The Avenger 34 - The Glass Man (3 page)

BOOK: The Avenger 34 - The Glass Man
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“I have unplumbed depths, pixie.”

The door swung inward. When the three of them were in a white conference room, the middle-sized blond young man who’d opened the door closed it.

“Welcome to the New Mexico underground,” he said. “I’m Alan Lamont. I’ve heard a lot about both of you.”

Grinning, Cole shook hands with Dr. Lamont. “Haven’t heard anything about you, thanks to Mr. Pike no, doubt.”

“Yeah, it’s very hush-hush down here,” said the young physicist. “I grew up around Nolansville and my relatives don’t even know I’m back.”

“You got in-laws anything like mine,” said Pike, “not seeing them is no cause for bellyaching.”

“Miss Gray, nice to meet you,” said Lamont. “This is Dr. Pearl Coopersmith, my colleague on Perseus.”

Dr. Coopersmith was seated at the oval table in the room’s center. A crutch rested against the back of her chair. “Forgive me if I don’t rise,” she said. She was a spare woman of fifty, hair a pale brown. Taking off her spectacles, she rubbed her nose, then replaced the glasses. “I too have heard of Justice, Inc., and the spectacular work you’ve been doing.”

“Spectacular
luck,”
said Pike. He pulled out chairs around the table. “Okay, you can ask some questions.”

“I read a paper of yours in the
Academic Quarterly
some years back,” Cole told Dr. Coopersmith as he seated himself across from her, “on pigmentation and the genetic factors involved.”

“They had a copy in his barber shop.” Nellie sat herself, demurely, beside him.

“Yes, that was one of several articles written when I still had a public life,” said the thin woman.

“Well,” said Lamont, “what can we tell you?”

“Has Dr. Dean broken through?” asked Cole.

“You mean has he found the secret of invisibility?”

“Yes. Has he?”

Young Lamont shook his head. “Gardner didn’t confide everything in us,” he said, “but I’m certain he hasn’t. I’d say he was close, though.”

“From what’s been left of his papers and working materials,” added Dr. Coopersmith, “it doesn’t look as though he’s solved the problem.”

“What’s left . . . sounds as though something’s missing,” observed Nellie.

“Merely an impression,” said Dr. Coopersmith. “As Alan’s pointed out, although we’ve been assisting Dr. Dean, he had a tendency to keep things to himself until he was absolutely certain. So as not to influence judgments.” She rested her folded hands on the table. “I do have the feeling that something was taken from among his things.”

“Nobody told me that,” said Pike.

“I don’t know if I agree with you, Pearl,” said Lamont. “Still . . . maybe you’re right, now that I think about it.”

“How many people have access to Dr. Dean’s work area?” asked Cole.

“You’re looking at ’em,” said Pike. “Me and these two, and Dr. Dean himself.”

“Might Dr. Dean have taken something himself?” asked Nellie.

“Sure, it’s possible,” said Lamont, “but I don’t think—”

“If it wasn’t him,” said Pike, “it’s got to be one of you two.”

“Or you,” said Dr. Coopersmith.

“What do you mean by—”

“We know,” put in Cole, “when Dr. Dean was last seen. He was noticed going into his cottage, above ground here, at about eight o’clock in the evening six days ago. No one saw him after that, is that right?”

“I didn’t even see him then,” said Lamont. “I was working here in the salt mines until around ten that night.”

Nellie said, “Agent Pike tells us that none of the people who work here on the Perseus Project can leave the square mile that the buildings and grounds cover. The only vehicles coming and going are delivery and supply trucks. So how did Dr. Dean get out of the place?”

“The obvious answer,” answered Lamont, “is that he was invisible. That’s impossible, though.”

“I hope so,” said Cole. “It’s going to be difficult to follow invisible footsteps.”

“He must be outside the project area,” said Dr. Coopersmith. “Every inch of the grounds and buildings, above and below ground, has been searched.”

“He’s not within the fenced-off area,” Agent Pike assured them.

Cole cleared his throat. “Our original purpose in coming out here was to help locate the vanished savant. Events have altered the case somewhat.”

“What do you mean?” asked Lamont.

