The Avenger 34 - The Glass Man (7 page)

Maybe it hadn’t bothered him as much. Maybe he’d gotten over the murder of Rusty Lamont, didn’t feel guilty.

No matter, he
was
guilty.

Now he’d be punished.

When they’d murdered Rusty, back then, there’d been nothing Lamont could do. Not even cry; he was too old for that.

Two or three of them, a long time after, had tried to talk to him. To do what? Apologize? Sorry we murdered your brother, no hard feelings.

No, he hadn’t talked to them, wouldn’t listen to anything they had to say.

Maybe he would have let them escape. If he hadn’t been assigned to the project, hadn’t returned to Nolansville . . .

That’s when it all fell into place. He knew that Dr. Dean was close to cracking the problem. He knew that the old man would keep the secret to himself for a few days; that was his habit. So Lamont watched him, and let himself into the old man’s office after he’d quit for the day.

Lamont was a good deal brighter than either Dr. Dean or Dr. Coopersmith imagined. He knew at once when the breakthrough was made, simply by going over Dean’s notes. It was relatively easy to duplicate what the old man had done, to provide enough of the fluid for his purposes.

Invisible, he couldn’t be stopped. He could bring them all to judgment, every one of them who’d had a hand in the murder of his brother.

And never be caught or even suspected.

That was why he had to keep Dr. Dean out of sight. After all the murders were over, the old man would be found wandering in the desert. A little dazed perhaps, with some fantastic story about being kept prisoner in the pueblos. Would they believe that? Would the sheriff and the security people accept such a story?

No, they’d assume that Dr. Dean, supposedly the only man capable of working the invisibility trick, had gone mad.

Even then—this was the beautiful part—they’d have to keep it all quiet. They wouldn’t even be able to have a trial for Dr. Dean.

Because no one could let out the secret. If you got up in court and accused a man of being an invisible killer, then you’d have to explain how he got to be invisible. And nobody was about to do that. The Perseus Project was one of the most secret government operations going at the moment.

Everyone would have to conspire to keep it quiet.

They’d all be working hard to hide the facts, to keep anything from leaking out.

It was perfect. They’d actually be working to see that no one was ever punished for the deaths of the six.

Everything had gone extremely well, too. The first two killings had been perfect. The little pranks he’d played while trying out the fluid had established the fact that there was an invisible man loose. The killings added to that idea.

Getting off the project site was simple. Being invisible, all he had to do was hop onto one of the supply trucks. That got him through the gates.

He’d done that tonight. They’d all think he was home in that miserable cottage, nursing a cold.

There was Montez. Sitting beside his swimming pool, highball in hand.

He’d become fat. Lost a good deal of his hair, too.

Lamont walked closer to the big outdoor pool. There were floodlights under the water, making gold discs of light on the calm surface. Very impressive.

Then he saw the dog. A German shepherd, black, lying next to the tube chair in which Montez was reclining. The light from the pool made shimmering splotches on the animal’s fur.

The dog was new. Lamont hadn’t anticipated him.

Animals can sense people. Perhaps in a later formula something could be done about that, he thought, but right now . . .

The dog rose to its feet, snarling.

Montez sat up, nearly dropping the glass in his pudgy hand.

Lamont was about two hundred feet from them, across the pool.

“Who’s there?” called out the frightened Montez.

Lamont held his breath, eyes on the dog.

It was standing wide-legged, back hair bristling. Growling, impatient for the order to attack.

From out of his jacket Montez clumsily tugged a pistol. “You’re not going to get me,” he said, looking around at the night, trying to see the invisible man. “I know you got Price and Ted. I know why you want me. But this dog will kill you if you come closer.”

The dog’s claws scraped on the tiles as he pawed at them, anxious.

Very carefully Lamont took a few steps closer.

The guard dog barked a chesty, angry bark.

“Stay away,” warned Montez, pointing the gun at a spot fifty feet to Lamont’s right.

Damn it. He hadn’t calculated the dog in his plan. Here was Montez, and yet he couldn’t get at him.

Better retreat. Save Montez for later. Get him at his office maybe. Let him think he’s safe and then strike.

Because Montez must not escape justice.

Lamont began to back away.

With a barking snarl the German shepherd, unable to wait any longer for the order to attack, acted. He came bounding around the wide pool, straight for the invisible Lamont.

Nothing to do but run. Lamont leaped a low hedge and bolted across the vast lawn.

The guard dog was at his heels, barking steadily.

There was the wall up ahead. Lamont, chest aching, leaped for it.

The dog leaped too. Its angry teeth sank into his ankle, tearing the invisible skin.

Lamont’s fingers held the top of the wall. Kicking back as hard as he could with his free leg, he connected with the snarling animal’s snout.

The dog yowled and let go of Lamont’s ankle.

Lamont boosted himself over the wall and dropped to the street below.

“Damn that dog!” He felt at the wound. It was fairly deep. Worse, it was bleeding. And when the drops of blood hit the sidewalk they became visible again.

He couldn’t go back to the project like this. He’d have to get himself patched up somehow. He’d only be invisible for another few hours.

Lamont went limping along the dark street. He passed two parked automobiles. The third one had the keys dangling from the ignition.

He stole that one.

The desert-colored pueblos rose against the side of the mesa. Square, squatty towers and rooms made of adobe. A few rough-hewn wooden ladders led from tier to tier of the many-leveled dwelling area. It reminded Nellie of wood-block cities she’d built as a child.

The moon had not yet risen. The abandoned Indian city stood in darkness.

“Homemade skyscrapers,” remarked Agent Pike. “Well . . . now what?”

“Alan Lamont’s brother died very near here,” she said, “fifteen years ago. The car that was borrowed the night of Dr. Dean’s disappearance may have come here.”

