The man started to say something, then swore violently and shut up. He had realized that the big fellow was just trying to pump him for information.
The two prisoners were inside the big doorway, now. They could see one of the long, narrow pits the man had mentioned. Tracks had once run along the sides of the pit, where a car could be run so that mechanics could get at motors and axles from beneath.
The tracks had long since been ripped up. But one, at least, had not been carried away. The rusting length of rail lay athwart the end of the pit, down where the stairs into its depths were.
The machine gunner was turning his weapon to keep Smitty and Josh covered as they moved. What was going to happen to them when they had gone down the five steps to the bottom of the gravelike pit? What did that
Smitty decided not to wait to find out.
“You want us to get down in
“That’s right, big boy,” said the machine gunner.
His pals were bunched around him in a knot. All except Morel. Smitty had had no second glance of the inventor, missing for so long. It began to look as if the scientist had slipped out the back of the building as the two were marched in the front.
“Go on! Down!” snapped the machine gunner.
Smitty stooped, and his hands gripped the length of car rail as if to lift it aside from the stairs. But he didn’t do that.
He snapped erect with the rail in his vast hands and plunged like a human tank toward the machine gunner and the knot of men!
Few men can lift a length of rail, even light-weight material for streetcars. Smitty not only lifted it; he ran with it — and made time, too. He must have been an awesome spectacle, indeed, as he plunged for the gang. As he came, he yelled at the top of his lungs. And right after him, zigzagging to confuse aim, raced Josh.
“Crack down on him, you dope!” screamed one of the men.
The palsied machine gunner opened up! But it was too late. There were only a few yards between the men and the pit. They’d kept at close range to be sure and hit the two if they rebelled. Now, Smitty had covered this too-short distance in half a dozen bounds, with the iron rail held horizontally before him in his two vast paws.
Some of the slugs hit. And they hurt. But they did not penetrate. The Avenger and each of his aides always wore bulletproof garments of a substance called celluglass, which Benson had invented. It was as strong as steel and much lighter.
These garments saved Josh and Smitty, though they left bruises that would remain for many a day.
Then the bar smashed against the men, with all the force of its own weight and of Smitty’s three hundred racing pounds behind it.
Several of the gang had automatics out. These dropped as the men were mashed against the brick wall behind them. The machine gunner doubled over the bar and dropped his weapon—
“Josh!” roared Smitty.
But there was no need to call. Like a black streak, Josh was after the gun. He got it, leaped back a few paces, and leveled it. Then Smitty dropped the rail. The fact that a few toes were in the way was just dandy with him.
“Now,” he said pleasantly, “
There was an ear-shattering roar. Half the rear wall folded and began raining down its individual bricks. The great roof sagged.
Josh yelled and whirled around. Smitty glared toward the rear, too. Morel! It looked as if he hadn’t gone away, after all. He had exploded part of the building to rescue the gang.
Shots jerked the giant around again. Josh was just sending hasty slugs at the last of the gang, who was limping out the door and running to the right, where the corner hid him from sight.
The two leaped to the front. The men were in the woods, running in all directions. They’d thought they had cornered this giant and this black tiger, and they had been cornered themselves. They were having no more of them.
Smitty ran for the rear, where no more bricks were falling. There was no sign of the scientist. Morel had provided a distraction, during which the men had gotten away, and right afterward had fled himself.
“Hell!” said Smitty, looking at the empty bag they were now holding.
They went back to their car and Smitty got out his radio transmitter. If conditions were right, he could just get New York.
Conditions, it seemed, were right. A tiny voice came through the earphone. “Benson talking.”
“Chief,” said Smitty, “we found the hangar where that blimp was kept. And we had a bunch of prisoners and Morel, but they got away—”
“What?” came The Avenger’s voice, so electrically that Smitty jumped. It was rarely that that voice was raised. “You said Morel?”
“Yes. He was here, but he got away with the—” Smitty was talking to nothingness. There was no more from The Avenger; no sign of any kind. He had left the New York receiving end without a further word.