“I understand you keep in touch with the so-called outside world. You have, then, read of several odd things which have been happening in and around Nolansville in the week since Dr. Gardner Dean disappeared. Pranks at first. Last night, however, there was a murder.”

Lamont straightened up. “A murder? Nobody’s told us. Who was—”

“You’ll read all about it when the afternoon papers get through,” said Pike. “Nobody you know.”

“But who?”

Nellie said, “A man named Byron Price.”

“Byron Price,” said Lamont, “that’s terrible.”

“You know him?” asked Cole.

“Oh, not well, and I haven’t seen him since I was a kid. I grew up around here, then went away to college. Byron was a friend of my older brother.”

“Your brother still live in these parts?”

Lamont watched the floor. “My brother’s dead. Been dead a long time.”

Dr. Coopersmith said, “I take it, Mr. Wilson, that you’re wondering if these incidents in Nolansville might be the work of Dr. Dean.”

“Seems highly unlikely that there are two invisible chaps operating in this area.”

“Did Dr. Dean know Byron Price?” Nellie asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” answered Lamont, looking up. “Gardner’s from Massachusetts, and he’s never been off the facility here. Unlikely he’d know a high-school mechanical-drawing teacher.”

“Dr. Dean would have no reason to kill him then,” said Cole.

“Not unless . . .” Dr. Coopersmith began.

“Unless what?”

“Unless Dr. Dean has gone insane.”

CHAPTER IV
Blues in the Night

Footsteps and electric-guitar twangs came out of the cocktail lounge of the Primavera Hotel. A poster on the wall beside the open glass doors of the dim room announced the appearance of Bud Murphy and his Western Swingeroos.

Wincing internally, Cole Wilson crossed the lobby and approached the desk. He was dressed in a tropical-weight blue suit, a fresh carnation in his lapel. He halted before the registration desk, grinning at the little man behind it.

The little man was wearing a gray double-breasted suit and a sombrero. “Yes, sir?”

“Would you buzz Miss Keaton’s room and tell her the man from the escort service is here.”

“Ho ho,” said the little man, not laughing. “You must be Cole Wilson. She said you were a whimsical fellow.”

“She was certainly right on target there,” admitted Cole. “Would you summon her?”

“She’s not here, sir.”

“Oh, so?”

“Left a note for you, if you
are
Cole Wilson.”

“Yes, I am none other than whimsical Cole Wilson.”

The little clerk stretched up to take a folded sheet of paper from the nest of cubbyholes behind him. “Here you are, sir.”

“Why do you wear that hat?” asked Cole while unfolding the message.

“It’s part of the Western motif. This isn’t so bad. They used to make me wear chaps with it.”

Cole read the note left for him by Jenny Keaton. It said: “Out checking on something. Be better if you meet me at the Continental Club at eight-thirty. Love, Jen.”

“Jen,” murmured Cole. “Can you tell me where the—”

“Continental Club’s over on East Avenue, about five blocks from here, sir.”

Cole grinned. “Time must weigh heavy on your hands; don’t blame you for reading all the mail. When did Miss Keaton go out?”

“Around an hour ago, about seven.”

“Afoot or via car?”

“She’s rented a car from Millman’s Garage,” said the little clerk. “It’s still in out parking lot, so I’d hazard a guess that she traveled on foot.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you get back to your reading. That looks like the new
Collier’s
sticking out of box 203.”

“It is. Read it this morning.”

The sound of Western swing followed Cole out into the night.

The Continental Club was on the edge of the Mexican colony. On his way there Cole walked by the Rosay Gallery. An old woman was sitting within, apparently knitting. She smiled pleasantly at him.

“Dreadful painting,” he remarked, nodding at the Ellis Zanes landscape.

No one in the Continental Club had seen Jenny Keaton. There was no dinner reservation there in her name or his.

“Would that be the same Jenny Keaton who writes for the magazines?” asked the head waiter.

“It would indeed.” Cole drew closer to the candlelit reservation book which rested on a lectern in the foyer. “You’re certain she didn’t phone or stop by?”

“No, but . . .” The waiter stroked his moustache, an apparent aid to thought. “I remember seeing her picture in
Life.
A handsome young woman, a redhead.”