Surveying the pueblos, Pike said, “You think maybe Dean’s stashed in one of them?”

“It’s worth a search.” The little blonde took a flashlight from her purse and clicked it on.

After fumbling in his pockets Pike produced a pencil-flash. “Hunk of stairs over there.” He indicated the spot with the thin beam of his light.

Nellie went up first, stopping on the first terrace. She played her light along the adobe roofs. “Nobody’s used these two nearest ladders . . . Ha, but that one over there is another story!”

The ladder leaning against the wall of a rounded tower building had definitely been moved recently. The marks on the earthen bricks indicated that.

“Somebody must have climbed up to that terrace up there.” Pike pointed with his light.

“Let’s have a look.” Nellie tested the ladder; it felt sturdy. She climbed up.

One of the buildings on this higher level had most of its doorway tumbled down.

Scampering over the ancient rubble, Nellie began to explore the room beyond. “In here, Pike.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

When the puffing agent joined her Nellie showed him a circular stone trap door in the floor. “This lid’s been recently moved.”

“Rope handle’s new, too,” said Pike, reaching for it.

“Hold off.” Nellie stopped him.

“Huh?”

On her knees, she carefully examined the trap door. “Might as well make sure there isn’t a booby trap under this,” she said. “No, it looks safe.”

A little more gingerly than before Pike reached down and grabbed the loop of rope. “Open sesame,” he said and lifted away the circle of stone.

A dark well was below. A new rope ladder had been affixed to the wall of the well. “This is the place sure enough,” said Nellie.

“Think our pueblo dweller’s at home?”

“One way to find out.” Nellie handed him the light, took a pistol out of her purse, and started down the rope ladder.

Pike followed her down, holding on with one hand and keeping the well lit with her flash.

Thirty feet down Nellie hit a stone floor. A tunnel cut out of the hillside led off to the left. There was no other way to go, so she started down that way.

The tunnel ran for several hundred feet before opening onto a natural cave. Several smaller caves branched off of the central one.

“Reminds me of a funhouse I was in once,” said Pike, stopping beside the halted Nellie. “There was a surprise behind each door.”

“Don’t know if we’ve got a lady-or-the-tiger situation here or not,” the blonde said. She took her flashlight back. “I’ll take those caves on the left, you cover the ones on the right. If a menace shows up, holler.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He held his pencil-flash and drew his .38 revolver from his shoulder holster.

They separated.

Nellie found the wooden door in the second small cave she investigated.

It was not a large door, not much higher than she was, made of heavy planks and set into the stone. Nowhere near as old as the Indian village up above, but not of this century either.

“I wonder what went on down here back in the Wild West days,” Nellie said to herself as she examined the door latch carefully.

The door didn’t appear to be locked and she could detect no sign of booby trap. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

There was a faint medicinal smell in the stone room she entered. And something else . . . coffee?

Yes, there was a battered pot sitting on a kerosene stove over in the corner. And on the table in the center of the stone floor was a white metal box.

Nellie crossed the room and carefully opened the box. It was a first-aid kit.

Those hypos don’t look like standard first-aid equipment, she thought. And what’s that funny-looking stuff in the vials?

Nellie picked up one of the vials of bluish liquid. Could this be the stuff that does the trick? she wondered.

Pike better see this, she decided. “Pike,” she called out. “Hey, Pike, come over here for a minute.”

The wooden door of the underground room suddenly slammed shut.

“Pike?” she said once more.

She turned the beam of the flashlight toward the door. No one there.

Then she took in her breath sharply. She’d seen something appear on the floor in the circle of light. And there was another.

Drops of blood. Drops of blood coming out of nowhere.

Werner Konrad was knitting. Dressed in his Madame Rosay attire, he sat rocking in a comfortable old chair in the parlor at the rear of the main art gallery. On a hotplate a tea kettle had just begun to whistle.

A buzzer sounded.

Setting aside the sweater he was working on, the actor went to the back door of the parlor. He adjusted his shawl and peered out the judas hole into the alley. The tiny orange bulb over the outside doorway showed him a nearly chinless young man in a loose-fitting gray suit.

Konrad pushed the door-release button, turned the knob, and invited, “Come in, Waxman.”

Waxman entered the parlor. “Your place is closed, isn’t it?”

Konrad lifted the tea kettle off the hotplate, nodding. “Yes, of course.”

“Why are you still wearing that outfit then?”

“Never can tell who may drop in, young man,” Konrad replied in his Madame Rosay voice. “What have you got for me?”

“Message from Dr. Coopersmith.” Waxman drove one of the trucks which made deliveries to the Perseus Project. From his pocket he took a folded slip of paper.

Konrad had memorized all the codes, so he was able to translate the message without consulting a code book. “Ah, we have interesting days ahead of us,” he said as he crumpled the note.

“Meaning what?”

“Dr. Ccopersmith has learned that we can expect the Avenger himself to arrive here tomorrow,” answered Konrad. “It seems that the vanishing of his associate, who at the moment reposes in our basement, has goaded him into action.”

Waxman knuckled his negligible chin. “That’s not so good,” he said.

Konrad busied himself with pouring boiling water into a flowered teapot. “The Avenger can be taken care of,” he said. “We know where and when he’ll arrive.”

“Don’t underestimate him. I’ve heard that—”

“Propaganda. You mustn’t be taken in by it. We had very little trouble incapacitating his associate, Mr. Cole Wilson.”

“Luck. Wilson no doubt had his mind on that redhead. Otherwise—”

“Tut-tut, sonny.” Konrad used the Madame Rosay voice again. “Mustn’t be so gloomy. We’ll take care of the Avenger and whoever else he drags along with him.”