossed the barn to shake hands with Early. “Only by a few minutes, it seems,” he said. “These people here are all members of the Nightwitch cult. I think you’ll find most of them have nothing to do with the smuggling of espionage agents into the country. Only Satan and one or two others were aware of what all this was really about.”

Early ran his fingers along the top of the stone altar. “Mean there’s been an honest-to-gosh witch cult flourishing around here?”

“For quite some time,” said Benson.

“The old beliefs die hard,” said Dr. Ruyle.

“Especially when they can be put to modern uses,” said the Avenger.

Rain worked down through the cracks in the gray stone roof of the tunnel. The rapidly dripping water made muddy puddles on the floor.

The masked Devil dropped the straggling Anne Barley onto the floor. Muddy water splashed.

“Don’t you realize it’s all over?” the girl said. “That was the Avenger up there. You’ll never—”

“Please be quiet, Anne.” Satan took hold of a metal wheel set in the wall and twisted it.

The stone wall swung open. The Devil dragged the girl through the narrow opening.

They emerged into a large damp room, its tall windows boarded. There were rows of ruined pews and a dusty pulpit.

“This is the old Olmstead Hill Church,” realized the girl.

“The last place anyone would think of looking for the Devil.” He dragged her to the center aisle and left her there, still securely tied. “I doubt they’ll think to look for you here, either.”

“You can’t gain anything by this. They’ll catch you. If you’re thinking of using me as a hostage, you—”

“I have absolutely no need of a hostage.” He took bold of the hideous mask and yanked it free of his head. “You’re merely part of a subterfuge.”

“Sam Hollis,” said Anne, “I didn’t think, even after I knew you were one of them, that you were—”

“The leader?” The editor chuckled. “No, that’s because of the part I’ve been playing here. A good man, Sam Hollis, but not really quite first-caliber. Plenty good for a small town like Nightwitch, but probably couldn’t make it in Boston or Hartford.” He took off his robe.

“You said you weren’t going to use me as a hostage? Do you mean—”

“I’m not even going to kill you now, Anne,” said the gaunt-faced Hollis. “It serves no purpose. The simple locals who were persuaded to join the cult, to participate in the forbidden rites and ask the Devil for small favors, those fools who willingly took the drugs that made them even more docile and obedient, they would have been impressed by a blood sacrifice. The Avenger spoiled the show, so I will merely leave you here.” His chuckle turned into a laugh. “I’m sure they’ll think I’m holding you hostage, waiting for them to close in so I can use you to bargain with. That’s the furthest thing from my mind.”

“You don’t expect to walk away,” she said. “They know who you—”

“Ah, no, that’s where you’re wrong. No one, at least no one at the Nightwitch level of the operation, knows what face was behind the mask,” said Hollis. “I’ll be able to return to my office and continue being well-meaning Sam. In a few days, when things have quieted down, I’ll move on. Accept a better offer from a newspaper someplace else. That will be that.”

Anne said, as he moved toward the still open door in the wall, “Nobody ever comes to this old church, there’s nothing nearby.”

“Yes, exactly, Anne.”

She shook her head. “Even so, you won’t get away.”

“You’ll never know,” he told her—and stepped through the wall.

Cole Wilson rubbed his foot over the wood floor beside the potbellied stove. Something grated underfoot. “It is rather vexing, isn’t it?” he said to Sam Hollis.

The editor was behind his desk. The day was clear, moving toward noon. “Can’t figure it,” he said, watching the two men from Justice, Inc. “This self-styled Satan has had Anne for nearly twelve hours, you say, and still hasn’t made any move. Doesn’t make sense.”

Smitty said, “Could be he’s waiting till we close in on him. He sure hasn’t made any demands. And all the routes out of here are being watched, you can bet.”

“Poor Anne. I hope—excuse me.” The phone on his desk had rung.

When he turned to pick it up, Cole bent and scooped up the gritty substance he’d noticed on the floor. Cole, grinning, tipped a nod at the giant.

“Yes, they are,” said Hollis into the phone, “Certainly. A call for you, Smitty,” He handed the phone across to the big man.

“Yeah? They did, huh? Hey, that’s great. Then it’s only a matter of closing in, huh? Great.” When Smitty handed the phone back to the editor he slipped. He fell hard, chin slamming into desk top. He let go the phone and clutched at the editor to keep from falling to the floor.

“Less than graceful, Smitty,” said Cole, dropping the grains of incense into his jacket pocket.

“Gee, I’m awful sorry, Mr. Hollis.” The big man had regained his balance and was smoothing out the papers he’d scattered.

“No damage done,” assured Hollis. “That call must have got you pretty excited.”

Smitty studied his shoes. “Gosh, you put me in a funny position, Mr. Hollis,” he said finally. “I mean, you been very helpful to us and I know you’re as worried about Anne Barley as anybody. But I don’t know—”

“Is it an important break?” asked Cole.

“Well, yeah,” admitted the giant. “Thing is, I don’t think it ought to get into the papers until we’re sure.”

Hollis chuckled. “I’m not interested in scoops in this ease, Smitty. If there’s something about Anne you feel you can tell me, I’d surely like to hear it. You can bet it won’t go any further, and it won’t be in the
Guardian
without everyone’s okay.”

“I think we can confide in Mr. Hollis,” said Cole. “Besides, you’ve got my curiosity aroused.”

“That was Dick Benson on the phone,” said Smitty. “He says that Don Early guy, the big hush-hush government guy, just got another tip. From the same person who tipped him off about that spy landing last night. Seems like Early knows where Anne Barley is being held. He’s heading for there right now.”