“You have seen her recently?”

“This very evening, yes,” said the head waiter. “It was . . . oh, about an hour ago. We had a slight problem with one of our diners. An effusive gentleman from Texas who drinks overzealously. I had to, since he’s an important customer, escort him out to a taxi myself. To prevent him from falling over, you understand.”

“You spied Jenny whilst thus engaged?”

“I’m almost certain I did, sir. A tall, attractive girl, red-haired. I noticed her.”

“Perfectly natural reaction; I’d have done the same thing under the circumstances,” said Cole. “Where was she?”

“Admiring a painting in the window of the art gallery across the street.”

“Not much to admire there . . . Did she enter that temple of the arts?”

The waiter spread his hands apart. “That I can’t say.”

Checking his watch, Cole said, “Never having dined with the lass before, I’ve no way of knowing if her eight-thirty means eight-thirty or nine.” It was a quarter to nine now. “I’ll wait a few more minutes.”

“You’ll find the bar very comfortable, sir. And shall I put you down for a table for two?”

“Being an habitual optimist, I’ll say yes.” He wandered into the dim cocktail lounge, which resembled the tap room of an old English inn. Seated at the uncrowded bar, he ordered a plain ginger ale.

“You in training?” asked the bald bartender.

“As a matter of fact I am. I’m having a crack at the bantam-weight title next month,” replied Cole. “My only real concern is how to lose sixty pounds by then.”

“You could have a real drink, because I got to charge you the same price for a ginger ale as for a cocktail. Thirty-five cents.”

“I’m tempted,” said Cole, “but even the prospect of paying thirty-five cents for a glass of ginger ale can’t swerve me from my purpose.”

The bartender, after a resigned sigh, poured a glass of ginger ale and set it in front of Cole.

Cole sipped at it as the minutes ticked by. At nine he put a fifty-cent piece down beside his glass and left the bar.

Out on the street, he saw the old woman reaching up to pull down the shade on the art gallery door.

He sprinted and reached the doorway before the shade was all the way down. “A word with you,” he said, tapping on the glass.

The shade shot up. “I was about to shut down.” She opened the door a few inches. “We stayed open late tonight, but not late enough for you apparently.”

“It’s not about a work of art, I’m afraid,” Cole told the old woman. “I’m trying to locate a young lady, a very attractive red-haired young lady who might have come into your gallery an hour or so ago.”

“Ah, yes,” said Madame Rosay. “Come right in. I believe I can help you.”

CHAPTER V
Morning After

The phone rang.

Nellie Gray came dashing out of the bathroom, a hotel towel wrapped around her. “Yes?” she said after scooping up the receiver.

“Where’s your cronie?” asked a hoarse voice.

“Is that you, Mr. Pike?”

“It ain’t Gypsy Rose Lee,” replied the government agent. “I just gave Wilson a buzz in his room and he don’t seem to be in.”

Perching on the edge of the bed, Nellie said, “Probably out to breakfast?”

“Don’t you know?”

“We’re teammates, not roommates,” said the little blonde. “Maybe you ought to ask Jenny Keaton about him.”

“Nobody knows where she is either,” said Pike. “The local cops called me because some high mucky-muck on
News
is all hot and bothered. He hasn’t been able to get through to her from New York since early last night.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any idea where either of them are.” Nellie was annoyed that Cole hadn’t contacted her since last night before dinner. She doubted, though, that he’d run off with the girl reporter. More likely he was following up a lead. Despite their banter, Nellie trusted him, and she knew that he was more than capable of taking care of himself.

“Seems kind of funny, both of ’em going off and disappearing,” said Pike. “I hope we don’t have another vanishing on our hands.”

“All you can do is wait and see.”

“Yeah . . . Listen, what are you doing this morning?”

“Is this a proposal?”

“I’m going over and talk to this Byron Price’s widow,” the government agent explained. “One of his cronies came up with something he thinks was maybe said by whoever killed him. The cops can’t make a thing out of it, but it could mean something to Mrs. Price. I’m going to meet ’em over there in a half hour.”

BOOK: The Avenger 34 - The Glass Man
10.29Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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